An Old Campaign #4

Here we go again, this time quite a ride for me. This one I really loved, and began to go to new depths. It begins in the usual sort of manner, conventional stuff, but I became pretty much a commander of my faction, then went RP heavy. I also had great fun on the hobby project front. I'll try to put it all here, and in some sort of order.

One per day is still the idea.

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Background for my Characters
Gabriele Condlumar, General Villeteschi & the Compagnia del Sole

The Myrmidian Quarter in Trantio

In this part of Trantio the church of Myrmidia has temporal as well as spiritual power, for the entire district is owned and ruled by churchmen. They collect taxes and tithes (utilising a very complicated system riddled with combinations, exceptions and other factors that requires a staff of scriptors and lawyers to interpret, monitor and untangle) and provide what public services there are - mostly military costs and a small handful of charitable institutions (a hospital and a workhouse). The grandest fortified palace of this district is that of the High Priest Gabriele Condlumar, the supreme authority over the church of Myrmidia in Trantio.



High Battle Priest of the Church of Myrmidia Gabriele Condlumar (Wizard Lord)

To the outside world Condlumar presents a dignified demeanour, but in truth he can be a hot-head as he is filled with great hatred towards the Trantio's enemies or the church of Myrmidia. Such enemies might even include any nobles and officers of his own city state who he considers traitors or fools. He is descended from a line of High Priests who have grown in secular power, able to field small armies of their own and with estates sufficient to pay for mercenaries when necessary. He is a learned man, and a patron of the arts as well as scholars. He also looks to the care of the poor, seeing the defence of his realm and its people as the religious duty of the powerful, able and rich towards those in their care.

Grey bearded and quite advanced in age, he is nevertheless a fairly vigorous man, with a health bolstered by driving ambition. Whilst in Trantio he wears the decorated robes of a High Priest of Myrmidia to go about his ceremonial duties, but whenever he takes to the field (and as a priest of Myrmidia he is expected to) he rides a barded horse and carries a mace as have many a priest of Myrmidia in the past. The padded jerkin he wears for campaigns does not interfere with his magical conjurations, though nor does it provide much physical protection, apart from inclement weather. He has in his possession a finger bone of Castriccio della Scara, an ancient Tilean hero who according to legend faced an army of shimmering, magical demons and personally struck down fifty before perishing himself. This can provide added protection in the form of increasing his ability to dispel the enemy’s magic. He hopes (soon) to retrieve the rest of della Scara’s corpse and inter it in the temple to provide what he believes will be a holy blessing for Trantio.

Condlumar is the power and money behind General Villeteschi’s Compagnia del Sole, with authority over it. The general is happy to serve the High Priest, for he sees himself as a soldier first and a Tilean second, and the two mesh together very well when serving a representative of the holy church of Myrmidia. Condlumar’s estate and church revenues, as well as the income generated by successful campaigns, have so far provided sufficient funds to keep Villeteschi satisfied. More than this, Condlumar believes he has skill in intrigue and espionage, bringing other tools to the table when it comes to war. By covert means he has secretly hired an army of greenskin raiders (Guldag’s Waagh!) and by subtle enticements he has added a level of control over them that is rarely achieved, working through a powerful and cunning goblin lieutenant of the warlord Guldag. Condlumar intends to employ this greenskin force to soften up foes before the Compagnia attacks, as well as to disrupt enemy supplies, to harry or distract their forces, as well as to sow despair into the hearts of his enemy’s subjects.



Condottiere Lord General Giovanni Villeteschi (Lord)

A Tilean by birth (from Pavona), of minor noble family stock (with brothers and cousins in the church of Myrmidia), Villeteschi has served as a soldier throughout his life and risen assuredly through the ranks. He has such a frightening reputation for stern discipline, and ferocious bravery that few dare to contradict him - his soldiers would obey no-one else, and his past masters have occasionally been somewhat afraid to command him. He now commands the Mercenary army known as the Compagnia del Sole. For many years he was merely a captain, but he has proven himself in battle as a leader of men and when a commander was needed he was the natural successor.

The Compagnia del Sole’s emblem is a white baton topped with the rays of the rising sun, an old symbol of Myrmidia.



(Notes: Myrmidia is more commonly represented by a golden eagle or a spear, and in fact the baton and golden sun in the Compagnia’s emblem is a version of the same imagery - the white command baton being the badge of a field marshal rather a soldier’s spear and the golden rays being the sun’s light over the field of battle rather than the spreading wings of a giant eagle. The baton is an old Reman badge of office, showing the right of a commander with an authority that none could challenge.)

For four months now Villeteschi and his legion have served the High Priest Condlumar, preparing themselves for the likelihood of war. Much recruiting and training has been done, but the core of the army is still made up of the veteran condottieri of Myrmidia’s Legion: pike, crossbow, light horsemen, heavy cavalry and a large company of longbow archers. Added to this strength, recruited by Condlumar and placed under Villeteschi’s command, are Estalian handgunners and Arabyan light horse, as well as the high priest’s own retinue soldiers: several regiment of Men at Arms and a chapter of the Myrmidian Order of the Knights of the Blazing Sun (known as the ‘Dogs of War’).

Villeteschi carries a magical blade that has been in his family for some time (with occasional losses in battle and subsequent retrievals by various means). It imbues him with bloodthirsty ferocity in battle. His shield was been gifted by Condlumar for this campaign, and carries the protective blessing of Myrmidia. He often fights on foot, in the front rank of his pikemen, but occasionally (as he used to do often) joins a knightly unit. Coincidentally he has been made an honourable member of the Order of the Blazing Sun and as such would be welcomed in their ranks should he so wish.

Captain Frederico Matallesta
Second in command of the Compagnia del Sole

A loyal friend to Villeteschi, Frederico has a reputation as a stern warrior in battle. He once ordered the murder of every citizen in a town that stubbornly refused to surrender and had thus (in his opinion) put the company to far too much trouble in the taking of the place. The order wasn’t completely carried out (some women, aged folk and children were spared by the more decent soldiers) but the order is remembered with fear. As such few places have subsequently thought to deny his offer of surrender if their situation is in any way tenuous.

Condotta Captain Niccolò Forteguerra
Compagnia del Sole army standard bearer

A young soldier of very good repute, who spurns gambling and womanising and seems to embody the ideals of a godly soldier: a truly disciplined warrior of Myrmidia. His skill in teaching battlefield drill is renowned, and he has played an important role in improving the discipline of the Compagnia in the field.

Brother-Captain Francesco Adentalo
Commands the ‘Dogs of War’ chapter of Knights of the Blazing Sun (Templars of Myrmidia)

Francesco has only just become the brother-captain, after the previous commander finally succumbed to the gangrenous wounds suffered in as minor skirmish several weeks ago when brigands foolishly raided lands under the chapter’s protection. Being the most veteran warrior in the chapter, Francesco was chosen for his years of service rather than any particular command qualities, yet since he took command the knights have found his steadfast nature to be inspirational.

Captain Giacomo Pigitliano
Commander of High Priest Condlumar’s retinue of Men at Arms

Well known throughout Trantio for his easygoing nature. His soldiers love him as a commander - he drinks and carouses amongst them with flair. His fleur-de-lys helmet crest and large warhammer make him instantly recognisable. He is often seen at Condlumar’s side during public events, perhaps as much a bodyguard as an officer.
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Condlumar’s Army Parades

As much as to prove the army’s fighting strength to their employer, Condlumar, as to impress the populace, the Compagnia del Sole and attached units parade through the Trantio Myrmidian Quarter. Here they pass the Hall of Heroes where Condlumar and several officers have gathered. [Author’s note - I stupidly took these parade photos before re-basing many figures to make them all match.]

First to ride by, taking pride of place in the parade, are the ‘Dogs of War’ chapter of the Myrmidian Knights of the Blazing Sun …



Several sport the dog-skins of their chapter and some (in the spirit of common cause) have recently added the same shield emblem of Myrmidia as the Compagnia del sole.

These are followed by the recently recruited heavy cavalry from the wild lands of the Border Princes - the sons of newly settled feudal lords, or even nobles who have been forced out of their lands by overwhelming enemy forces…



Such mercenary knights are a way of life in the Border Princes and Tilea. They might have the trappings and appearance of Bretonnians, but they don’t have the ‘nobility’ (i.e. closed minded attitude).

Behind these two units of heavy horse ride a very different kind of horse soldiers - light horse archers from the realm of Araby. These have served in Tilea for several years now, and in fact include a good number of Tileans who have adopted the dress of their southern comrades in a spirit of community!



Next march the solid core of the Compagnia, the massive cohort of pikemen, with the Myrmidian sun-crested baton banner at their head. These are veterans of many a campaign, even though they are made of a hotch potch of many different units mustered together, including the battered fragments of units mauled in battle. What should have broken these men, however, has made them harder. They are keen for war, and glory, and especially loot!



Behind march a body of men who are not actually a part of the Compagnia, even though they are joined with them to form this army - Condlumar’s halberd wielding, full plate armoured Men at Arms, bearing the flag of the Myrmidian quarter (a weird amalgamation of several older designs from past conflicts).



A large company of mounted crossbowmen follow the men at arms, each man bearing the Compagnia’s badge emblazoned on the rear of their surcoat.



And finally the massive horde of Longbowmen, scoundrels all, march at the rear - outcasts from Bretonnian lands. Some peasants turned brigands turned mercenaries (is there any difference between the latter two?). Others the survivors of old crusades into southern lands, abandoned in Tilea by their knightly masters when there was insufficient room in the boats home!



Watching the parade are even more soldiers, having marched down from their garrison duties on the walls and towers. Here you see the two companies of pavaise carrying crossbowmen, though here they have not yet painted the Compagnia’s symbols on their pavaises (the pots of paint are currently sitting in their barracks awaiting use this very night).



And also watching is a body of Estalian handgunners, hard men indeed considering how much Tileans seem to hate their kind. Still, they are willing to put up with a bit of verbal abuse for a regular wage - and as garrison soldiers they have indeed been receiving pay on a satisfyingly weekly basis.

(There's a lot of stuff I did for this campaign, and putting it into good order is not easy. Different threads seemed to run side by side, and the stuff I have in pc files is not always the same version as that which was put on the campaign forum. I can't always tell which is the final draft! I will do what I can. To be honest, it's kinda fun trying to sort the mingle-mangled mess out.)

A meeting of minds

“And your own lodgings, General, they are to your satisfaction?”

“Yes, your grace,” answered Villeteschi, beginning to warm to this priest if only for the fact that he did not waste words, going about the matter at hand in a very business like manner. This was something the general had always respected in a man.

“Then we should discuss immediately the matters of supplies, patrols and sentinels,” said Condlumar. “As well as how your men should conduct themselves.”

The two men began their work, and the more Condlumar spoke the more Villeteschi’s insight was confirmed. The priest conducted the conversation as if military matters were an exact science in which set procedures ought to be followed and specific issues addressed in order of regulated priority. The parchments, vellums and tomes on the high priest’s table added to the proof. Then again, what should one expect from a priest of Myrmidia? Maybe, thought the general, not all clergymen were as corrupt and venal, wealthy and lazy as he had previously believed?

The Myrmidian quarter of Trantio had not exactly been peaceful for some time. Gangs of brigosi had long ruled the streets, wild youths with blades who spent their time in acts of rivalry and petty vengeance, caught up in perpetual shouted arguments and bloody brawls, and very willing to engage in theft from citizens when opportunities presented. Condlumar had long yearned to put a stop to their activities, but his own men at arms had had more important things to do - his fortified palace to guard, his family and fief to protect, their feudal duties in the service of the Prince of Trantio. Now, however, the time of the brigosi seemed to have truly passed, for there was a new armed presence in and around the quarter, of a strength and skill that the brigosi could not hope to contend with - the Compagnia del Sole.

Condottiere Lord General Giovanni Villeteschi was entirely happy to quarter his men in the inns, taverns and domestic houses of the quarter. He thought they deserved a chance to recuperate and gather their strength in more civilised lodgings than the earthen huts and canvass tents they had so often found themselves camped in. His men were just as bloodthirsty as the brigosi, if not moreso, but they were disciplined, and much less liable to fight amongst themselves. Also, while they were paid and fed, they were happy to wait for the opportunity to take legitimate loot arose, and chose not to risk the wrath of the provost. They were quite willing, however, to put the brawling mob in its place, to quieten drunken louts and to show bragging youths what real martial skills are.

And so a new rule now held the streets and alleys of the Myrmidian Quarter under its sway, a martial law. Some brigosi even accepted the change and enlisted for the Compagnia or the Myrmidian Church’s men at arms, but most just seemed to slink away. Some folk immediately began to wonder whether the brigosi were just lying low and would burst forth again as soon as the Compagnia left. Once the matter of fact concerns such as garrison duties, fodder for horses, supplies of shot and powder, etc, were out of the way, Condlumar paused. Better a pause, thought Villeteschi, than a stream of babbling niceties. Something about the priest’s demeanour, however, revealed he was concerned about something. Finally he spoke.

“General, there is the matter of the nature of rest of the Legion. I know you have none amongst your own ranks, and so they are not lodged within the Myrmidian Quarter, but the lands around swarm with them: crusading Sigmarites, Novskian Kislevites - I have even heard rumours of Ogres with little greenskin masters! Can these be trusted? Will they not be the cause of more ruin than an invading army, never mind youthful brigosi? Speak plain in your answer.”

In light of the rumours he had heard of Myrmidian churchmen dealing with greenskin forces this outburst came as a surprise to general Villeteschi. Nevertheless he shook his head and set about reassuring the priest. “Do not trouble yourself, your grace, for the Compagnia del Sole has served with these allies for many months now. They fight don’t merely fight well enough - they fight well. General Voyovnik is a brave warrior, and an honourable one. And Lord Falken is keen for battle against all wickedness. He might be a stern Sigmarite, but I am sure he does not see wickedness in the other lawful gods, or those that worship them. Even Sigmar himself, when a mortal man, was a follower of the gods.”

Condlumar smiled for the first time in Villeteschi’s presence. “I am reassured, general, by your knowledge of these warriors. All Myrmidians know there is a place in war for every kind of warrior - each have their uses, their own specialty. I am sure that if they perform well in the field of battle, then they will come to be respected by friend and foe alike.”

Ah, thought Villeteschi, then there might well be some truth to the rumours. He made sure not to smile at the revelation.

(Note: I intended to add more to this conversation as I got to know more of the players in my faction.)
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The inn of Biscione



Out on the street before the inn we see some drunken youths staggering to their feet as a captain addresses a sergeant and two soldiers of Condlumar’s men at arms.

Inside

Captain Frederico Matallesta’s tongue was loosening as a consequence of the quantity of wine he had imbibed. Niccolò was surprised to discover that he was a talkative drunk, even a storyteller. This was not a behaviour one who had only ever met Matallesta sober would expect of him. The stories he now told, however, were neither fairy tales nor bawdy tales but replete with the brutality of war.

Now he drank a very deep draught of the sweet red, wiped his hand across his bearded chin and grinned. “Let me tell you another story,” he announced. “It’s a lesson, this one, about how folk treat soldiers when they are given a chance.”

Captain Niccolò Forteguerra fixed his gaze on Matallesta and prepared himself for another blood and guts tale of brutality.

“There was once a soldier, a Condottieri of renown. He was a good commander and a successful one. He could outwit a foe that outnumbered him two to one, and could lose a battle to win a war if needs be. But mostly he just won them, and his men loved him for it, as one might expect, for they had wealth enough to satisfy even the greediest amongst them. He was the best Condottieri of his time, maybe of all time. Like all Condottieri, however, he fought often not for himself but for a paymaster…”

Niccolo raised his hand to signal his need to speak. “What was the name of this Condottieri? Surely I know of him?”

“Oh yes, young captain, he is well known. I’d say revered. But you shall hear the story before I speak his name. This Condottieri is contracted by a rich town to defend them against rapacious and bloodthirsty foreigners, and he does so without delay. So all the citizens of the town, the best amongst them anyway that thought themselves of gentle birth or wealthy enough to wield a say in affairs, they gets together and decides that they must reward this man. There’s only one problem - every reward that they can think of, even the gift of the Lordship of their town, seems entirely insufficient thanks for the work done by the Condottieri. They cannot thank him enough. They cannot pay him enough. So what do they do? They say let us kill him, inter his remains in our most splendid temple and worship him as our patron saint. Thus we will have his spiritual protection for ages to come, and shall not have to embarrass ourselves by paying him too little. And this is what they did!”

Niccolò frowned, then saw that Matallesta was waiting for his opinion on the tale. “Aye, that’s a lesson, I’ll grant you. Don’t trust the natives. They have funny ways. But who was the Condottieri?”

“The hero, Castriccio della Scara. I know most will tell you of his death from the wounds received in battle. This is the truth - those wounds came from the surgeons sent by the townsfolk to dress nothing but a cut here and a scrape there.”

“Sad story, that,” said Niccolò. “Yet I see you have a purpose, for it’s Castriccio’s bones that our patron Condlumar wishes us to retrieve, thus to gain his protection for Trantio. Why are you telling me this? Are you saying that there is no power in the bones? That we will be upon a fool’s errand risking battle for a holy relic of no worth? That Castriccio’s spirit is a vengeful one and not a protective one?”

Matallesta laughed. “Of that, young captain, I have no doubt. Vengeful indeed, and restless in death - though not quite as much as The Duke of Mordini. But lad, you have missed my point entirely. Think on it. A fine young soldier such as yourself, brave and fearless, might make a better spiritual guardian for Trantio than a bitter old saint like Castriccio.”

Niccolo shook his head as Matallesta continued. “All I’m saying is watch your back, even in victory. The people of Trantio might not kill us and make us saints, but they could decide upon some other way to avoid payment.” He stared into the empty goblet before him, and finished with a mutter. “That’s all I’m saying.”

A New Livery
(Several weeks earlier

1. Material

Lady Adalina could not make up her mind - stripes or checks? Which would do? The colours she knew she liked, and both cloths sported the same combination, but the choice of pattern was what perplexed her.

“Well, I do like them both.”



The rotund merchant Master Biaggio, sweat dripping from the end of his nose and a stubborn smile fixed to his face, was trying not to fidget. He felt he was close to a sale, and after all the effort he had put in was desperate not to lose it now. He had been holding both samples of
fine linen before him for nigh upon a quarter of an hour - long enough for the pain in his arms to have transformed into an absence of feeling, while a new pain coursed through his back up to his neck and threatened soon to topple him.

“They are both most excellent ch .. ch ..choices, I have to say, my lady. Both would adorn your c … castle magnificently, whether it be table cloths, hangings, curtains or b … b … bed covers, and just as importantly they are both the height of fashion in Luccinni and Remas.”

The Lady, who still gave no sign that Master Biaggio might rest, squinted once more and stroked her fingers for the umpteenth time upon both cloths. As a member of the merchant class it would be most impolite for Biaggio to make any move without her permission. Mercopio, he prayed to his god, make this woman decide.

“No,” Lady Adalina said suddenly. “It is impossible to decide …”

Biaggio could not help himself - a groan began to issue from between his lips.

“… so,” she continued, “I shall have both. Checks shall adorn one wing, while stripes shall rule in the other.”

The merchant (cunningly, he thought) now transformed his groan into a satisfied sigh. “Aaah, my lady, you have of course settled upon the wisest course of action. Of course I would need to know what quantities you require, and there is the base concern of the price …”

Lady Adalina silenced him with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Speak to my steward, he will make all arrangements with you. Now go, and leave me the samples.”

“As you wish, my lady, “ said Master Biaggio, handing over the cloths with a flourish and a bow, then turning to leave. While Adalina held the cloths aloft in the sunlight streaming through the windows so that she might bask in their pleasant patterns, the merchant was already calculating what price he could get for them, and what profit would be made once all necessaries such as transport and such like was accounted for.


2. Materiel

Once more Capitano Duilio found himself having to push his helmet back on his forehead so that he could rub his eyes. Whatever was loaded onto the wagon immediately in front of him was dusty – perhaps unthreshed grain or some such thing - and every time the wagon bounced over a pothole a cloud of particles descended upon him and his men. This time there was a big, itchy lump of the stuff in his left eye. He raised his hand to halt his men …



… and took a moment to demand a flask of water that he might pour onto his face.

The convoy he commanded was carrying all sorts of cargos, from basic commodities such as grain to military supplies such as black powder; from casks of fine wine to bales of fine cloth. He had been travelling with it all the way from the port of Ebino, and until yesterday had ridden upon his horse. When he overheard his men grumbling about the hard pace he set for their foot-slogging the previous night, however, he decided he would show them that he could do it. He had always thought of himself as a man of action, an officer who led by example.
Yet now, with granules scratching at the inside of his eyelids and his skin red raw where his armour had scraped all day, he wondered whether he really ought to have stayed on his horse.

At least he had not heard his men complaining. His standard bearer, Sergente Ezio, marched proud and tall by his side, while four of his best halberdiers marched immediately behind. More little companies of his men were interspersed along the convoy, so that in all he had
thirty soldiers with him.



They were travelling through the hilly region to the west of his lord’s domain, where the road cut through a small forest and provided a little shade. Perhaps it was this relief from the shining sun that had improved his mens’ mood? Or maybe it was the thought that by
nightfall they would be home?

3. Plunder

Entirely unbeknownst to the Tilean soldiers, wagoneers and coachmen, they were being watched - beady, red eyes peered down from a hilltop obscured by the trees. These eyes belonged to creatures with green tinged flesh which improved their concealment - a band of hill goblins.



Having struck deeper inland than ever before, these particular greenskins were part of Guldaar Bestbasha’s army of raiders whose main body was still much closer to the sea from which they had come. Having landed upon a relatively uninhabited stretch of the Tilean coast littered with ancient, ruined settlements from a time even the men who dwelt in Tilea had almost forgotten, the Waagh Guldaar was hungry. So Guldar had sent this band of goblins, watched over by an orcen scout called Burntogg, to raid for supplies and, in the orcen warlord’s own words: “Bring ‘em back real quick or I’ll serve you lot up for supper instead.”

On the crest of the hill was the hill goblin’s big boss, Derkid the Sneakster, with his trusted warriors about him. Unusual amongst goblins for his tuft of black hair, Derkid had always assumed that it was his talent to be different in other ways too, and it was this belief that had led him to acquire the repeating pistol he now had in his hand. He had yet to try it out in anger (for to be honest he was entirely unsure whether he had wound it up right) but it nevertheless
proved a marvellously effective instrument for encouraging disobedient goblins to do as he wished.



“Der’s a lot of wagons, but how many mens is guardin’ ‘em?” he asked out loud, without really expecting an answer. Still, it was worth a try. “Can any of you scummin’ pus bags see?”

“Aww, Sneaks, ya just put me off me countin’!” moaned the axe-wielding Radget. “An’ I nearly ‘ad it - I was up to six.”

Derkid hefted his axe and glanced at the shiny barrels of his pistol, proud of the lack of rust, thought for a moment and then announced, “It don’t matter how many, as long as there’s more of us. Besides, they’z not knowin’ we’re here, an’ I reckon they’ll be spooked good
an’ proper when we hit ‘em. I reckon’ they’ll all be runnin’ before they can count us.”

He knew full well, what with the limited view of the column afforded by the trees that he could not trust any number Radget came up with. So his mind was made up. Just one last thing to do, he thought, and that was get the nod from Burntogg. He turned to look down the rear
side of the hill and catch the orc’s attention. Burntogg was standing beside the pirate goblin Boat-Boss Kaggly Moldwip …



… which meant he already knew about the column (because Kaggly had been up on the crest with Derkid moments before). When Derkid gestured, chopping with his axe in the direction of the Tileans, Burntogg grinned and raised his choppa. He brought it down in a manner obviously meant as a signal, even as he began to lope up the hill himself. Before he had taken two full steps, Derkid’s hill goblins were already streaming silently down the other side
towards the edge of the trees.

Down in the woods today, Capitano Duilio was certainly in for a big surprise!

4. Division

“All of ya,” screamed Warlord Guldar Bestbasher, “an’ I do mean all of ya, hold yer wagglin’ tongues.”

Silence descended quickly and satisfactorily, as goblins and orcs gave their leader their undivided attention.



“I gets to decide how we’re sharin’ up da loot. I don’t care wevver it’s da fairest way, but I’ll tell ya’all it’s da safest way - ‘cos if any of yer thinks yer’s not doin’ things da way I wants ‘em, den dat’s gonna be yer lastest thought ever. Gettit?”

The silence continued. Several of the goblins nearest to Guldar wondered if there was a way to be more silent than they were already being, but couldn’t think of any.

“Now listen close an’ listen good. For a start Derkid gets a share, ‘cos him an’ his lads did the findin’.”

Derkid stepped forward, with whispers of “Go on, Sneaks!” from the goblins nearest to him. Guldar grinned at him, bearing his massive, broken, tusk-like teeth in the process. Unnerved by the visage before him, the goblin hid his fear well: “What’s I getting’ den, great lord of us all?” he asked.

“You can have a wagon and as much of the food as you can put in it. An’ choose something shiney fer yerself as well.”

Derkid nodded, then scuttled off to do exactly that, while Guldar glared at the many who remained.

“As for the rest of you, what were you arguin’ about when I got here?”



No-one dared speak at first, then finally Burntogg piped up. “Dey was discussin’ how to share up da fancies in da first wagon?”

“Fancies?” said Guldar. “What fancies?”

“Cloth, lots of it, prettified up with lines and criss-crossings.”

Guldar was surprised. He’d known his lads fighting over all sorts before, but never over pretty cloth. “Let’s see it,” he demanded, a touch of confusion in his voice.

The boys led him to the wagon in question and showed him its cargo: bales of cloth in two different designs, though both blue and grey in colour. Having tested it by trying to tear it, and finding it of good quality (he actually had to expend a little effort to rip it) Guldar made his mind up.

“Dis stuff is too good fer little uns. Dey can have any other cloths found. Dis is for da orcs. Give da stripes to Haggjie’s lads and the criss-crosses to Big Boss CrackJaw’s Big Uns.” The vicious grin reappeared. “We is gonna ‘ave uniforms, fancy ones like Tilean soldiers, so I can see who is gettin’ up to what, and so you can all do me proud, eh lads?”

And so began the chaotic process of tugging and pulling that greenskins call sharing out.

By the next day, the two biggest regiments of orcs were already sporting the make-shift shirts, kilts and breeches they had hastily sewn up using bone needles and twine. Guldag inspected them just after noon, and was pleased with what he saw.



“Very pretty, lads,” he laughed, “Now we ‘av colours to call our own. ‘An I reckon blue is suiting every one of yer!”

Oops! I missed a day. I forgot I was doing this. I'll put two pieces in this post to make up for my tardiness.

First is another piece about the greenskin force first encountered above, and it uses a little kit-bashed model I was very proud of at the time. The second (two parter) is a piece in which I described encounters with several of my fellow faction players' armies - though I obviously had not played games with them or anything IRL (they were scattered all over the world) so I used my own figures for the stories.

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Lovely Loot



“Ow much longer do we ‘ave to pull this lump of a wagon?” came Hafdi’s complaint for the fourth time, though this time with an added twist, “’Cos me back ain’t gonna hold out another mile. Maybe we oughta stop?”

Toggler didn’t bother looking at Hafdi, for he had grown tired of two things in the last hour - the first was the physical effort of lugging the wagon in question, the second was the orc’s nigh on incessant complaining. He didn’t look, but he did answer.

“Oh, I see how it is. You’ve got a gammy back, and yer feeling tired. That’s a shame, ain’t it, ‘cos I reckon it means we is gonna have to leave all this loverly loot ‘ere an’ get off back to the camp without it. Still, what’s an evenin’ glugging on the red stuff and countin’ up all the shinies we gets for our share compared to having a bit of a poorly back? No competition there - I’d much rather get told off for leaving the wagon and spend the evenin’ drinking stinking puddle water and being clouted by every bad tempered orc in the camp than have you a bothered a tad by yer achin’ bones. Better yet, Guldag could ‘ave us both hacked into likkle pieces and served to the boars for their supper. Aye, yer not wrong, better that than you suffer a twinge or two above yer nether regions…”



His rant was cut short by a squeaky scream issuing from behind them. “Keep movin’! Go faster! Wheeeeee!”

Toggler acted all surprised by this outburst from the drunken Snotling Doodo, who was riding on the wagon due to the fact he couldn’t even reach the pole.

“Now would you hear that, Hafdi?” said the goblin. “It seems Doodo don’t share mine and your enthusiasm for getting beaten to a pulp fer disobeyin’ orders. Seems he’s castin’ his vote against our joint opinion. Now there’s an unexpected turn!”

Hafdi was frowning, an expression he adopted whenever he was trying to follow what Toggler was saying. This is not to say he pulled the expression often, because normally he did not bother listening too close. But this time he was listening.

“You reckon dat dey is all gonna beats us up if we leaves it behind?” he asked.

“Oh, you heard that bit,” said Toggler. “Yeah, that’s what I think and that’s what they’d do. Beat us good and proper. Might be a good cure for your aching back, ‘cos I reckon you’ll stop noticing the back-ache what with all the new pains up and down yer body.”

“All I was asking was how long….”

Toggler shouted his response before Hafdi had completed the question: “As long as it takes, you hear, ‘cos if we don’t do as we is told then we is in so much bovver dat it will be well and truly over for all three of us.”

The words came too fast for Hafdi, so the exact meaning was lost. It did not matter, however, because Toggler’s raised voice was meaning enough.

“We pulls da wagon, den.”

Toggler gritted his (remaining) teeth, and wonder how long it would be before Hafdi forgot the entire conversation and began asking all over again.

...........................................................................

Conversations with Generals, Part One
The Hunt

The huntsmen left the city of Trantio just before dawn, the iron-bound gates closing swiftly behind them. The keeper was in a hurry as by law the gates should never be opened until full daylight, but his Grace the High Priest Condlumar had paid him well to make an exception this morning.



Of course Condlumar was not attired in his ecclesiastical robes. As was appropriate for a hunt he wore an arming doublet. He also carried a shield (a tradition of the Myrmidian priests), a battle mace, and rode upon a barded steed emblazoned with the Myrmidian badge of the Compagnia del Sole. As was appropriate for a man of his office, his personal standard-bearer rode by his side encased in full plate armour (a knight of the Dogs of War chapter of the Blazing Sun Order), while for more practical reasons his squire followed carrying Condlumar’s hunting bow upon his shoulder. The next rider was the high priests official bodyguard, a champion of the Dogs of War chapter, his sword drawn (being the custom when exiting a gate and emerging onto the road beyond).

Perhaps one might consider this unusual company for a hunting party? Yet behind the riders came a band of hunstmen, armed with bows and crossbows. Here surely was certain proof of the company’s business? There two riders at the back, however, one might not expect upon such an expedition - being two mercenary battle wizards of some experience, as white haired as the high priest, and nobly mounted.



This particular ‘hunt’ would last the full length of the day, for Condlumar was to circumnavigate the the city at some distance from its walls. In truth, despite appearances, he was not looking for prey. Quite the opposite, in fact - one might say he was looking for predators. He intended to visit several mercenary camps and speak with a number of generals of the Vermillion Legion. The huntsmen were there to keep an eye out for trouble, the standard bearer to reveal his identity to his fellow warriors.

The first camp they visited was that of Count Bolle’s company. Bolle was a mercenary general from the north who apparently clung to the Old Faith - perhaps this was the reason he was now so far from home? He had camped his army by a village and its manor, both of which also housed soldiers if the banners flying hither and thither were anything to go by. The first works the party encountered was a guarded gateway of stone-fashioned bastions mounting impressive pieces of artillery. There a captain and a drummer came striding out to meet with them …



Condlumar spoke: “Good day to thee, fellow soldiers of the Legion. Your lord general and I must speak. If you would take me to him I would be thankful.”

The two men took him to the manor house, and there he was well received and spoke in confidence with Count Bolle for nigh upon an hour. As far as the soldiers nearby could see, the two men embraced like brothers in arms and parted as friends.

The Legion’s Sigmarites of note - General Casper and Rawlon Falken - were camped a little further afield, perhaps too far for a day’s hunt. Or perhaps Lord Condlumar had no need to speak with them?

Nevertheless they did apparently still have much distance to cover and began a three hour ride of a kind which made Condlumar’s men wonder whether he really knew where he was going. The trek involved meandering through the hilly region to the north of the city, with Condlumar stopping several times to scan the horizon. Finally, he raised his hand to halt the rest of the company, and as they turned to see what he had noticed a band of riders appeared. Each one wore an upright wing of feathers that emitted an eerie sound as they galloped in a somewhat circling manner down the slope towards the hunting party.

Once they were within hailng distance, Condlumar shouted, his voice eager and lively as if there was no time to waste.

“Well met, friends from the far north. I am Condlumar of Trantio. Take me to Lord Vovovnik. I wish to speak with him.”



The next stop on this eventful ride was to the west of the city, just as the sky was growing dark. It was of a kind that the High Priest’s companions could not have foreseen. Condlumar halted suddenly, took a horn that until now none had noticed hanging beneath his barding, and gave vent to a strange flurry of notes. Suddenly the trees nearby shook as three huge, grey monstrous men appeared, the foremost of which clutched a banner mounting a giant beast’s skull. The huntsmen flinched then hurriedly prepared their bows, while the two knights closed their visors and drew their swords. But Condlumar did not move, nor did he look at the ogres. It was this that made his companions reconsider the situation, which was when they noticed the ogres seemed to be in a daze, two of the three were even drooling, as if simple or addled by some potent drink.

Then just as unexpectedly someone else emerged from the trees: a goblin, very small of stature, wearing an oversized, horned helmet. Several other similar creatures came close behind him.



These two surprises seemed small in comparison to what happened next. His Grace, Lord Condlumar, bowed his head to the little greenskin and spoke, “Well met, servant of Vine. I would speak with thy master, for I am upon the Legion’s business.”

Only the two knights were permitted to go with the high priest, and all three on foot, as for half of an hour they went about the secret business of meeting with perhaps the most unusual servant of the Legion. Both knights were sworn to secrecy concerning what they had seen, though they had not actually heard what words passed between their lord and the unexpected master of an ogre army. Being honourable men the knights would no doubt hold their tongues - though both realised now why the other members of the party were not allowed to come along. Who could trust commoners to remain silent?

There were to be even more surprises on the way home for the hunting party (if not for Condlumar). Big surprises indeed!

Upon a cloudless night they returned, Mannslieb’s glow lighting the way. Having ridden almost all the way around the city (if at some distance) they were now approaching its southern districts, drawing close to the ancient necropolis which formed the entrance to the city’s underground crypts. Most would fear to tread there upon even a moonlit night, yet Condlumar seemed heedless of the danger and rode much closer to the ruined cluster of mausoleums and tombs than was necessary. There was a perfectly good route a little further eastwards, upon the far side of a hill that would hide the shadowy ruins from fearful eyes.

Slowly it dawned on the Huntsmen that Condlumar’s choice of path was not due to carelessness or even fearlessness - he was deliberately approaching the necropolis gateway to the crypts!

Once the crumbling masonry hove into full view, the entire party halted. Apart, that is, from Condlumar, who rode on alone. Movement was first heard then seen amongst the ruins, as dreadful banners were raised by long dead arms and the shambling, armoured forms of undead soldiers began to emerge into the suddenly awful moonlight.



Condlumar halted. “I, Condlumar, priestly servant to Myrmidia, greet thee Night Warden, general of the restless army of Trantio's night. I humbly ask that I might speak with thee, for there is war brewing and I have need of your advice.”



The huntsmen heard no reply, for it was delivered in a croaking whisper that seemed to come from inside Condlumar’s own head: “Come forward. Sspeak your wordsss.”

With his back to the hunting party, Condlumar knew that none would have seen how his eyes widened and the colour drained from his face. After a deep breath to steady himself, he began to dismount, unable to take his eyes from the blackness of the Night Warden’s eyeless sockets.


Conversations with Generals, Part Two
The day after the hunt

There was to be little rest for the High Priest Gabriele Condlumar, for had as yet only met a handful of the Legion’s many commanders. He knew full well he must speak soon with more of them, before the marching and fighting began, for then it he would have his duty of command over the Compagnia del Sole and could not go chasing off all the time after other companies to have words with their generals.

So once again in the morning he left his fortified palace, this time accompanied by the captain of his men at arms, Giacomo Pigitliano, and made his way beyond the city gates. He was on foot, however, this time, for he had not far to go. In the faint light of dawn he arrived at the supposedly abandoned ruins of the southern quarter. The wall no longer encompassed these ruins, and although many of the hovels had been cleared away so as to provide a killing field in front of the city defences, there were still some tumble-down dwellings a little distance away.

In truth the ruins were no longer empty - temporary roofs had been constructed, and huts and tents squatted inside the shells of broken barns and crumbling cottages. Here was quartered Fredrick Guderain’s brigand army from the vaults. No banners or artillery were visible, but Condlumar knew they were here somewhere. In fact, apart from a few faces belonging to what appeared to be vagabonds and outcasts, peering from door-less portals and shutterless windows, there was little sign of life at all, never mind an army.

Then suddenly they appeared: a motley band of armed men, women and even halflings, some on foot, others on wiry riding horses of the sort that scouts might use. Within a moment they swarmed boldly out of the camp, over the tumbled walls, and headed towards the high priest. Captain Pigitliano began to draw his blade, but Condlumar signalled with his hand instructing his bodyguard to sheath it once more.

“Do not worry, good captain, for this raggedy band are soldiers of our Legion too. Do not be fooled by their attire, nor their apparent indiscipline. They fight well, and bravely, excelling in the sort of place that our rank and file soldiers struggle even to march through.”

“My Lord,” said the captain, merely to show his understanding.

“Look there,” said the priest, “at their head. That is Guderain himself.”



A black-cloaked man led the advance, his face obscured by a peaked hat of leather. He wore a smile of an almost mocking nature, as if he could not know fear. Closest to him were two unusual companions. The first was a bloated fellow with a head tightly encased in a leather hood, carrying that simplest of weapon, a club, though this one made more deadly by the addition of a nail. The second was a halfling, shoeless like so many of his kind, and waving a little sword around as if about his exercises.

“The little warrior on the general’s right,” said Condlumar quietly to his man so that none in the advancing party could hear, “is one Heinz von Keppling. Beware his crossbow, for they say he has the eye of a young hawk and the aim of a sober elf.”

The strange army halted close…



… and the priest now spoke much more loudly.

“Fredrick, friend. I come to speak.”

The cloaked man laughed. “About time. You spent all of yesterday gossiping with northerners, goblins and even the dead. About time you shared your news with me.”

Condlumar looked slyly at the brigand general. “It seems you are rather well informed of my movements! I have a feeling you might already know what I have come to say.”

...

Once the two men had spoken for nigh upon half an hour, Condlumar rushed back to his palace. There he demanded his horse be saddled and his men prepare for another ride. Well before noon he was on his way again, and this time he rode much, much faster than the previous day, and stuck to the old trade road to the west. By nightfall, having stopped only twice and having left three riders behind with horses too tired to go further, the Trantian churchman and his party reached a small coastal village, where wooden docks had recently been constructed.

Several ships were moored there, and soldiers and sailors (as ever in this land in this time) milled all over, about their duties. These men were not brigands like Guderain’s company, but many did have the look of sea-pirates about them. After questioning a guard, Condlumar rode along the dock towards one of the largest ships. There, by a pile of crates and other supplies, were three armoured men sported plumes in the colours of Marienburg (white, orange and blue). They looked almost out of place amongst the sea dogs, yet at the same time they were armed in a very modern manner with pistols as well as swords, which was one habit they shared with the seamen.



Condlumar doffed his cap, something the knight by his side was surprised to see, considering a high priest would normally show little deference to any other man. Perhaps it was merely respect being shown, or maybe it was because he knew this man would serve other gods and so see his priestly office of little consequence?

“General Novogord Vivendi Van Aalst,” said Condlumar. “I see you have almost disembarked fully. You waste no time, and I intend not to keep you too long from your business. But we must talk.”

The Marienburger glanced to his right, then answered. “I see the bordellaux has been brought ashore. Come, your Grace, I shall have my men broach a barrel and we will drink of the best as we speak.”

His Highness Piero Condlumar, the New Prince of Trantio

Piero was trying not to fidget, but the golden crown sat uncomfortably upon his head, and one of the jewels, set too low for practicality, dug sharply into his skin. He had not slept a wink the previous night, his mind racing with the prospect of today’s coronation. Yet now the long ceremony was over and still his nerves had not left him. He knew why - next he would meet his father, the High Priest of Myrmida, for the necessary church’s blessing to complete his transformation into a royal prince.

His father: the real power in Trantio, not just Myrmidia’s representative in this realm; the employer of the Compagnia del Sole and thus de facto military ruler; chairman of the council of the Myrmidian Legion, and thus in league with an array of warriors either foreign, monstrous, dangerous or a combination of all three; a wizard of might who could conjure death in a hundred ways with mere spoken words and a gesture of his hands. His father - the man who had got the crown for him.

For Piero was a mere nipoti, whose office was a gift given him by his father, and who was now expected to play his part correctly, or suffer he knew not what consequences.

The Hall of Heroes sported the Prince of Trantio’s giant Royal Standard - a huge, decorated ‘T’ with the Myrmidian sun buried in its midst and a Royal Crown at its head. Piero had arrived with his polearm wielding palace guardsmen, his wife (and first cousin) Giulia, the mayor, his abbreviator and his younger brother Pilocomini. His father, as ever, had a military escort, his own men at arms, and an officer and standard bearer from the Compagnia.



It was the custom that Piero speak first. He had already begun reciting the words once, as soon as his father hove into view, but had stopped when he realised he ought to wait until the High Priest was close enough to hear him.

He started over. “High Priest of Myrmidia, protector of Trantio, well met! I, Piero Condlumar, hereby humbly ask for your blessing that I may … that I may …”

“Take on the mantle of Prince of Trantio, boy,” his father said. “Speak loud, speak clear, and for the gods' sake, remember your words!”

“Yes father,” said Perio, then cleared his throat. “That I may take the Prince’s mantle in Trantio.”

Gabriele Condlumar laughed. “Close enough, son! Now my part, eh? Provided you serve the state of Trantio, its nobility and people, bettering their lot and protecting what they have, by military skill and politicial cunning, I give you my blessing.”

“I will, father,” he said, his voice somehow revealing a sense of ‘If you help me’ too.

In his right hand Piero clutched the sceptre and in his left the orb. An ermine lined cloak fell to the ground from his neck. Every part of him looked to be a prince Except that is for his face. There, an almost childish expression could be found, his head bowed just a little before his father as his eyes looked pleadingly at him. Just the way a prince ought not to look.



The high priest seemed not to notice. “Now, let’s feast in the hall, and I can tell you everything you need to do. I’m glad you brought your abbreviator, for it is best he write it down - lest you forget.”

Thus begins the glorious rule of the new Prince of Trantio.

‘The gods save our prince!’

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Compagnia del Sol's first battle

Part One - Armies and Deployment

The High Priest Condlumar had given his first battle orders, sending the Compagnia del Sole to attack a force of Sea Elves who were encroaching upon Ebino, the town neighbouring his own realm of Trantio (to the north). The Condottiere General Giovanni Villeteschi led his men personally, which was what they all expected, and although he mustered a strong fighting force, he did leave enough soldiers behind to continue garrison duties.

Villeteschi took some of his best officers with him, including his right hand man, the Condotta Captain Frederico Matallesta, and the Compagnia’s standard-bearer Captain Niccolò Forteguerra. The latter was given orders to stay by the general’s side throughout the battle, for that way the soldiers would know where there general was at all times. The bulk of his force was made up of a massive cohort of pikemen and two large companies of crossbowmen, as well as the huge body of recently recruited longbowmen the general had yet to commit to battle. The Compagnia’s regiment of sturdy dwarven mercenaries added to the fighting power of the force, while its artillery train comprised of three mortars, a great cannon and a ribaudequin.

This was not all, however, for there were soldiers in this force other than the Compagnia’s mercenaries. The famously obstinate Captain Francesco Adentalo commanded a company of the ‘Dogs of War’ chapter of the Myrmidian Knights of Blazing Sun. These well-born gentlemen loyally served the High Priest Condlumar. A regiment of the city’s Men at Arms, well equipped professional soldiers who formed the small standing army, marched out too. These were to be commanded by Captain Matallesta in an attempt to ensure that they did exactly what Villeteschi desired (the captain had the uncanny knack of knowing just what his commander intended).

COMPAGNIA DEL SOL Mercenary Company List (T&G) 3482 pts

Characters = 844 pts
(I mistakenly thought that in 8th ed. it was 25% for characters, not for Lords & Heroes separately!)
Core = 1678 pts
Special = 595 pts
Rare = 365 pts

Lords

Condottiere General Giovanni Villeteschi 199 pts
Full plate, Sword of Bloodshed, Sacred Shield of Myrmidia. Command Skill = Tactician

Heroes
Condotta Captain Francesco Adentalo 132 pts
Warhorse, barding, lance, shield, Armour of Mystic Refraction. Skill = Hopelessly stubborn
Condotta Captain Frederico Matallesta 128 pts
Full plate, shield, Obsidian Amulet. Skill = Contempt
Condotta Captain Niccolò Forteguerra (Army Standard Bearer) 130 pts
Battle Standard, Cuirass of Perfect Safety. Skill = Precision drill
Battle Wizard Level 2 130 pts
School = Alchemy. Robe of Cathayan Silk & Dispell Scroll
Battle Wizard Level 2 125 pts
School = Sorcery. Graf Martin’s Finger-bone (loaned by Condlumar) & Ruby Ring of Ruin Total

Core
48 Tilean Condotta Pikemen 419 pts
Light armour, pike. Full command. Banner of Respite
Two companies of 18 Tilean Condotta Crossbowmen 369 pts
Light armor, crossbow, pavaises. Full command. Pavaise.
40 Condotta Marksmen (Bretonnian Longbows) 345 pts
Light armour, long-bow, full command
35 Men-at-arms 340 pts
Full plate, shield, halberd. Full command.
12 Tilean Border Horsemen 205pts
Warhorse, light crossbow, full command

Special
Great Cannon with one additional crewman 105 pts
Three Mortars each with one additional crewman 240 pts
25 Dwarf Mercenaries 250 pts
Heavy armour, shield full command

Rare
10 Knights of the Blazing Sun (‘Dogs of War’ chapter) 305 pts
Full plate, warhorse, shield, lance, barding. Full command
Ribaudequin (organ gun) 60 pts

The Field of Battle
(Game Note: We used the BRB terrain rules, replacing all results if necessary with a ‘Tilean’ equivalent. We decided woods would only be ‘mysterious’ on a roll of 5 or 6, and neither wood was. Also we decided woods blocked LoS - it just seemed sensible. Not sure it we'll continue assuming to in future games.)

The Sea Elves had made a camp for themselves in the form of a neatly crafted wooden stockade with a guard tower giving a good view of the land around. Nearby were the ruins of an ancient chapel and the abandoned hovel of a hermit who claimed to be a descendant of the chapel’s ancient priests and thus the rightful owner of the ruins.



Two copses of trees flanked the field of battle, and beyond the Compagnia del Sol’s right flank was an area of enclosed fields and vineyards - but Villeteschi had no intention of losing troops in them.

Deployment

The Sea Elves drew up in three main bodies of Lothern Seaguard, each one uniformed in robes of a different hue (white, green and blue). The only mounted elf amongst their ranks was the army standard bearer, whilst the rest of the army’s leaders were on foot in the front ranks of the Seaguard - two princes, an archmage and a mage.



Bolt throwers flanked the army, two in the camp and three upon the other side of the field, while a lone company of Swordmasters were concealed behind the trees near the camp. Two little bands of Shadow warriors slunk through the trees behind the chapel ruins, their arrows already nocked and ready to be loosed.



As Villeteschi surveyed them he noted that the three main bodies were arrayed ready for combat, and yet they had carried bows upon their backs, which they were already removing and stringing as if they had decided to use them after all. (Game Note, BurtX admitted he had deployed mistakenly in a combat formation, and was intending to reform them so that they could shoot - and receive mortar grenadoes - better!).

The condottiere general sent his mounted crossbows off to the far left to ensure that nothing crept unhindered around to threaten that flank of his force. He placed his ribaudequin there too to give a further surprise to any elves that tried that particular manoeuvre. His two battle wizards were ordered to stand with the pavise-protected crossbowmen, a company of which would flank his main force. On the left of his real fighting line were his dwarven mercenaries, a body of warriors he believed he could trust to protect the side of his massive pike unit.



Both Villeteschi and Forteguerra (carrying the army standard) took their place with the huge pike regiment, and immediately to their right stood Condlumar’s men at arms with Captain Matallesta commanding them. The noble Captain Adentalo and his chapter of brother-knights stood next in line.



Behind this solid centre the three mortars sat ready to lob their murderous missiles over onto the massed ranks of the enemy. The second company of crossbows stood to the right of the centre (another battle wizard amongst them) and finally out on the far right was a veritable horde of Longbowmen.

(Game note: I used my general’s ‘tactician’ skill to swap the crossbow and knights so that the knights wouldn’t have to gallop across the crossbowmen’s line of fire. I also changed the facing of the crossbowmen in the hoping that they wouldn’t have to move to gain a good number of targets.)

Thus were the two armies arrayed for battle, the Sea Elves brightly clothed in silken cloaks and fine damask surcoats, the Mercenaries in colourful linens and wools, slashed and patterned in many different ways.

The Compagnia del Sol's first battle

Part two: The Fight

Villeteschi now stood at the front of his regiment, peering across the field as the Elves began swiftly re-ordering their lines.



Meanwhile his light horse crossbowmen edged back behind the cover of the hovels crumbling walls in an attempt to avoid harm from the elven scouts’ bows.



The three large regiments of Sea Guard were indeed reforming their ranks and files, hoping thus to minimise the destruction that the mortar battery’s murderous grenadoes would do against them. (Game Note: ‘J’ was annoyed that he had deployed in such a manner, and now struggled to change the frontage the three due to the 1” between regiments rule!)



The white regiment did manage to change its frontage drastically, but the two others were too busy shifting over to allow this to sort themselves similarly. Being very disciplined soldiers, however, all were still ready to shoot their arrows upon the command. (Game Note: if they had been in range - bows, not longbows!) As the main battle line performed its drill manoeuvres, the shadow warriors on the right flank all moved to hide in the woods as the Swordmasters advanced to hide behind the same woods.

The elven mages now set about the business of conjuring magical harm on the foe (dice = 9:6) but a mercenary wizard’s dispel scroll prevented their Piercing Bolt while their Fireball failed to manifest in the physical world. The elves’ more worldly weapons, however, proved a little more effective, with four Knights of the Blazing Sun falling to the hail of Bolts hurled from either flank of the elven force. The brother knights refused to panic however, but instead steeled themselves for as quick an advance as they could manage. Every other arrow launched, including an array of magical arrows shot by the elven commanders and mages, failed to harm the foe. Villeteschi thought himself lucky, and thanked Myrmidia that the Sea Guard had not advanced to within range.

So it was that the knights made their desperate dash …



… whilst the three regiments of foot soldiers marched forwards almost in line (dwarf legs are a little shorter than a man’s!). The crossbow horsemen reformed themselves into two ranks to improve any volley they might loose. The Mercenary wizards’ magic proved as ineffective as the elves had just been (dice = 5:4), though the fact that the elves had an mysterious means to leech magical energy from the mercenaries had something to do with it.

Suddenly every warrior on the field of battle was almost deafened by the roar of the mercenary artillery barrage. One mortar, no doubt ill-maintained on the march here, tore itself to pieces, while another killed fourteen of the Sea Guard, while the third was a little off target and killed only four. The cannon targeted a bolt thrower very accurately but somehow failed entirely to harm it. The two elven crew were momentarily stunned by the passage of the large iron round-shot right between them. Although three more Sea Guard died from crossbow quarrels, their line still looked intact and threatening.

This is not to say that the elves were not worried about the power of the Compagnia del Sole’s artillery. Their army standard bearer left the green regiment to take a position to the rear of the line. On the right flank the elven shadow warriors now made their move, one unit heading into the ancient ruined temple, the other creeping up to its side. The Swordmasters made a more bold move, heading straight through the woods and out the other side (though halting just short of where the ribaudequin might aim at them).



Now the elven mages’ real power was revealed (dice 7:5) as Flames of the Phoenix was cast irresistibly on the Compagnia’s pike regiment, slaying twenty two of them. Powerful indeed, so much so that some of the magical forces got away from the archmage and killed eight elves standing next to him! The Bolt Throwers killed every knight, including Francesco their captain, while a hail of arrows and bolts, magical or mundane, killed three men at arms and ten more pikemen.

Thirty two pikemen had fallen!



This was a terrible blow to the Compagnia del Sole. Yet these men were veterans of several conflicts and made of stern stuff. The Pike reformed themselves to increase their fighting depth, while by their side the men at arms kept their guard and the dwarfs wheeled to face the advancing Swordmasters better.



Unwilling to malinger in cover any longer, the crossbow horsemen galloped around the hovel and prepared to let loose their quarrels.



Once again, faced with the magical mastery of the elves, the mercenary wizards could achieve nothing of consequence with their spells (dice = 10:7) But it was with missile fire that the mercenaries were hoping to further weaken the foe. Two shadow warriors in each little company fell to the ribaudequin blast and the mounted crossbows, but they would not flee. The crossbowmen on the left felled only one Swordmaster (their armour proving very effective) but the other crossbowmen and the massive archer horde managed to kill five blue Sea Guard between them. All this faded in comparison compared to the next mortar blast, which slew six green clothed elves and fourteen of the white regiment. The elven fighting line was looking much thinner, yet not one elf fled - nor showed any sign of discomfort, even though they were each and every one now spattered with the blood of their fallen comrades.



To an elf, the army from across the great sea decided to charge before receiving any more punishment from the enemy’s black powder. The two tiny companies of shadow warriors tried to reach the ribaudequin - one failing to close the gap, the other being blown to pieces by a countershot. The Compagnia’s left flank was looking decidedly bare of enemies …



The Swordmasters smashed into the dwarfs, while the green and blue sea guard, led by two Princes and a mage, charged the other two mercenary fighting foot regiments.



Behind this onslaught the mounted army standard bearer joined the white sea guard and ordered that they reform themselves into a better fighting formation, thus to await whatever enemy might break through the warriors ahead. The mages themselves looked to helping the warriors now battling the mercenaries (dice 6:4), gifting the green sea guard with the shield of Saphery and the green guard with the Flaming Sword of Rhuin.

As spear, pike, halberd and axe clashed, the bolt throwers looked for new targets and sent a flurry of deadly missiles ate the crossbow regiments sheltering behind pavaises, killing nine in total. Yet even when a magical bolt from the Archmage slew another two, the men of the Compagnia del Sole, however, refused to run away. The combats proved bloody as well - General Villeteschi himself was wounded and four pikemen fell as four of the enemy also were slain. The outnumbered elves fought on. Four men at arms died also, and five elves. When the men at arms’ champion was brutally slain in a challenge, his severed head bounced over the distraught men behind, the fight began to look like it was going the elves’ way - the men at arms perhaps beginning to falter. The dwarves fared much worse than the men, losing ten warriors and their champion to the dizzying sword skills of the foe whilst only bringing down three elves in return. Being dwarves, however, and still having fresh warriors in the rear rank to fight, then stood their ground.

The horse crossbow now began to ride between the ruined temple and the woods in an attempt to get to the enemy’s flanks, while one brave wizard broke from the ranks of the crossbowmen on the right and ran forwards hoping cast a hurtful spell on the Elven prince. He failed, although the other wizard did slay the last three shadow warriors with a fireball. Crossbow bolts and mortar grenadoes brought down eight more of the white sea guard, while twenty nine longbow arrows failed to put a halt to one of the bolt throwers deadly work.

The dwarves did not have a chance against the superior fighting skills of the Swordmasters. Eight more dwarves died and the last few fled away (the elves standing and letting them go). (Game Note: I warn all players out there who, like me before this game, did not understand - 19 dwarfs died taking only 3 swordmasters down with them. Do not mess with these guys in close combat!)



General Villeteschi and Captain Niccolò, along with the few remaining pikemen, continued the fight against the green Seaguard. Villeteschi’s magically imbued flurry of seven attacks failed to kill even one elf, and the good captain could not outfight the elven mage, though the men did slay one. Three pikemen fell and the fight went on. To the right of this struggle Captain Frederico Matellesta had fallen to the elf prince’s blows. Six men at arms suffered the same fate losing but three of their own. Somehow the men at arms stood their ground.

Villeteschi and his pikemen had no idea how lucky they were, for the Swordmasters were unable as yet to launch a charge on them (Note: out of charge arc - very lucky for me!) and so went after the fleeing elves, failing to catch them. Flames of the Phoenix now killed two men at arms but at a terrible cost to the elven mage - uncontrollable extra magical energy coalesced around his head and left him unable to think, never mind cast magic.

Two Bolt throwers hurt enough of the crossbowmen on the right to force them to flee, while another two killed a battle wizard putting two giant bolts right through him! Villeteschi failed to notice this, for he and his pikemen finally put the green Seaguard to flight, having slain four of them and their mage.



The leaderless men at arms could not do so well, killing four elves at a cost of six of their own number, but their the elves stood and the fight went on.

The Tilean mercenary light horsemen now made a foolhardy move (Don’t know why I did it, but sometimes you just go with the flow!) and galloped around the woods to form a line before the enemy camp - staring a pair of bolt throwers in the face and hurriedly preparing their bows, cursing that the elves were hiding behind a wooden barricade.



General Villeteschi now led his army standard bearer and his pike in a desperate charge against the white Seaguard. The fight was swift and deadly, with all three remaining pikemen cut down, the elven Mage injured and Villeteschi himself hurt in single combat with the Elven standard bearer. (Game note, only gaining 2 hits out of 7A!) The condottierri stood their ground.

The elven Swordmasters found themselves the attention of the Compagnia’s wizards. One used every bit of magic he could summon from the etheric winds to cast Burning Head at them - killing five. When the ribaudequin tore another three to pieces, the last two noble elven warriors could not take any more and fled away. The mortars managed to destroy a bolt thrower, but neither the archer horde nor the crossbowmen could hurt the others. (Game Note: Didn’t realise that you must destroy a unit to get any points for them in 8th ed. Otherwise would have finished the Swordmasters. But neither did my opponent, otherwise he would have aimed at my fleeing dwarfs and crossbowmen.)

The Men at Arms were once again outfought by the impossibly skilful elven Lords, and this time they fled from the two Princes when five more of their number fell. The two Lords were too proud to pursue. Looking around they saw enemies they considered much more worthy of their attention, and so charged into Captain Niccolò’s flank. Villeteschi and his battle standard bearer now realised they were very likely to die, and both hoped for a ‘good’ death, the sort fit for heroes.



The brace of bolt throwers in the camp now killed three of the crossbow riders and sent them fleeing away.



Elsewhere archers died to other bolts, but much more importantly, Captain Niccolò was slain by the elven lords (Note: not overkilled). General Villeteschi was so disheartened by this that he stumbled backwards, distraught to see his young comrade in arms fall. The elven Lords ran after him and knocked him senseless to the ground. (Note: killed in flight, not overkilled).

The crossbow riders now rallied right in front of the two impetuous Lords, who found themselves also staring down the barrel of the ribaudequin, as well as facing seventeen crossbow foot soldiers!



When the ribaudequin fired, however, the Lord’s magical protection proved very effective. They only slightly injured one of the Lords. The cannon sent a ball into the other Lord, but he was magically warded and somehow batted it aside! The crossbowmen stuck one bolt into the already injured lord - yet still he lived! The last two Swordmasters proved less invulnerable than their masters and died to a man when the recently rallied crossbowmen on the other side of the field shot at them. Finally, even though twenty six arrows rained down from the horde of archers (Note: after 29 + 29 shots already!) they could not destroy the elven bolt-thrower before them.

The crossbow riders fled away from the white Seaguard, running into the ruined temple to escape (with one being thrown from his horse in the proecess) …



… while the two elven Lords nearby ran to hide in the trees, both doubting their luck would hold against another massive volley of bolts and bullets!

Three giant bolts failed to quieten the ribaudequin, and another missed the cannon. Finally the archer horde let loose its last desperate volley on the bolt thrower ….



… and this time put an end to its bloody operations. (Note: 5 wounds, at last)

The ribaudequin blasted again and this time tore an elven Lord to pieces. The elven Lord general, however, even though crossbows, mortars and canon balls were all sent his way, somehow survived. (Note: He failed his ward against the cannon - yippee! Then I rolled a 1 for D6 wounds!)

(End of turn 6)

As the Elven Lord disappeared into the trees, the battle came to an end. The white Seaguard hastily made their way to the camp to defend its gate, but few other elves had survived. The Compagnia del Sole, on the other hand, and on the other side of the blood soaked field, still had a large battery of artillery, lots of crossbowmen, and several dwarves and men at arms to rally.



Result
We both thought the elves had won, until we totted up the VP using the 8th ed. rules that is. Elves 1793 VP, Mercenaries 1972. Victory to the Compagnia del Sole by 179 VP!

General Villeteschi was rescued from the field, as well as his standard bearer. Miraculously both were still breathing, though badly wounded. The Compagnia quickly reformed into a marching column and carried its commanders ‘home’ to Trantio.

Meanwhile, elsewhere another force contracted to serve Condlumar was busy, though not a force he would be particularly proud to associate himself with. here is the start of their first battle in the campaign ...

Note: This was my first ever game using 8th ed. rules. Both me and my opponent decided we'd do a big one (run as part of a mini-convention, or 'bash' as we like to call them, that I ran in the local village hall). Jump in at the deep end. I think we made a lot of rule mistakes, and the game went very slowly indeed due to us constantly looking up new rules, but it certainly looked good.
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How Guldar Fared against the True Might of Ogres
Battle Report - 3,500 Ogres versus Greenskin Raiders.

The mighty orc warlord Guldar Bestbasha had gathered all the strength he could find. This did not mean he had every goblin and orc who (supposedly) now served him, for his raiders had a habit of scattering far and wide in their foraging and looting, and so it took a lot of time to round them all up. There was no more time, so this lot would have to do. He reckoned it was enough.

3559 Greenskin Raiders list

Orc Warboss - Giant Boar, Hvy Armour, Intimidator, Sharp Choppas, Bartock’s Heaviest Armour, Da Def Blow Cleava = 309
Orc Great Shaman Lvl 3 = 180
Two Goblin Shamans, both Lvl 2 = 180
( Note: I misunderstood 8th ed composition rules and thought it was 25% for all characters, thus my pathetic showing of characters.)
CORE
50 Orcs with additional choppa, plus full command = 370
30 Orc Arrer Boyz with full command = 300
10 Orcs with xbows plus musician & champion = 100
50 Common Goblins with short bows plus full command = 195
30 Common Goblins (Hand, Light Armour) plus full command = 110
25 Hill Goblins with goblin pikes and full command = 170
25 Hill Goblins with additional hand weapons and full command = 170
16 Boar Boyz with full command = 308
10 Goblin Wolf Riders with Short Bows & Musician = 135
SPECIAL
9 Ogres, light armour, extra hand, Rangers’ Standard (Strider), full command = 412
2 Spear Chukkas = 70
3 Boar Chariots = 240 (Think I left one in the box! Can’t see it in the pictures!)
4 Leadbelchers with Bellower = 225
RARE
1 Hill Goblin Cannon = 85

Happy to be advised by his somewhat ad-hoc council of war (something that many a greenskin warlord would consider a sign of weakness) Guldar decided to make a bold move and advance into the barren land before him. His scouts had informed him that an army of Ogres was marching through it, and Derkid the Sneakster had seen Rhinox’s amongst them. Everyone knew, the wily goblin had announced, that Rhinox furs were worth a fortune - the sort of thing the Tileans of Trantio would pay vast sums of gold for. That was enough for Guldar, for it would mean pay on top of pay. Besides, he wanted to see what his massive mob could do. He had Ogres of his own amongst the rank and file of his army, and they did not seem so bad to him. Why then should he be afraid of any Ogres?

The field of battle was to be just to the north of a little dusty settlement, entirely abandoned by whatever Tileans had dwelt there. The dry earth had been heaped into several mound-like hills, and a large patch of rocks rivalled some ancient ruins to the west. A desolate enough place, but one which would provide a good camp should the greenskins prove victorious.



Guldar began bawling his orders, bullying his boys into shape. The wolf-riders were sent out onto the far right flank where they were supposed to keep an eye out for any trickery. Some of his own goblins had said that there were little greenskins with the foe, and everyone knew that such goblins must be tricky ones, for they would surely have been eaten already if they were not.

The rest of his forces he arrayed in one huge vanguard of fighting regiments, with goblins in reserve and his massive regiment of orc archers on one of the hills behind to give them a good view of the filed over the main line’s heads. His artillery he mounted on a hill on the left, so that they too could join in the archers’ fun. He himself would lead the Boar Riders, mounted on his giant boar, while his shamans were sent to join various bow regiments where they might have plenty of time to rain Gork and Mork’s magical anger on the enemy.



His main strength, the horde of boyz and the ogres, he commanded to march side by side, and although he was tempted to add to their punching power with his Boars, he instead decided that he and his riders would form a hammer head swinging at the enemy’s flank.



The best of his missile troops, those with the sort of bolts and bullets that could penetrate deep into the ogre’s leathery flesh, he sent to the right: orcen crossbows and ogre leadbelchers. Derkid the Sneakster was behind these with his bodyguard. Some might think this was an act of cowardice, but Derkid had said he would thus be ready to strike at any foe that somehow broke through the line. Always a sneaky one, thought the warlord, he was quietly glad the cunning goblin served him.



The enemy force proved to be a large one. Three regiments of bulls and ironguts flanked the main, terrifying, focus of their power – three huge, shaggy-haired monstrosities with horns longer than an orc is tall. These were the famous and feared Bull Rhinoxes. Looking at them, Guldar almost wondered whether he had bitten off more than he could chew. But it was too late to back away now for the fight was well and truly on, and the cautious thought was lost amongst the overwhelming surge of battle lust that gripped him.



Two less vicious monsters were shuffling up on the enemy’s left – a pair of scraplaunchers – while the main line also included a pair of hunters. Altogether a tough proposition for Guldar’s horde. Yet, maybe, if the crossbows and machines played their parts well enough, and the sky could be made to rain arrows from the goblin and orc bows, and if Gork and Mork smiled upon his enterprise, just maybe the odds would have been evened a bit by the time the forces closed upon each other.

Maybe.

------------------------

Battle Report to be posted tomorrow. I think I may have been posting too much in my individual posts, and too much can put people off. Should I be doing more 'bite sized' chunks? (This is assuming that folk are still following these? I have no idea.)

Your threads continue to be among my favorite.

I like when you post a complete story entry or battle report. Not at all put off by length over here.

Question - to what extent are your army selection or composition choices driven by narrative as opposed to these choices being made and then incorporating them into your campaign narratives?

Seems a bit of both.

And, for those of us who aren't well-versed in WFB, what army book do you use?

Orjetax":1xk5duzz said:

Question - to what extent are your army selection or composition choices driven by narrative as opposed to these choices being made and then incorporating them into your campaign narratives? Seems a bit of both.

Click to expand...

It is a bit of both, though a lot of it is merely what seems fun to use, either what seems to fit the game world/army or what figures are newest or old favourites. When I get people to play against me using my own figures, I tend to allow them to choose which army to command, which means there's no point in me trying to make a killer list. When I play against someone else's army, I am still more thinking about what will look best in the report.

Orjetax":1xk5duzz said:

And, for those of us who aren't well-versed in WFB, what army book do you use?

Click to expand...

Sometimes I use the standard books, sometimes (a lot of the time) I use the army lists that are developed by the GMs who run the campaigns. Those lists are made to suit the campaign world, and are imo some of the best fun to use. If I am playing a stranger I tell them where the list is from so they don't think I am just making up my own rules. I have yet to see a campaign list that was obviously 'broken' or overpowered. For this game, using this list, for example, I kit-bashed up and painted the unit of crossbow orcs - they were listed in the options and I thought they would be a great idea.

And as you hunger for more, will put the whole of this battle report here now ...
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How Guldar Fared against the True Might of Ogres, Part 2, The Battle (3,500 Ogres versus 'Greenskin Raiders'.)

Suddenly the Ogres began to move forwards at a pace, their ironguts and bulls very neatly keeping in line with the bull rhinox’s, and amongst this line came a Tyrant, a Slaughtermaster, a Bruiser carrying the army standard and a butcher.



One of the hunters made his way onto a flat topped building, while the other stayed behind the ruined temple. A wave of Ogrish magic emanated outward, but it dissipated without doing much harm at all. The scrap launchers on the far left proved chaotic in their ways, for one failed to fire at all while the other ran right into its side, killing itself and wounding the first. At least the gnoblars creeping up on the rear managed to wound a chariot, as did the hunter with his spear.

The other regiment of bulls marched as best they could down the little alley formed by two of the buildings and began to wheel out of the end, watched by the hunter on the roof by their side.



Surprisingly it was one of the regiments of goblins, the pike armed bunch, that allowed bloodlust to send them out of the line towards the foe. As they had thus got in the way of the Boar Riders, they decided it would be best if they carried on with their impetuous advance and so charged the ironguts before them!



Behind the line the wolf riders, who were also suddenly keen to join the fray (animosity turned them around!) also launched a charge – at the gnoblars annoying the chariot from behind.



Guldar led his boars forwards, hoping to launch a deadly charge at the bulls emerging from the settlement, while the chariot tried to get around the rear of the riders so that it too could find a foe to face.



On the right, the Leadbelchers moved as far as they could, but the orcen crossbows (with the orc shaman amongst them) were too busy squabbling about what they should do next to keep apace.



The greenskins’ magic proved less than impressive, as they only managed to cast ‘Gork’ll fix it’ on the ironguts. If that was bad, then the hoped for arrow storm proved equally so. The cannon, crewed by incompetents, misfired, while 33 short bows and 23 bows joined the bolt throwers to only wound the Rhinox’s slightly (a measly 3 wounds caused in total)

The pike goblins failed even to fell one ogre (though two iron tips did at least draw blood) …



…but the ironguts unleashed a hellish torrent of blows and stomps to squash or smash eleven goblins. Aghast at the destruction so easily done to them, the goblins fled. No-one expected them to do anything else. So much for their unusual impetuosity.



The goblin wolf riders did not shed much blood when they charged into the pesky gnoblars behind the lines, but they broke them nevertheless and ran them down with red-spattered glee. As they did so, on the far side of the field, two ravenous monsters also with blood on their mind, came loping onto the field. The gorgers had arrived!



Yet it was not towards the massed ranks that these hungry creatures turned their attention – instead the scattering of goblins crewing the machines on the hill caught their eye! If the goblins in question had been paying attention they might have been afraid, but they were too busy trying to work out what had gone wrong with the cannon – one of them even peering down the barrel.



Now came the moment where everything began to go wrong for Guldar’s army. He had relied on him and his boar riders delivering a charge, and given no thought to the fact that the Ogres might charge him before he was ready. (Game Note: I really hadn’t got my head around the new charging rules in this my first 8th ed game.) It was not even the bulls he had been heading for, but the ironguts, with a butcher amongst them and an army standard bearer.



Oomph! This hurt, and badly: ten boars were brought down by a combination of the impact, the great weapons and a mash of stomping feet! Guldar did wound the Bruiser, but his boys failed even to notice his small personal success. They broke and ran, taking Guldar with them. The ironguts pursued and smashed into the chariot behind, while Guldar and his few surviving riders escaped.



Perhaps even more dramatically (in fact, what am I saying – definitely more dramatically) the Rhinox Riders now thundered into the horde of orc boys and the centre of Guldar’s line. The bulls attempted to join this charge but they could not keep pace and were left behind. Still, they were not needed. The beasts’ impact alone killed eight orcs, their horns and riders’ weapons hacked another ten to death, and their stomping feet killed six more. The orcs did manage to inflict enough hurt to finish one of the Rhinox’s off, but at such a cost. Two dozen of Guldar’s best were dead. (But, thankfully, still steadfast.)



The Bulls bursting from the alley tried to reach the fleeing goblins and failed, sending them running right through the massive body of bow-armed gobos, while what little magic and missiles the ogres could bring to bear made no noticeable impact on the greenskin force. Not that it was necessary, for their mighty charges were effective enough.

The raiders were not quite ready to give up the fight yet, and so it was that the ogre mercenaries launched their own charge into the Rhinoxes’ flank in an effort to save the orcs and maybe the day!



Their impact alone managed to bring down one of the Rhinoxes, and although the last one (its fighting ability hindered by a greenskin magical curse, Gork’ll fix it) managed to kill three orcs, the end result was that the Rhinox turned and fled away, to be killed in the pursuit by the orcs. The Ogres stood their ground and reformed, expecting a charge from the foe any moment.

The chariot on the right was not so lucky for it failed to reach the bulls in the centre …



… but Guldar did at least rally his boar riders and reformed them to face the gorgers.



The ironguts easily destroyed the chariot they had caught by surprise, and ran on to hit the bolt thrower crew. Thirty seven short bows now managed only one wound against the bulls emerging from the alley, while four leadbelchers wounded both themselves and the Bulls with the enemy Tyrant. They were not wrong – the Tyrant led his bodyguard right into them …



… and bloody mayhem ensued. Many a mercenary ogre dies, and yet, emboldened for some unknown reason, they stood up to the punishment and fought on (I scored snake eyes on the break test!).

The bulls who had emerged from the settlement now charged the remnants of the orc boyz, who decided that surviving the battle was a better option than being butchered right there and then – and so fled voluntarily away. The sight of this did more than unnerve the goblin horde nearby – it sent them running too!



When the scrap launcher charged the or boar chariot on the right and destroyed it, the leadbelchers decided they too had seen enough of this battle and ran away.



Leadblechers, orcs, goblins – a large portion of Guldar’s army was now in flight, and to be honest had no intention of rallying and returning to the fray.

(Game Note: This was the end of turn three and although the other mini-bashers had played full games, we had run out of time. I blame my enemy general for dithering about with the dice …

Only joking, that’s my boy visiting to see what we were up to. The truth is we were delayed by trying to apply 8th ed rules for the first time ever.)

The gorgers now began clawing and stomping at the boar riders and Guldar, but found themselves equally matched. (But being unbreakable, the gorgers weren’t going anywhere)



End of Game
Time ran out at the end of turn 3! I concede a win to the Ogres

Story continued:

Guldar now saw his chance, and considering the rest of his army was in flight (and still surprisingly intact) he took it. Ordering his riders to ‘Get stuck in!’ he treacherously and suddenly broke away from the fight and galloped hard away, leaving his dumbfounded guards to their fate.

It was without doubt a defeat for Guldar’s forces, but much of his army was still alive, and he knew he could rally them to him a few miles away and still have command of a sizeable force – especially considering he had reinforcements scattered all around that had not come to this particular field of battle.

Leagues away and a day or so later, the ‘power behind Guldar’s throne’, his employer and cunningly guiding hand, the high priest Gabriele Condlumar was pleased to hear the news of the battle. The mighty heart of the Ogre force had been destroyed, the three huge Rhinoxes. Now, it seemed to him, he could risk employing his other forces against these Ogres.

Game Note: I know the battle story ended abruptly, perhaps disappointedly so for the reader - but I am operating here more like a journalist or historian than a fiction writer, so I try to stick to the actual events of the real game as closely as possible. Still, the game was fun as was writing it up.

Well painted armies.

And I continue to applaud your having rolling the narrative along with the results.

As Orjetax likes a full battle report, I'll post this one also as one big post rather than in two parts as in my original postings.

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Battle for the Bones of della Scara
(Bat Rep, 2000 pts, Watchtower scenario, Compagnia del Sole vs Ogres)

For the background to this battle, please see the first post in this thread (viewtopic.php?f=15&t=1633) where it states the following ...

[High Priest Gabriele Condlumar] has in his possession a finger bone of Castriccio della Scara, an ancient Tilean hero who according to legend faced an army of shimmering, magical demons and personally struck down fifty before perishing himself. This can provide added protection in the form of increasing his ability to dispel the enemy’s magic. He hopes (soon) to retrieve the rest of della Scara’s corpse and inter it in the temple to provide what he believes will be a holy blessing for Trantio.

Click to expand...

For an interesting tavern story on the theme of Condottieri patron saints please see the second post in this thread.

I was hoping the campaign games-masters/administrators were also faithful followers of Myrmidia. If so, and if Condlumar gets the bones, maybe it would add some magical protection to the city of Trantio? One can but try!

Now, the battle:

The Battle for Castriccio della Scara's Bones

High Priest Gabriele Condlumar’s plan had worked so far. He knew the enemy Ogres could reach the tower of Serminara in the eastern Trantine Hills before his own force, and he knew they were too strong for him to fight. So he sent Guldar at them, with instructions to the goblin Derkid to make sure the warlord saw it through. Although the ‘mighty’ orc warlord had been driven from the field, he had at least mauled the ogre’s army. Crucially, the huge, lumbering Rhinoxes had been cut down.

(Note: See the earlier post above for the battle report. Killing the Rhinoxes was not actually an objective of the previous 3,500 point game - which I lost - but fluff wise it links that game with this one, and makes me feel like I achieved something in that game!!)

So now, even with the Ogres occupying the area around the resting place of the saint Castriccio della Scara’s bones, Condlumar knew he had every chance of snatching them for himself.

No, he mentally corrected himself, not for me - for Trantio. I do this for Trantio. After all, that was what his announcement to the gathered noble Lords and merchants of the city had claimed: I, Gabriele Condlumar, do give this promise to all of you - that I will personally lead a force to bring della Scara’s saintly relics to the city, that he may watch over us and guard us. He served Myrmidia better than all the generals of his time, and he must know that we too honour her greatly. This is why I will lead the force, for as High Priest to Myrmidia I have no doubt that his benevolent spirit will take no offence at my removing of his physical remains.

In truth even these words were a bending of the truth. Condlumar had never intended to lead the force, but with General Giovanni Villeteschi badly wounded, as well as several more of the Compagnia del Sole’s officers, the high priest now realised he would have to lead the force personally simply to ensure that the job was done. And a part of him was elated to be in the field again - he was a priest of Myrmidia, with a love of war that had engulfed his youth. This was a chance to revisit that life.

The force he led was not massive, for he had not time enough to assemble anything more. Nor was it made for speed - with no mounted soldiers amongst them. But this lack of horse was deliberate. He wanted a force that could hold its ground against the Ogres while he and his servants took the remains, and that sort of job was best done by large regiments of solid foot soldiers. He took two such bodies - his own men at arms and one of the Compagnia’s renowned pike regiments. The latter would have the Compagnia’s standard bearer Niccolò Forteguerra with them. He had recovered from his wounds remarkably quickly, and would inspire the mercenaries to fight calmly and bravely.

Army List: Merc’ Co’ at 1995 pts

CHARACTERS
High Battle Priest Gabriele Condlumar. Lvl 3 Wizard Lord - 230 pts
School of magic = Theurgy. Graf Martin’s Finger-bone; Confounding Wand
Captain Giacomo Pigitliano - 101 pts
Full plate, Sword of Battle, Enchanted Shield. Defense in depth
Condotta Captain Niccolò Forteguerra, Army Standard Bearer - 130 pts
Battle Standard; Cuirass of Perfect Safety. Precision drill
Battle Wizard (Level 2) - 140 pts
School of Magic = Alchemy. Robe of Cathayan Silk. Dispell Scroll
CORE
Tilean Condotta Pikemen - 340 pts
35. Heavy armour, pike. Full command. Banner of Respite
2 companies of Tilean Condotta Crossbowmen - 374 pts
2 x 18. Light armor, crossbow, pavaises. Full command.
Men-at-arms - 340 pts
35. Full plate, shield, halberd. Full command.
SPECIAL
2 Great Cannons - 200 pts
Dwarf Sea Rangers - 140 pts
10. Brace of pistols.


Deployment:
With only one hill overlooking the tower-home of the saintly relics, then that was the obvious place to site his cannons. No mortars this time, however, for Condlumar wanted the sort of pieces that could punch fatal holes through Ogre flesh and bone, not splinters of grenadoes that might draw a speck of blood here and there from the thick skinned giant-men.

His two foot regiments he stood side by side, flanked on their right by a pavaise carrying crossbow company and on their left by some Dwarven sea rangers. The second crossbow company formed up in the rear, ready to step up at take the place of the fighting foot when they advanced.



His plan was simple (which he always believed was best). He would attack the tower with one regiment of foot soldiers, while the other guarded one flank, and the two crossbow companies and the artillery sent withering volleys to protect the other flank. The sea rangers were there just to buy time if there proved to be any surprises from the left.

The Ogres had already occupied the tower with a band of Ironguts. The rest of their force were arrayed behind, the Tyrant and his army standard bearing bruiser leading a body of bulls on the right, a butcher commanding another bunch in the centre, and five (no less!) veteran and battle hardened Maneaters moved up through the field on the left.



Condlumar was under no illusions, and knew full well that their ‘battle hardened’ nature, on top of their entirely natural strength and brutality, made such mercenary ogres a very dangerous foe indeed. He thanked Myrmidia that his artillery and crossbows might play at them.

One might suppose that Condlumar would march with his own men at arms, but not so - he stood in the front rank of the Compagnia’s pikes by Forteguerra’s side. If his own men would protect him out of loyalty and duty, these men would fight equally hard to do so out of their want of pay. His hired servant, the wizard Leone de Montlu, was ordered to stand with the crossbows and do what he could to aid their efforts to fell the foe before contact was made.



Knowing he must gain and keep the initiative, Condlumar ordered his men at arms to attack the building immediately, which they did. (Note: In the Watchtower scenario, the player not garrisoning the tower gets to go first.) While they assaulted the building, he marched the pike up to their side, sticking to his plan to protect their left flank. The dwarf mercenaries jogged along side too, while the crossbowmen behind moved to join the others and add extra power to the killing field.



A fireball felled a Bull, as did the crossbowmen; then another fell to a cannon ball. The bulls in the enemy’s centre were thus halved in strength. A good start for the men and mercenaries of Trantio. But then the momentum was suddenly stalled as the men at arms were mauled badly enough to force them to fall back from the tower.

Now on came the Ogres:



The badly battered bulls now thought to charge the men at arms’ flank, but failed to reach because the Trantian soldiers fled (none of them were willing to receive an Ogre charge in their side!). The men at arms’ flight took them right through the crossbowmen, but the mercenary’s refused to be shaken by the rather sensible (if hasty) withdrawal of the Trantians.



The maneaters at the bulls side moved over the outer fence of the field and continued their steady advance, while the bulls on the other side of the field, with the bruiser, chose to occupy the building near the tower, but the Tyrant joined his ironguts in the tower itself. The ogres’ magic proved generally ineffective, though the Trickster’s shard did wound the wizard Leone. Four crossbowmen fell (some to the ogres’ magic, some to the maneaters’ handgun blasts).

As the pikemen turned to prepare for the fight, the men at arms rallied behind the crossbow. They would not leave their master to fight without them. (Note: I should, I think, have charged the dwarfs.)



The two crossbow companies now sent a volley each at the advancing Maneaters and managed to kill one. The cannons, however, now chose to send their shot into the tower itself to see if they might shake up the Ironguts a little. (Note: Here we both discovered how vulnerable to multi-wound artillery Ogres are when inside a building!) Although the Tyrants magical armour saved him, three ironguts and their champion all died! Only the Tyrant was left alive. (Note: The picture above saying their were 6 Ironguts is wrong - there must have been 4, but hard to recall when they are not on view in the photo!)

No surprise, then, that the Bulls and the Tyrant now all left their buildings. They had thought that being inside would be safe, they now saw that the buildings were a place of carnage if cannon balls tore through them. Suddenly the Ogres were beginning to feel hard pressed - the Trantian’s artillery was proving very effective. They now used magic to attempt to balance the whole situation, killing a dwarf with a fireball …



… then five more using bonecruncher. He did not let his men see, but Condlumar was please by this - he had hoped the little band of dwarfs would provide a good distraction.

Niccolò Forteguerra now ordered the Pike to reform, his precise drill instructions and previous training proving fruitful, for the regiment managed to do as well as advance to close the gap between the now abandoned buildings.



The could have charged the Tyrant but doing so would have exposed their flank to the Bulls and the Bruiser and they knew full well that such carelessness would ruin the effectiveness of their phalanx and thus prove their ruin. Bringing their pikes down they presented a very dangerous proposition for the Ogres, for their flanks were now completely guarded by the buildings, while the serried rows of razor sharp tips were able to deliver horribly bloody consequences to any monstrous foot soldiers foolish enough to hurl themselves into them.



Condlumar could not hide it this time - he was laughing. Perhaps it sounded a touch maniacal to the men around him, but he cared not. This was battle! This was war as he remembered it! These foolish ogres had no chance against his tactical cunning and the soldiers of Mymidia who served him. His confidence spurred him to concentrate his magical efforts a little better - he used Shem’s Burning Gaze to kill another ogre bull and wound the Butcher, while he settled Pha’s Protection reassuringly on the wizard Leone and the unit of crossbows. Crossbow quarrels now spat out to bloody the butcher and slay yet another bull. Then a cannon ball finished the Butcher off, leaving one lone bull in the centre of the field, reeling from the severity of the enemy’s magic and missiles.

The ogres were at a loss as to what to do, and the tyrant now joined the surviving regiment of bulls and his Bruiser with the army standard as they all ran to shelter in the timbered house near the tower. The Maneaters were not so hesitant - they had seen such as this, and much worse, before. They charged the crossbow …



… receiving only one quarrel sting on the way in. Their work was quick and brutal, and within moments (with the loss of only one of their own number) the entire regiment of crossbowmen were cut to pieces and ground into the dirt. They growled and snarled like beasts as they went about their work, then calmly reformed so that they might take on the cannons next - even though they were now staring the guns’ muzzles right in the face!



Condlumar could not fail to see this was his chance - he ordered his men to abandon their pikes and occupy the tower. Niccolo and Giacomo too. (Note: We knew that according to T&G rules pike could not occupy buildings, but thought it perfectly fair that if they threw their weapons down they could do so. After all, these men are not idiots, and do have hand weapons too. Both players were happy with the thought that the pikes were not - at least in the game world - glued to the soldiers’ hands! We would not allow them to take them up again in the battle)

Meanwhile Condlumar’s men at arms advanced once more close to the foe and now the high priest chose to join them.



The surviving crossbow regiment reformed so that it might be ready to shoot upon the maneaters. Condlumar was busy, however, conjuring injury right there and then, Shem’s Burning Gaze killing two of the bulls cowering in the building (where they thought the cannons could not see them because of the Tower), and Banishment felling one more and wounding another. The bruiser and tyrant somehow survived this stinging blast without a scratch. Even they were not surer how they had done so.

Condlumar’s laughing had doubled in intensity. He felt like a god of war, his men unbeatable, his magic unstoppable. Then it all went wrong, for his concentration slipped even as the Banishment spell came into being, and he miscast. Broiling magical energy flamed through him and outwards, burning six of his own loyal guards and injuring the high priest himself.

He stopped laughing.

The cannons boomed, but killed only one of the Maneaters closing in on them. Thus it was that the well-travelled and battle scarred veterans of between 5 and 12 wars now charged the helpless cannon crewmen. (I think you can guess the result, considering what was done to the crossbowmen!)



The last surviving bull, a champion, from the unit the Butcher had commanded until his death, now charged the Tower. Giacomo bravely challenged him, barring the doorway. Both warriors suffered injury, but the ogre could not force his way in and was pushed back.

The bruiser now led bulls out of the house, for he did not want to receive any more magical harm, and the tyrant rejoined them. When Condlumar saw this, he reckoned his Men at Arms could deal with them on their own, and so he ran into the Tower and began organising the soldiers inside to search for della Scara’s bones. The men at arms hefted their halberds, advanced to the spot previously occupied by the pikemen, and prepared for what was sure to come.



The crossbows felled another maneater, while Condlumar’s hastily cast banishment again wounded the bulls. Winding as quickly as they could (and being veterans they were indeed fast) they loosed another volley as the maneaters began a charge down the hill towards them. Another maneater tumbled to the ground and last found his steps faltering as he realised he could not reach the foe. A stream of cursing followed in his own tongue - mostly one word repeated over and over.

The Tyrant now led his bulls and bruiser at the men at arms, slaying the champion and eight more Trantians, with the loss of only one bull. But the men at arms did not think themselves beaten, and stood their ground defiantly. The lone champion bull upon the other side of the tower again took his chances against Giacomo. The result? Let’s just say that Giacomo is now known in Trantio as the ‘ogre killer’.

It was now that a delighted shriek was heard from the crypt beneath the tower. Condlumar had found his bones!

Game over, end of turn 5.

Game Note: We always knew we couldn’t hope to finish all the turns, and simply agreed it would end when the club closed. So the club closed and I got’s me bones! Not sure how the ogres could have gained a victory even with a couple more turns. The maneater was gonna get another volley and another countershot. And Giacomo and Forteguerra could maybe hold the door against whatever the Ogres sent in, probably, perhaps. Magic and cannons could continue to hurt the ogres too.

I like a complete report rather better than a cliff hanger, after all!

Always enjoy these. I've now set an eBay saved search in an effort to slowly accrue empire-style ogres.

Oh dear.

Don't say 'Oh dear'. It is a good thing. Not only that, you've made a great choice of project.

Next part ...
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The Temple of the Bones

Work had begun even before Condlumar and the Compagnia del Sole returned from battle. The High Priest had promised to retrieve the bones of Castriccio Della Scara, and the nobles and merchants of the city believed he would. He had to, for without such spiritual protection, some holy luck, Trantio was surely very soon to be surrounded by unstoppable foes. The Golden Company were approaching from the south, even now close to Pavona; and the soldiers of the Cerulean League had already swarmed into Commercio and Ebino. Every denizen of Trantio felt hard pressed, gloomy. Every night was restless.

Little did the people know but even His Grace Gabriele Condlumar suffered disturbed nights. The words in Viscount Armand De La Croix’s letter circled his mind constantly, and in dreams they stabbed into him with their terrifying announcement:

“No surrender, no hope of rescue, our allies will rain hellfire from the skies about your homes and we will march into Trantio, where I will skewer that pathetic pig son of yours on Le Teuer and burn your temple to the ground. You were a fool to bait me. I never forget stupid old goats like you. Know that my wrath, and that of the Golden Company, will fall upon you like wolves on sheep.”

Click to expand...

It was these nightmares that drove his desire for the bones, and that encouraged him to lead the force sent to retrieve them himself. Furthermore, it came as a kind of relief to many that as a consequence some work had to be begun: the holy relics of Saint Castriccio must be house appropriately in a temple of worthy proportions and satisfactory richness.

Here, only one day after High Priest Condlumar’s departure to capture the bones, we see the labourers busy upon the scaffolding, amongst the already growing foundations of the temple. It is evening and yet they labour on, for this is a holy task, and meant for the city’s defence, for the safety of the people within, great and small.



Several foundation stones had been removed from ancient castles, legendary places where defiant defenders had withstood a hundred sieges. Such stones would surely provide a firm foundation in more ways than one.

But you can probably see something has caught the workers’ eyes. They have all turned from their labours and now gaze at an approaching crowd. What they saw was odd. At first it did not occur to all of them what was unusual about the approaching band. Many were armed - not at all surprising in this time of war. They sported clothes of many different colours - again entirely normal for the populace of Trantio, for such had long been the fashion. Then even the slowest witted and the most tired amongst the workmen realised what it was - they were all women!



At the fore was a priestess of Myrmidia, garbed in Vermillion robes (unlike the green which Condlumar most often wore). She came foreward as if marching. The women were on the whole young, lithe and strong of limb. They bore blades, some having already drawn them as if they meant to fight now. But that was not their purpose - they had drawn their swords in readiness for an oath. It was the priestess in red who spoke, addressing them in a loud and clear voice which the labourers listened to also:

“Women of Trantio, warriors and acolytes of Myrmidia, look now at this. Here before you lies the beginnings of a holy temple, in which the ancient remains of Saint Castriccio will soon lie. You all know how this saint served Myrmidia. You know how he fought cleverly, and bravely, against monstrous foes. The tales are many, and they are true. But I have another tale to tell of Castriccio Della Scara. He was once tasked with the defence of a town, and such was his discipline that when the enemy proved to be vastly superior in numbers, he did not flee, nor surrender, but calmly continued his efforts to prepare the defences. At night, however, he was wise enough to pray to Myrmidia, and in those prayers he asked for guidance. And the goddess answered him, for he was blessed, and she spoke these words:

‘Castriccio, you must look to the faithful to aid you in this fight.’

But the general did not understand, and he tumbled through his dream unable to find solid purchase. Then he asked, ‘Holy mother, heavenly generalissima, I know not who you mean. Every man able to bear arms in the town serves me. Who else can I turn to?’

The goddess did not answer him with words, but appeared before him. She was beautiful, and fierce. Her eyes flashed with fire, and in her right hand she carried a blade so bright that it seemed to burn the general. Then she tore away her breast plate, and revealed unto Castriccio her bosom. The general looked (and looked) and then understood. The goddess smiled, and after some more of the dream passed (!), Castriccio awoke with a start. He knew what he must do. By the end of that day, every woman able to carry a spear and shield, able to thrust with a blade, was made a soldier. A regiment the like of which had not been seen since the days before ancient Remas ruled the known world. All the faithful in the town now stood side-by-side, armed and armoured, and ready to fight.”

The priestess paused, sweeping her head to look at the gathered throng. Then she turned and raised her hand. When she spoke, her words came in short bursts, and each time were followed by the crowd repeating the words in unison:

“We the faithful followers of Myrmidia…” - “We the faithful followers of Myrmidia…”

“Do hereby swear to the goddess …” - “Do hereby swear to the goddess …”

“That we shall fight to the last in the defence of Trantio…" - Etc, etc.

Thus that evening the 'Fighting Faithful Women' of Trantio came into being.

Guldar’s Revenge?
1500 Illustrated Battle Report, Battle for the Pass Scenario
(Ogres vs. T&G GreenSkin Raiders)

A man might not believe it, but in truth Guldar had forgotten his defeat against the Ogres only two days later. He fled from the field, his army running after him, and only halted when he met with more of his warriors about three miles away. These he ordered to form a line, while he ‘collected’ those who had survived the defeat and the flight. This was done by nightfall, and the Ogres never came on. They must have been after something, or someone, else.

The next day he moved away, and the next he was already looking for where to fight next. As far as his bosses were concerned, he had dismissed the whole affair as “’aving a go!” and now he was ready to ‘Get ‘em properly”.

Two weeks later his employer sent gold and orders. The gold was an advance payment and Guldar intended to get he rest. Leaving several of his regiments to guard his camp (part of his orders), he moved a select force towards a valley in the hills to the south.

1500 Greenskin Raiders list

CHARACTERS
Orc Warboss Guldar (Intimidator, Sharp Choppas), Giant Boar, Bartuck’s Heaviest Armour, Ogre Blade, shield = 308
Orc Big Boss, with Battle Standard
Banner of Mork, Light Armour = 107
Goblin Shaman
Lvl 2, Toof Amulet = 115
CORE
Orc Boyz 30 with additional choppa plus full command = 235
Bolter Boyz 10 Orcs with xbows plus musician & champion = 110
Hill Goblin Pikes 25 with goblin pikes and full command = 170
Orc Boar Boyz 13 with full command = 254
Goblin Wolf Riders 10 with Short Bows & Musician (Fast Cavalry) = 135
SPECIAL
2 Spear Chukkas = 70

He found more Ogres in the valley. What he didn’t know was that these were not the Ogres he had faced before, but another (smaller) band. Those he had previously fought were even now being defeated by Condlumar and the Compagnia del Sole. Still, this lot were an advancing foe, and as Derkid the Sneakster was quick to remind him, they were to be paid for any enemy force they kept away from Trantio.

Now Guldar liked pay and he really liked fighting, so you can probably guess what happened next. I’m here to tell you the details.

Guldar arrayed his force with his orcs in the centre - his mob of boys on the right, his own boar riders in the centre, and the orcs with crossbows on the left.



His spear chukkas he sent to set up on the heights to the left, with his Wolf riders ready nearby to attempt to distract any foe who attempted to attack the machines before they could spear enough Oge bellies.



His pike goblins he ordered off to the right, where they might sneak up through a gap between a rocky outcrop and some swampy ground, their flanks thus (at least initially) protected.



Guldar felt confident. He rode his giant boar and took his place on the right of his boar riders, next to Big Boss Crudly Hamfist who carried the army standard bearing the blazing eye-sun emblem Guldar had used for four weeks now. It seemed to please his employers, and he thought it noticeable enough.



The enemy Ogres had two regiments of bulls, one on each flank, and a body of ironguts in the centre. A scraplauncher stomped its way forwards on the far left flank, advancing over a hill behind the smaller of the two bull regiments.



Their general was a bruiser, and he led the rightmost bulls.



But they also had a Slaughtermaster with them, who marched with the ironguts.



Apart from this force of monstrous infantry, some sneaky little gnoblars had made their way to the rear of Guldar’s line, and were even now creeping up on their tippy-toes.

Battle is joined

It was the Ogres who came on first, every regiment advancing (though nor as far as they might - they were attempting to draw the Greenskins out).



The gnoblar scouts were too busy bickering to move up and hinder the goblin pikes ahead of them, whilst the Slaughtermaster’s attempts at magic resulted in nothing noticeable. This was all well and good so far for Guldar and his lads. As his giant boar snarled, he himself was growling, and the disharmonious result was dramatic enough to quell all animosity in his army.

Guldar decided there was no point in waiting and led a charge directly at the ironguts and the butcher, but he had begun too soon and the charge petered out (Note: needed 16”, got 14”). The rest of his orcs now advanced to protect his flanks, while the wolf riders put themselves boldly in front of the bulls and Bruiser in an attempt to draw them away from the orcs.



The pike goblins burst out through the gap and suddenly found themselves propelled by the magical Hand of Gork to close in a charge against the bulls on the enemy’s left. Perhaps, armed with pikes, this was a fight they could win? The goblins could not conquer their fear, but were saved by the nature of the serried ranks of their pikes. The ogre champion tore the goblins’ boss apart violently and stomped another goblin to death for good measure. Three more goblins fell, but so did an ogre. The fight would go on, for the goblins had yet to realise just how outmatched they truly were.



The bow armed wolfriders brought down one ogre with their volley, while the orc crossbows injured another severely. The Spear Chukkas shot wildly, however, as they so often do.

Of course the bruiser facing the wolf-riders was not happy to charge such a petty foe, even though they had just felled one of his lads, but it had to be done. Meanwhile in the centre of the field the ironguts and bruiser now charged Guldar and his boars. What the orc warlord Guldar did next came surprisingly easy - he ordered his riders to flee! Having faced a similar charge in the last battle, he now recalled only too clearly its very violent consequences. Not again, he thought.He would not suffer such a blow again. Instead, by hook or by crook, he intended to do the charging form here on in. So, he fled away. To be honest, the ironguts barely noticed, and simply redirected their charge onto the orc boyz.



Now the pike goblins fighting against the three remaining were dismayed to find the scraplauncher coming at them too. (And before you ask, no, I don't know why 'J' insists on his scrappy wearing a sponge!)



Such a turn of events should have overwhelmed them. But no, they fought on. Nine more goblins fell to cuts or were crushed beneath iron-shod feet. Yet even so they steadfastly stood their ground!

The Ogres’ attempts at magic proved very dangerous - to themselves. Both magic users injured themselves, then the butcher hurt himself over again trying to magically cure his injury! In the centre of the field, the ironguts smashed into the orc boyz and before long eight orcs were dead as well as the big boss Crudly Hamfist. The ogres were scratched a little here and there, but all in all, things were definitely going their way.

The wolf-riders facing the ogres’ leader, the bruiser, and his bulls, did not stand chance. Every one of them, all ten, were hacked to pieces. The ogres stepped over the remains and made their way to the bottom of the hill upon which the bolt throwers sat.



Guldar now screamed at his boar riding warriors to halt, which they obligingly did, twisting around and reforming in order to attempt to fulfil their master’s wishes - to charge the foe.



The crossbow orcs stuck two bolts deep into one of the bruiser’s bulls, but could not bring the monstrous warrior down. Perhaps due to nerves, the spear chukkas could not hit the approaching ogres - both bolts flew straight over the enemy’s heads even though they were right in front of them.

The goblin pikeman now felled an ogre, and wounded the slaughtermaster, but they could not win the fight. Finally they succumbed to fear and fled, the bulls and monstrous beast following them to trample them down and draw close to the fight in the centre of the pass.



There the boyz failed to hurt the foe, whilst losing seven more of their own. This broke their fighting spirit and they fled, the ogres failing to realise they were about to run and thus lost the momentum needed to catch them.



Guldar could not believe his eyes. He had taken a massive gamble to try to ensure he got his charge in, and now here again he was surely about to be charged! This time the Slaughtermaster and his ironguts charged the boyz, just to see them run, then redirected at Guldar and his lads. Guldar decided he could not order another flight, for he was certain his riders would not rally a second time - and besides, they would think him a coward for ever more. So he stood and received the full weight of the ironguts’ charge.



Guldar’s boar gored the Slaughtermaster, but apart from this wound, neither could hurt each other as they traded a flurry of mighty blows. The boar riders, however, hacked down two ogres with their choppas, with the Boars killing a third. Yet only one boar rider perished. The tables had been turned - the slaughtermaster and the last irongut now attempted to flee. They did not get far!

(Note: I really thought the boars would be torn apart, as in the first battle, by the ogres - but I suppose luck comes into it, and in the first battle there were two tyrants in the front line. This battle showed me that boar riders can do the business. I should have taken the ogres’ charge earlier!)

The bruiser and his bulls easily smashed a spear chukka to piece, grinding the crew into the ground, while the butcher tried to use Toothcracker but failed. (Note: I used 6DD to stop it, having allowed the wound retrieval spells.) The scraplauncher had a go at the fleeing orc boyz, and killed two - but it also killed a gnoblar nearby! Meanwhile the bruiser reformed his unit on the hill ready to charge back down into the battle proper.



Guldar now charged the two last bulls on the enemy’s left, only to see them flee away. While he was trying to get to the foe, the Gork’s Foot had the necessary reach – killing another bull in the bruiser’s regiment. As another looked on at the pulped remains of his comrade, a spear chukka bolt stuck through his arm badly wounding him. Because they had reformed, the crossbow armed orcs could not join in the missile fun, which upset them. It was to be their penultimate emotion.



Desperate to get back into the fight while he still had some bulls to lead, the bruiser charged the crossbow orcs who attempted to flee. Their final emotion was shock, just before they were all cut down. On the other side of the pass, the scraplauncher tried to charge the orc boyz but could not reach them.

Gork’s Foot obligingly stomped down again, badly injuring both the bruiser and another of his bulls. Just as before, the bruiser decided it was safer to be fighting than receiving magical harm, and so charged the orc boyz, with the scraplauncher managing to join the fun. Although the orcs wounded the scraplauncher, they lost the fight. The handful that fled were brutally dispatched by their pursuers.



(Game note: Now turn 5b) Guldar’s chance to utterly smash the foe was slipping away from him. He turned his unit and began to chase the bruiser and bulls as best he could, while the spear chukka once again skewered one of the bulls. The bruiser knew that he could not take a charge from Guldar’s retinue of riders, and found an unexpected fleetness in his thick legs to run away!



(Game note: Now turn 6b) At last the mighty warlord Guldar Bestbasha bellowed his command: “Charge!” But his boars were tired, they had run up and down the field several times now, and as a consequence their natural disposition towards aggressive action was somewhat sapped. They charged, yes, but they still could not reach the bruiser and his last bull speeding away in leaps and bounds.

Game Over, end of turn 6. Surprisingly, due to the 8th ed. VP rules, it was 915 to 912. A draw. This was, of course, due to the fact that the bruiser and scrappy, although fleeing, do not count towards VP unless off the field. And the bulls unit hadn’t been completely destroyed.

So, with a writer’s liberty, here is the last part of this little story …

The boars’ momentum, what little there was, petered out. Guldar’s head drooped, and his warriors could see he was breathing heavily. Suddenly it lifted again, and he balwed louder than they had ever heard him bawl before (which was loud):

“They ain’t getting’ away!”

Slapping his giant boar on its rump he renewed the chase and headed back off up the pass, back the way he and his army had come. Ahead was a wounded bruiser and badly wounded bull, whilst with warlord Guldar Bestbasha and his monstrous boar were 11 riders. The Ogres, losing blood, could surely not keep their pace up. I’ll let you decide who would be coming out of the pass alive that evening.

Trantio Overwhelmed

The reports were coming in thick and fast: an army here, another there, scouts to the south, horse to the west, marching columns in the north. At first Condlumar had thought that it must be confused reports concerning only one or two enemy forces, but the scouts, outriders and sentries were describing a variety of colours, a wide array of troop types, and in locations scattered all around for many miles. It soon dawned on the high priest that the foe was approaching in vast numbers, surrounding the city with a vast number of soldiers.

Deep down he knew the end had come, but he was not ready to admit it, even to himself, so he gave his orders. The warboss Guldar was too far away to reach in time, but the Compagnia del Sole was based in the Myrmidian quarter, their commander General Giovanni Villeteschi was recovered from his wounds, and they could march out immediately. Which is what he ordered them to do.

They did not get far. In the hills three miles south-west of the city, as they marched through the ancient ruins of a long empty town, an enemy force was spotted. General Villeteschi immediately began giving his orders for deployment, casting his eyes over the ground before him, whilst attempting to see what the enemy was doing.



A large ruined temple from the time when Remas ruled the whole of Trantio sat between him and the enemy …



… but other than that there was a relatively empty stretch of land stretching before him. His own lines had a line of hills immediately behind and one or two abandoned and tumble down hovels, whilst his right flank would be anchored to a stone tower and a garden of Morr on the right.



The enemy also had a line of hills in their rear, hills that were already being occupied by soldiers – presumably, Villeteschi thought, war machine crewmen busy about positioning their deadly weapons. The largest hill, right behind the enemy’s centre, had a ruined shrine upon it nowhere near as fancy as the ancient temple, no doubt built during the rather more squalid times that immediately followed the fall of Remas.

The Compagnia del Sole
3000 pts T&G Merc Companies list

Lord Condottiere Lord General Giovanni Villeteschi = 199 pts
Full plate, Sword of Bloodshed (BRB), Sacred Shield of Myrmidia (T&G)
Tactician; Personal retinue (T&G skill)
Wizard Lord Battle Priest Urdoc the Manifolded (Level 4) = 240 pts
School of magic = Shamanism. Warhorse, Sceptre of Stability, Talisman of Endurance.
Condotta Captain Giacomo Pigitliano = 106 pts
Full plate armor, Sword (warhammer) of Battle (BRB), Enchanted Shield (BRB).
Defense in depth (T&G skill)
Condotta Captain Niccolò Forteguerra (Army Standard Bearer) = 150 pts
Battle Standard, Cuirass of Perfect Safety (T&G), Sword of Might
Precision drill (T&G skill)
Battle Wizard (Level 2) = 140 pts
School of Magic = Alchemy, Robe of Cathayan Silk (T&G), Dispel Scroll - (+25)

Core (1600 pts)
49 Tilean Condotta Pikemen = 476 pts
Heavy armour, pike. Full command. Banner of Respite (T&G)
2 x 18 Condotta Crossbowmen = 374 pts
Light armor, crossbow, pavaises. Full command.
35 Men-at arms = 340 pts
Full plate, shield, halberd. Full command.
12 Tilean Border Horsemen = 205 pts
Warhorse, light crossbow, full command
35 Condotta Soldiers (The Middenland Outcasts) = 205 pts
Light armour, halberd, full command. Magic banner - Gleaming Pendant: (+5).

Special
2 Great Cannons = 210 pts
Both have one additional crewmen
2 Mortars = 160 pts
Both have one additional crewmen
Dwarf Sea Rangers = 140 pts
Brace of pistols.

Rare
Ribaudequin (organ gun) = 60 pts


Deployment

Both crossbow companies were sent to the right to stand side by side, and both wizards dismounted to join them behind their reassuring pavaises (‘R’ handily pointed out that mounting them made them juicy targets and more vulnerable. It seems I had wasted some points on the mounts! BTW: You can just make out their horses behind the line.) The centre would be formed by the three huge fighting regiments, the men at arms and the halberdiers fighting in ranks of 5 hoping that with enough depth they might stand solid against the foe. The two captains and the general took their places one in each front rank.



The Compagnia’s standard, bearing its Myrmidian baton and sun symbol, was held proudly aloft by Niccolo, while the same symbol had been painted onto the crossbowmen’s pavaises. Many a soldier sported the same symbol upon his surcoat or jerkin, and each and every one of them was proud of their allegiance.

Both mortars sat behind the line (a now tried and tested method for the Compagnia del Sole), while the ribaudequin guarded the flank. Out on the left flank a battery of cannons was placed on the hill, with the dwarven sea rangers down below them as a guard and the Tilean Light Horse Crossbowmen off to the right.



(Also noticeable in the above photograph are the enemy’s halfling scouts, armed with slings and ready to cause considerable annoyance to the Compagnia’s brave soldiers. Still, who can call themselves a true halfling without also being annoying?)

Villeteschi did not know which power the foe served. They were mercenaries alright, and in fact from some of their colours he reckoned he knew some of them, had once even served by their side. But whether they were from the Golden Company or the Cerulean League he had no idea. It was rumoured both were about to attack Trantio, and it was no mere rumour that both were enemies. Yet, he thought, it was of little importance now who exactly they were employed by – they had come to fight and a fight they would have.

The enemy adopted a similar centre formation to the Compagnia, with three large fighting regiments (men at arms, pikemen and dwarfs), flanked on the left by a war wagon and a large body of arquebusiers.



Behind were three mortars, two mounted on the heights. Their general, a wild-haired squid-tattooed warrior with a golden shield, who looked like some legendary barbarian chief form Sigmar’s time, led the dwarfs. He looking like an ancient, many of them actually being ancient! The army standard flew at the head of the pikemen, a bright yellow field bearing a monstrous squid - probably the personal standard of the general. Behind the men at arms a wizard lurked, magical power sizzling at his fingertips as he cackled maniacally at the thought of what he intended to release.

On the enemy’s right a cannon was being prepared to engage the enemy battery ahead of it, while the freakish form of a cockatrice carrying a halfling captain was squatting behind the temple ruins, flexing its bat like wings to emit a horrible cracking sound as joints clicked and clocked in and out of place. The monstrous ogres behind this creature looked almost normal in comparison!



On the enemy’s left a piece of horse artillery made its way forwards, its crew already scanning the Compagnia’s lines for opportunities to wreak destruction.



Now both armies were arrayed for battle, and a moment of eerie calm settled over the field as the armies looked across at each other. They did not know that the temple ruins had witnessed five such battles over the centuries. None of them knew that half the corpses in Morr’s garden were mercenary soldiers, and that more still lay deep underfoot in mass graves. They knew none of these things and yet death was much on their minds.



This was the last moment of quiet many of them would ever experience.

Battle to follow.

The enemy army list (Thanks Rufus for forwarding this to me.)

Lords
General, Condottiere = 228
Sorcerous squid tattoos, shield of Myrmidia, privateer's sabre, potion of excessive speed, pistol, Tactician, defence in depth
Sorceress Lord Lvl 4 = 230
Cathayan Panda Pelt
Halfling Warlord = 153
Cockatrice, spear, shield, heavy armour, screaming skull

Heroes
Condotta Captain = 104
Battle standard, great weapon, curiass of perfect safety

Core
30 Men-at-arms command, full plate, halberds, S4, banner of Ulric = 385
30 Condotta Soldiers command, heavy armor, pike = 295
24 Condotta Marksmen command, arquebus, heavy armor = 265
35 Dwarf Mercenaries command, hvy armor, great wpns, banner of Ranald = 400
(Condottiere's retinue)

Special
10 Halfling Rangers slings = 110
6 Ogre Mercenaries command, heavy armor, great weapons = 271
Horse Artillery = 90
Great Cannon = 100
3 Mortars = 225
War wagon = 140

Total = 2996 points

Turn One (Wish I had more time to write more today, but 'fraid not.)

As both armies were finally satisfied that their lines were ready for battle, the Compagnia’s light horsemen moved forwards towards the little enemy scouts, hoping thus to prevent the mischief such fellows were prone to causing if allowed free reign.



As they did so, the enemy now began to march forwards, maintaining a well-drilled and neat front to their central line (the dwarfs having magical help to keep up with the general). The war wagon trundled on the left of the three main blocks, the gunners inside already hefting their handguns over the gunnels. The arquebusiers had already returned their scouring sticks, and were now testing their match as the last action before giving fire. Several of them squinted into the sun at the crossbowmen on the hill before them, one or two even smiling at the thought that the foe might presume a pavaise could protect them from the mighty bullets about to be unleashed.



On the left the horse artillery galloped onwards, whilst on the right the ogres moved around the edge of the ruined temple, unable to take their eyes off the sight of the squawking cockatrice lolloping along on the far right to come to a momentary halt behind the hill.



The enemy wizard now let loose his first spell. Perhaps his manic excitement had unbalanced him slightly, for although the (irresistible) withering spell successfully weakened every man in the massive Compagnia pike block, it also drained away all the rest of his magical reserves for that moment, whilst a shard struck at a man at arms and killed him.

A very loud and sudden blast was heard across the entire field - the arquebusiers had fired. Seven crossbowmen tumbled to the ground, half rolling down the hill before them whilst their comrades scrabbled to keep the pavaises in place. Urdoc the Manifolded was somewhat startled by this turn of events, but was then pleased to see the grizzled veterans around him did not flinch, nor show any sign of panic, but simply went back to winding their crossbows in preparation.

On the Compagnia’s left the enemy halflings now loosed pellet after pellet in a well aimed flurry of shots at the mounted crossbow. To the riders’ shock, five of them fell wounded or dead. They had not expected such punishment from half-men, yet now knew not to under-estimate them (despite appearances)



Now came the enemy’s first volley of war machine fire, and it was to sting! One of the Compagnia’s brace of cannons was smashed to pieces by a cannon ball (Game note: I now know that it is only my local friends and I who have always assumed a cannonball can’t bounce up a hill. Throughout 6th, 7th and in the few 8th games we’ve played, we simply thought unless a ball went over the crest of a hill it would bury itself in the earthen slope. ‘R’ pointed out it doesn’t actually say that in the BRB!)

More damage was to come. The magically weakened pikemen (T2) suffered a direct hit from a mortar grenadoe (49 under the template!) and 19 of them were killed there and then. Then another shell landed on them, slaying another 7, and killing 6 of the men at arms too. Once again, artillery had wreaked horrible destruction on the Compagnia’s brave soldiers!



All they could do was advance as best they could. To stand still would be to invite utter disaster. The mounted crossbowmen moved (quite eagerly) away from the halflings and instead rode to where they might shoot at the cockatrice. It was obvious the beast intended to threaten the last remaining cannon, and they were intent on stopping him.



It turned out he was made of tough stuff (ward save) for they only nicked his flesh and he seemed barely to notice their efforts! While they began to worry about the ogres they had allowed to flank them, the Compagnia’s wizards set about conjuring their magical spells (6:6, meaning my channelled dice and extra dice were lost). A glittering robe of magical protection now settled on the crossbowmen on the hill, while a spear of amber hue skewered one of the dwarfs. But then the magic ground to a halt (30 stopping a Final Transformation of 23), leaving the wizards grumbling.

Eighteen crossbowmen now managed to kill but one dwarf with their quarrels, whilst the surviving few on the hill brought down 3 enemy pikemen; 7 more pike and 3 dwarfs also fell to the one mortar blast which landed (almost) on target. The Ribaudequin killed 3 men at arms, while the pistol, toting dwarfs only killed 4 halflings. The seafaring dwarfs’ grumbled outdid that of the wizards, but then again, dwarfs have a knack for such.

The soldiers of the Compagnia’s central three regiments now braced themselves, for it was obvious to such veterans that the enemy was about to charge.



The cockatrice on the far right of the enemy lines now flew over the lower slopes of the hill in a failed attempt to reach the cannon on the next hill, while the ogres chased off the light horse crossbowmen right the way through the dwarfs.



But all this seemed petty compared to the clash in the centre of the field. The pikemen failed to reach the foe, but the massive regiment of dwarfs and the full plate armoured men at arms crashed solidly into the regiments before them.



The wizard conjured Occam’s Mind Razor onto the men at arms, infusing them with great strength (str 9). Meanwhile the arquebusiers calmly reformed into a fighting formation and thus became a fighting reserve behind the left flank of the enemy’s lines.



From the war wagon the handgunners loosed another volley over the heads of the dwarfs (don’t laugh!), slaying 3 pikemen. On one side of the field the halfling scouts killed two of the sea dwarfs before them, and on the other side two crossbowmen fell to the horse artillery’s first shot, adding to the harm (3 dead) that a mortar did on the same unit. The cannon misfired, one mortar grenadoe hit its target (a mortar) and failed to wound, while another went astray and hurt no-one.

Now the real, killing began. The squid tattoed general led his dwarfs in the melee and between them they killed 9 halberdiers, receiving no harm at all themselves. Somehow the halberdiers found the courage to fight on (I rolled snake eyes!) The Niccolo and his men at arms killed four of the enemy men at arms, but then discovered the enemy to be a frenzied opponent (Banner of Ulric, T&G). Luckily many of the enemy’s torrent of frantic blows failed to bite and only 5 of the Compagnia’s men fell. Like the halberdiers, the men at arms also stood their ground.



Somehow the Compagnia had withstood the initial impact, but was it really likely that they could continue the fight? General Villeteschi ordered the pike to reform so that they might better receive the enemy’s charge (if it came), while the wizards failed to summon any effective magic at all. Luckily the Compagnia’s shooting was not so unnoticeable. A cannon ball caused some minor damage to the war wagon, followed by some further damage from the crossbowmen (all of them), but it was still serviceable, still dangerous. 11 enemy pike fell to a grenadoe blast, but the second mortar misfired. The halflings were now reduced to only two in number by the dwarfs - the pair of survivors standing bemused as if they could not take in what had happened to their fellows.

The fleeing crossbow horse reformed in the hope that the cockatrice would fail to reach the cannon a second time and land in front of their bows.

But in the centre the battle was already turning against General Villeteschi’s Compagnia. The fight between the two men at arms regiments went bloodily on (3 and 6 casualties) but the halberdiers could not withstand the continued battering they were taking. Captain Pigitliano and his men did kill 3 dwarfs, but at the terrible cost of 7 of their own lives. This time they broke and fled (surprisingly I did not roll snake eyes this time) and were mercilessly, gleefully even, cut down.



The cockatrice now employed its ungainly wings to leap over the crossbow and attack the cannon, killing it instantly with its death gaze (He stared the cannon to death - cannons being unable to take I tests.)



The dwarfs simultaneously charged the mortar before them, easily slaying the crew …



… while the rest of the enemy reformed its lines to better face what Compagnia soldiers were still in the fight. The war wagon simply turned a little, the pike fell back a few steps, and the ogres gave up worrying about the flank and began to make their way towards the centre of the field. Once again the men at arms were given the magical aid of Mindrazor (str 9).



One mortar misfired, the other two killed ten crossbowmen between them. The horse artillery failed to shoot while the war-wagon handgunners slew 2 pikemen. But once again it was in the melee that the real killing was being done. The Compagnia’s men at arms hurt not a single enemy soldier, but 8 of their own now died. When they fled, with Niccolo amongst them, they were all cut down.

The crew of the ribaudequin thought about it for a moment …



.. then loosed a shot into the flank of the enemy men at arms, killing two. The mortar tore three arquebusiers apart, while the dwarfs felled the cockatrice with a deadly volley of pistol shots. Five enemy pike also fell to the crossbowmen. The winds of magic, once again, proved too weak to allow any effective spells.

So it was that General Vitelleschi found himself and his remaining pikemen out beyond the tattered remnants of his line, with a war wagon on his right, three mortars wondering whether to chance a shot, and a vicious bunch of ogres about to hit him in the side.



The Ogres hunched over, flexing their considerable muscles in readiness to launch themselves at the pikemen’s unprotected flank.



[Game note: It was the end of turn 3. You can probably guess what happened next, yes? Well, you will have to, for I conceded the game thinking that there was no way out of this one. One might think the pikes had a chance, perhaps being steadfast on Villeteschi’s Ld - but the Ogres had 3 strength 5 impact, 19 attacks (str 6) and 3 stomps. I would not have more ranks than the foe at the end of all that!)

Thus it was that General Giovanni Villeteschi was defeated. His few remaining troops left the field as best (and as quickly as they could), though many were taken prisoner. The wizards ran to their horses and galloped off to find the high priest Gabriele Condlumar. Little did they know that even at that moment the high priest of Myrmidia was fleeing through the gates of Trantio with captain Frederico Mallatesta and the last remaining soldiers of the Compagnia del Sole, being driven out of his own home. Nor did they know that as they dug their spurs deep into the flank of their mounts, Prince Piero of Trantio was being boiled alive by oil at another city gate.

The enemy general, a strangely attired war leader (being shirtless, shoeless and in short yellow breeches, armed with a viciously curved blade) watched the last of the Compagnia fleeing, and listened to the screams of the pikemen behind him falling victim to his ogres. He grinned, showing the gaps in his teeth that scurvy had gifted him.



Result: Victory to Rufus and the Squiddly Diddlies.

Congratulations, Rufus, on your victory. Next time my Greenskin Raiders will grind you into the dirt!

The Flight from Trantio



The Compagnia del Sole had left before noon, fighting their way through a lightly defended gap in the enemy’s lines, pushing on towards Pavona. Many amongst them were confused.

“It seems to me that we have a fighting army here!” exclaimed Rino. “That’s what makes me wonder. Look at us all! So why ain’t we fighting?”

Rino’s friend sergeant Modesto was only half listening, being very distracted by the sight of a large mosquito sitting on the shoulder of the soldier on front of him. It was an odd sight, for it should be buzzing about and biting folk - nmot sitting lazily upon a shoulder as if hitching a ride. His answer was only half heard by himself: “That’s right, we ain’t fighting.”

Rino rolled his eyes, then reached out to prod his friend’s cheek. “Listen, I’m asking you. Why aren’t we fighting?”

The mosquito was flexing its mouthparts, as if saying grace before its meal. Modesto smiled at the thought, but this time made more effort to answer properly.

“We can’t fight. We’re an army, yes, but the enemy still outnumber us three, maybe four, to one. And they’re not squabbling goblins or Bretonnian peasants, they’re mercenaries like us. Not easy to take on at such odds.”

“So the plan,” said Rino slowly, “is to run away?”

“That’s it,” said Modesto, then suddenly added, “Ouch!” as he watched the mosquito finally take its bite.

Rino obviously hadn’t noticed the mosquito. “Ouch is right! This means no pay, for the money was coming from Trantio, and we’re no longer there, and …”

“Company, stand!” came Modesto’s interrupting shout, as the man in front slapped at his neck and stumbled to one side. “Back in line, fool!” ordered the sergeant, then without waiting to see if the man did as he was told, he added: “Prepare to march, march on!”

A moment later Modesto glanced at his friend. “If we ain’t paid then there’ll be loot, mark me. The general may be dead, but Matallesta knows what he is doing. Besides, that churchman is with us, the high priest - maybe he has money to pay us?”

“I won’t miss the silver, provided there’s a warm chamber, close curtains and a pretty wench awaiting in Pavona,” said Rino. “I don’t relish the though of lodging ‘sub filiolus’ on the cold hard earth.”

Sergeant Modesta did not answer. Why disappoint his friend? A soldier ought to have happy thoughts on a long march - there was little else to sustain him.

Here you can see Modesta and Rino’s company of men at arms marching in line:


The baggage train was huge, to say the least, though somewhat oddly (to the soldiers, at least) several of the wagons were empty. A motley collection of ne-er do wells, old soldiers, and citizens of Trantio tended the mules and asses, or simply ambled amongst them, while the Compagnia’s soldiers marched in rank and file on the flank.



Gabriele Condlumar was at the front of the line - though this was no flamboyant gesture, no calculated posture, nor any sort of demonstration. He was there because the Compagnia was under his employ still and they were following him. His mind was filled with worries and fears, his face fixed into a scowl. His bodyguard from the Dogs of War Chapter, and his personal standard bearer, rode by him, but they knew not to speak.



His city was lost. His son was dead. And General Villeteschi was lost in battle. Saint Castriccio had failed him, and perhaps, even Myrmidia had abandoned him.

Yet he would never utter such thoughts aloud. This was all a test, and he would not fail. The soldiers must not see him downhearted, nor even distracted. So he brushed the sad thoughts from his mind (no easy thing) and set about considering his next move.

This would take some time.

Don't hate me for saying so, but I especially enjoy your 'defeat' narratives.

You excel at writing about your losses! (Ok, now I'm being cheeky).

Did this end the campaign?

You have to go with the defeats in these campaigns, ham them up and explore the stories they create. After all, even if you personally won every game of WFB you played, your faction could still be trounced overall and thus you are part of a losing, maybe defeated force. My faction was forced out of Trantio by another, which I loved as a player, hated as a character - that was Condlumar's home, with his palace and his nepotic son the prince.

As for this ending the campaign - oh no, not by a LONG shot. There's more, much more, to come. I warned you this was a 'quite a ride' involving 'new depths'. The delay in posting, i.e. my slight hiccup on the 'one per day' front was due to holiday family fun! Without any more delay, the campaign continues ...

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Note: Some game time now passed during which I was really busy arranging a massive secret effort by 10 generals to bring about a certain event without our enemies (or their spies) knowing. During this time not much fluff got written, but I did manage to convince 10 very individual commanders that retrieving Trantio was vital to our faction (even though it really wasn't - it was just important to my character!!

Oh and I suppose I ought to reveal that although this fluff doesn't show it, Condlumar's son Piero (the recently crowned prince of Trantio) was assassinated by agents of an enemy faction, though they made it look like a falling masonry accident. I know you might wonder how I wouldn't include such an event, but during the course of the campaign such events were recorded in the official campaign fluff, and lots of conversations and threads, so the event was widely known. I was writing fluff to add to that information stream, not to repeat parts of it. Anyhoo, I just decided a man can have two sons, and so 'Ta da!', this next piece introduces Condlumar's youngest son.

The Glorious Return to Trantio

La Strada di Eroi, before the Hall of Heroes

“But there are traitors amongst them, father,” hissed Pilocomini just loud enough for his father to hear. He did not know whether to look right or left, for the crowd was on both sides, so he flicked his head back and forth between the two.

Gabriele Condlumar did not answer immediately, but continued smiling, hoping his expression radiated the sort of confidence possessed by a truly blessed servant of Myrmidia.

“Do not worry yourself, Pilo, it is all in hand,” came the high priest’s belated reply. “Oh, and steady yourself, stop swishing your noddle back and forth. You are a hero. Yes. Try not to look as foolish as your brother.”

“Yes father,” said Pilocomini, and set his eyes on the hall up ahead with its awaiting dignitaries.

“And son, do you really need that goblet of wine just now? Couldn’t you abstain just long enough to walk through the city?”

“Sorry, father.”



The two of them, with the brave Nicollo Forteguerra, standard bearer of the Compagnia del Sole striding behind them, were close to the hall now, passing by the ruined end of the ancient aqueduct that used to bring water from the hills to the Myrmidian Quarter of Trantio. The crowd stood quietly on both sides of the street, kept a satisfactory distance away by a Condlumar’s men at arms. The High Priest had dismissed the idea of a military parade into the city, a grand entrance. Instead he had decided the people would watch him (and his last surviving son) walk calmly into their rightful home, as if there was nothing unusual about the act.



He wanted the citizens to see him, the blessed son of Myrmidia, and not marching soldiers. He wanted them to know he had returned, not just the Legion. He wanted them to see him and him alone, walking through his quarter, and thus to know the full extent of their foolish error.

As if they could deny him his own? As if they could kill his son and throw him from what was rightfully his? They would learn soon enough what their disloyalty would cost them.

Even now his lesser priests, now garbed in the robes of Inquisitors (for so they had become) were moving through the city, questioning, interrogating, occasionally bribing, and slowly but surely ferreting out the spies, the agent provocateurs, and those who aided the foe in the recent occupation by the Cerulean League’s soldiers.

One such priest now strode between the soldiers from the crowd and pointed at a halfling cowering amongst the gathered onlookers.



The hooded priest spoke: “Here, your grace! Here is one who knew the man who murdered your son. He has spoken of it, laughed at Prince Piero’s death, and drunk healths to his friend’s memory.”

Condlumar barely broke his stride, merely gesturing with his hand that the little man be brought. The priest gave the command and two men at arms grabbed at the terrified Halfling, yanked him from his feet and carried him away through the crowd with the priest leading the way.

“Mark my words, son, everyone who had a hand, a finger, even a fingernail, in the death of my son, all those who in any way aided his murderer or shirked their duty and allowed the deed to happen, will suffer.”

“I know, father,” said Pilocomini, supping at his goblet by sheer force of habit. Then, with a little more animation to his voice he began, “Father, there’s something I want to ask you …”

“Hush now, Pilo,” interrupted Condlumar, “we’re nearly there.”

Before them were a group of dignitaries. The mayor and his abbreviator (who had fled with the Compagnia del Sole and had now returned to take up their old offices), as well as the High Priest’s military steward who had been sent ahead to array the streets with guards and take control of the Hall of Heroes.



Behind them were Condlumar’s strangest servants, his household of gnomes – secretaries, scriptors, advisors. They had rushed to the Hall or Heroes after an equally hurried visit to Condlumar’s palace. The High Priest could see they were clutching a variety of tomes as they fidgeted in their usual manner – it seemed they had found the books they had so worried about during the short exile.

Gabriele Condlumar looked upon the blue-clad, savant servants and pondered. They were obviously happy in their own way to have recovered whatever obscure tomes and texts had concerned them, and no doubt now believed they would return to their old scholarly life. But, thought Condlumar, could they? He was only too aware that he had yet to decide whether staying in Trantio was the right and proper thing to do. He had learned the hard way that in war staying put was not necessarily the best strategy. Far from it.

His thoughts were suddenly disturbed by his son’s voice. “That thing I wanted to ask you, father … well, it’s important.”

Condlumar turned to look at his son. Piero ventured a weak smile, then looked serious again and said exactly what Condlumar thought he was going to say: “When do I get to be prince?”

(NB: I wrote this report, for reasons too complicated to go into (& I can't quite remember) not from my side's perspective but from that of the enemy.)

The Battle of Hesitation Ogres versus Ogres (2000 pts)

Grugg knew what he had to do. The orders could not really have been simpler: march in the direction he was ordered and smash through anything that got in his way. This had made him happy, until his gnoblars came running back with news of what lay ahead. At first little sense could be got from his little greenskin scouts, for they seemed to be saying that Grugg’s mob would be fighting themselves. It turned out, after couple of cracked skulls forced the babbling goblins to slow down and think about what they were saying, they meant there were Ogres up ahead.

Enemy ogres! It never occurred to Grugg he would be fighting his own kind. It niggled at him, an uncomfortable, half-formed conception that if ogres fought ogres here in this land then maybe they would all just kill each other, cancel each other out. Sure, he had fought many an ogre back ‘home’, but these would be mercenaries just like him and his boys. The muddled gnoblars may actually have been on to something - it felt like he was about to fight his own reflection! And smashing a looking glass brought years of bad luck, or so a clever human had once told him.

Grugg’s Force:

Tyrant (General ) @ 317 pts
Hvy armour; Luck-Gnob’; Glittering Scales, Wyrdstone necklace, Other Trickster’s, Ogre Blade
Bruiser (Battle Standard Bearer) @ 239 pts
Hvy armour; Rampager’s standard, brace handguns
Butcher @ 180 pts - Potion of toughness, Siege Breaker

7 Bulls @ 295 pts - full command
7 Ironguts @ 411 pts - full command; Great Weapon; Cannibal Totem

3 Yhetees @ 195

4 Maneaters @ 360 pts - Brace of Handguns x4;

The enemy:

Tyrant (General ) 306 pts
Hvy Armour; Luck-Gnob’; Tenderiser, Opal Amulet, Fistful of Laurels, Wallcrusher
Bruiser (Battle Standard Bearer) 210 pts
Light; Luck-Gnoblar; Talisman of Endurance, Deathcheater
Butcher @ 135 pts - Potion of Foolhardiness
Butcher @ 155 pts - Halfling Cookbook

8 Bulls @ 370 pts - full command; Ironfist
5 Ironguts @ 315 pts - full command; Great Weapon; Cannibal Totem
40 Gnoblar Fighters @ 82 pts - Groinbiter

4 Leadbelchers @ 240 pts - Bellower; Thunderfist

2 Maneaters @ 180 pts - Brace of Handguns x1; Cathayan Longsword x1


The Approach

Grugg pointed the way for his Yhetees and off they went heading towards a large rock that would conceal their presence from the foe.



Meanwhile Grugg ordered the rest of his force into a battle line - a wall of tough, grey flesh, viciously barbed with a wide array of spikes and weapons. He led his ironguts (who else would he command?) while his butcher Addrab led the bulls. The army’s bruiser, Fagglin Ironjaw, carried the golden battle standard that was the pride of the army and marched on the far right flank with the maneaters.



Suddenly the enemy appeared and Grugg’s uncomfortable feeling was magnified. Although their banners were different and they had gnoblars in rank and file amongst them (something Grugg had always thought a waste of effort), he could see their bulls, their maneaters, their ironguts. They were indeed a force very much like his.



And he spotted his counterpart too - very obviously a Tryant - marching at the head of a large company of bulls, wielding a large and much bloodied great weapon and garbed in layers and layers of steel. For the first time Grugg’s thoughts shifted from concern as he couldn’t help but think: ‘That’d make a fine suit of armour for me!”



Getting Closer

The enemy had momentum on their side, for they were already marching forwards, wheeling to their left a little to approach obliquely. (Maybe this was because they knew the yhetee pack was hiding behind the rock, and were frightened to let the monsters see them?)



Yet there was something about the way they moved that caught Grugg’s attention. They were slowing down, as if they were afraid to hurry and maybe give his boys the chance to deliver a charge on fresh legs. Yes - they were slowing to a halt, and just beyond where Grugg’s lads could reach. They may have had the initiative a moment before, but now they has lost it.

The enemy’s butchers made themselves busy, and one self-inflicted wound later they had failed a few spells but cast Bullgorger on the maneaters.

Grugg could not help himself - the enemy’s caution was infectious. He signalled with his hand to order the yhetees to step back a little for he did not want them blundering around the rocks to get charged by the maneaters. He stayed pretty much where he was in the centre, but his butcher Addrab led the bulls a little forwards before he too halted and wondered just what they were supposed to do next. How to make sure they got the charge in?



Grugg’s maneaters, however, were entirely above such fears and considerations, and besides they wanted to see what the enemy had to offer! So they marched boldly to the top of the hill before them ands surveyed the field. There they eyed suspiciously the four approaching leadbelchers. Addrab now began to weave some magic (magic = 3:3, so 6 casting dice), while the enemy butchers allowed him to do so - both Toothcracker and Bonecruncher manifested but the latter harmed no-one. (Note: I stupidly forgot that saving dispel dice was pointless as ‘J’ would use his last to remove my existing spells - which he did!).

The enemy was still hesitating, shuffling about as if unsure how they might successfully advance without opening themselves up to a deadly counter-attack (Note: I was bumbling, forgetting that charging is not longer everything in WFB, usually just +1 combat resolution, though impact hits would be lost).



The leadbelchers moved further towards the left and fired their cannons at Grugg’s maneater on the hill. Four huge blasts spread smoke and fire dramatically about, but only one man eater was hit, and that only a scratch. Two of the leadbelchers had misfired, killing one of the ogres! (Note: 4 shots: rolling 2, 2, misfire & misfire - come on, you can’t plan for that sort of failure!) This fiasco was immediately followed by the Maneaters hurling themselves down the hill to crash hard into the Leadbelchers …



The consequences were inevitable - the enemy leadbelchers perished swiftly (Note: 4 impact hits alone killed two of them, one already being at one wound!) and the maneaters went calmly about reforming, looking as if to all intents and purposes they had yet to do any fighting in this battle! Of course they turned to threaten the enemy’s left flank.



The butcher Addrab tried a trick or two, but his magic failed him - Trollguts and Toothcracker were dispelled while Braingobbler failed to panic the gnoblars (for they were close to the reassuring bulk of their general). On the far left of Grugg’s line the yhetees now moved around the rock…



… thus presenting a threat on both sides of the enemy line. Grugg’s army was forming itself into the head of a bull, the maneaters and yhetees being the horns. The rest of Grugg’s line knew that they need not chance a charge yet, for events were beginning to favour them. Both units simply edge backwards, grinning and the thought that if the enemy came on, then they would be ready to smash into them just as the foes’ began to tire.



Belatedly the foe realised that if they did not get stuck in soon then all chance of victory would be denied them. They were about to be attacked on both flanks! So it was that the enemy suddenly surged forwards, hoping to get to grips with Grugg’s centre before they became any more vulnerable. The gnoblar horde turned to face the maneaters (maybe they could hold them for a while?), while on the other flank the enemy’s two maneaters turned to face the yhetees just as the bruiser left them to move up to support the centre.



There was grim determination write on every ogre’s face as they knew they would now have to receive Grugg’s charge. They began to brace themselves, holding their three standards aloft and swearing that they would defend them or die.



Grugg’s maneaters were annoyed for they had not come here to slaughter gnoblars! They wanted to get to grips with a more challenging foe. But if that’s what they were going to do, then they would just have to wade through a sea of greenskins!



The enemy’s magic was of limited effect. Grugg’s own regiment suffered very slightly from Bonecruncher - so minor a hurt that even the ogre that was stung barely noticed, such was the rising surge of bloodlust in him!

Now came the moment upon which the battle would turn. Grugg was ready, his warriors were ready …



… The time to charge had come, and every single warrior in Grugg’s army did so. The bulls and ironguts hit the enemy’s centre, while the maneaters smashed into the gnoblars.



The vicious yhetees had no intention to miss out on the fun and so they too launched themselves into the brace of maneaters ahead of them.



No less than forty spinning missiles, each sharpened to a razor’s edge, came flying from the gnoblars at the maneaters, yet barely no harm resulted - bar one maneater who now had a sharpened chunk of steel lodged in his forehead, which he would not notice until that night when he raised his hand to scratch at his throbbing forehead.
Of course when the maneaters hit they tore through the little goblins with ease. More than fifteen gnoblars were felled, but the little ‘uns failed to notice (steadfast) and through ignorance of their true peril fought on.



The yhetees and maneaters proved an equal match (for now) and set about a drawn out quarrel. Addrab and the bulls took on the enemy’s ironguts and battle standard bearer. The result was bloody mayhem, and although the ironguts got the upper hand, Grugg’s bulls had numbers ion their side and fought on.

Meanwhile the real clash came between the two ogre tyrants. Blades, luck gnoblars, Trickster’s shards and brute strength were all employed, the result being Grugg was wounded, but the enemy tyrant remained unharmed.



But Grugg’s ironguts had more luck than their master, killing an ogre simply through the force of impact, then hacking down two more (their Cannibal Totem certainly helping them here). One little luck gnoblar fled away from the carnage …



… then the enemy tyrant and his bulls attempted to follow (Note: I needed snake eyes to stand, and the re-roll did not help). Grugg and his lads hacked them all gleefully down, only to find a lone butcher facing them



(Game Note: End of turn 3, time up. I (being the enemy) concede. Grugg thus wins.)

From here on in it was easy. The meaneaters continued to smash their way through through the ever dwindling bunch of gnoblars …



… while Grugg’s boys set about tearing the butcher apart …



… and the last two yhetees finished off the maneater.



Grugg’s roar as the last of the foe fell was a thing to be heard. And heard it was, for about two miles around!