Monday, 29 February 2016

From Beyond The Mountain They Came


From beyond the mountain they came. Reinforcements of Fyreslayers to aid their brothers of Lofnir Lodge; the terrifying Vulkite Bezerkers, the furious Grimwrath Bezerker and the ever faithful priest of the Lodge, the Auric Runemaster.

The brave and crazed Vulkite Bezerkers never give up, fighting anything that stands in their way, for the spirit of Grimnir burns endlessly in their souls.




No other warrior is as terrifying as the deadly Grimwrath Bezerker, Ira-Grimnir. Passion for Ur-Gold burns throughout his entire body, he is the closest embodiment to their god Grimnir and his exceptional strength is testament to this.


The faithful high priest of Lofnir Lodge is the Auric Runemaster, Sanctus-Grimnir. Ever faithful and dedicated to his god, Sanctus-Grimnir's power is harnessed by a close connection to the spirit of their holy god, Grimnir. Sanctus-Grimnir is the oldest and wisest of Lofnir Lodge highly regarded by all who honour him.


Clan Mkrytus - Expanding terrority

Generations have passed since the Messiah preformed the great Ritual, that saved Clan Mkrytus, from the destruction of the Warren that was. 
The Great crater, thrown up by their arrival has been fortified, sniper towers rise from the crater rim. Weapon emplacmect set into the wall point in all directions. The gargantuan gates seal the one highway to the Surface fortress. 
Green tinged smoke drifts up out the the basin. But only a single tower is obvious in the center of the bowl, the rest is a rat maze of trench's and walkways that twist and turn inside the fortified wall.
The true hub of Clan Mkrytus happens below ground, warrens, dens, large common causeways and thousands of tight tunnels all inter connect the Skaven under city.
Inside the Clan council campers the lords meet to discuss the clan needs.
"Put simply, we have exhausted-used the metal under the bastion, and no matter how much deeper we dig-tunnel we are not finding the one we need." The Arch warlocks metallic voice rings out.
Grey Seer answers, "Very well i am convinced, we must look-sniff to the mountain's the west as the honoured warlock suggests-says."
"Agreed," pipes in the flesh-former lord, "I will send an Abomination to accompany the scouts, many beasts lurk in the mountains. Maybe we could capture more of this lands more exotic mountain beasts."

Set up
Led by rumours of a massive rat monster in the area. Dragon slayer Dwal and his shamed engineer companion Malik, head out of the stronghold to hunt it. Malik wants to test out his experimental war machine, he calls it Goblinhewer (counts as organ gun). Following them, comes 10 troll slayers and leading them are 10 rangers (quallers).

Warlord Shred'claw was tasked with the above ground scouting of the mountain region, the monsterous Abomination had been assigned to him. So when he heard of the slayer Dwarfs scouring the area, he was gleeful to set an ambush so he could see the abomination in action. Gathering his body guard of 10 stormvermin, he commanded his 10 nightrunners hide in the woods. The packmaster he ordered to prod the Abomination cross the field to be bait.

Slayers spot the monster and set up their war machine on the hill.

Deployment


Whilst the Dwarfs are distracted the Nightrunners slink forward.

Turn 1 Dwarf


Seeing the Ambush the Dwarfs hold the high ground. Quarrellers shoot several night runners. Goblinhewer is set to full strength but fails to fine even with engineer Malik assistance it does not work.

Turn 1 Skaven


Goaded into battle the Abomination slams into the troll slayers. Nightrunners attack the quarrellers.

The giant rat monster bites, flails and stomps all of the troll slayers to death, they do not go quietly though as 5 death blows wound the monster.

Enraged at the death of his kindred slayers, the Dragon slayer piles into the monster.

And kills it in short order!

Turn 2 Skaven


Seizing the initiative, the skaven converge on the quaellers. While the warlord scurry-climbs the back of the hill to attack the dwarf war machine.

Warlord shred'claw kills 2 of the war machine crew. Stormvermin gnash and gnaw 6 quallers down, 5 skaven die in return. Dwarven rangers hold the high ground and are inspired, so no more flee from the rat assault.


Turn 2 Dwarf
Dragon Slayer D'wal conter-charges the skaven warlord. Goblin hewer is reset to full power and inspite the gentle adjustment with hammers fails to fire again!

Stormvermin continue to hack at the rangers, but using the cover to it's full advantage one plucky ranger survives a little longer.

Warlord and Dragon slayer exchange wounds but both live to fight a little longer.


Turn 3 Dwarf

Warlord Shred'claw plunged his blade into the slayers chest and watched snuggly as his weapons magics devoured the dwarf.

But D'wal the Abomination Slayer wasn't dead yet, with the last act he lashed out and severed the grinning rat man's head from it's furry body.

Setting Goblin-hewer to half power the contraption finally work eviscerating 4 vermin.

Turn 3 Skaven

What's left of the Skaven make a last ditch attempt to wipe out the dwarf Engineer and his war machine.

The 2 remaining Stormvermin attack the last crewman. 3 nightrunners and the pack master gang up on the dwarven slayer engineer.

But dwarfs are made of stone and take no casualties. The Crew man kills a stormvermin. And the engineer kills 2 nightrunners, the last remaining one flees.


Turn 4 Skaven 

The last stormvermin is slain by the war machine crew member. Packmaster and engineer fight but no wounds are exchanged.


Turn 4 Dwarfs

Finally free the last crewman turns goblinhewer around clocks it to half speed and unleashes the payload on the last rat man on the hill.


"Ha we'll call it skaven hewer from now on!" Said Malik.

 Lord Deathmaster of Clan Mkrytus's had spies every where it is whispered amongst the Clanrats, nothing happens without a little rat whispering it to him. And thredelicate expansion of territory was of keen interest to him, so unsurprisingly after the failed ambush he was the first to be able to report it to the rest of the council. 
"The ancient enemy must has a hold-nest in the mountains somewhere." Lord grey seer said.
"Indeed," whispered the deathmaster, "we should go-proceed cautiously, until we find where it is."
Arch warlock interrupts, "They have not discovered the tunneling teams yet. I will have them lower their dig speed and increase the echo soundings checks. But many rich ore veins have already been found. With the councils approval I'd like to start the subterranean extraction of the veins we have found."
General nods and agreeable squeeks around the table. "Proceed Arch warlock, Death master might I suggest a collaboration of our scouts and the tunnellers. Find this duardin hold-nest." Inquires the flesh-former lord.



The Eagles of Sigmar - Part 2

The story so far

Carnelian, Lord Celestant of the Eagles of Sigmar, has pursued his quarry Ahalyon the Infidel through a mysterious hole in the fabric of space. He awakes to find himself in a different age...

Carnelian's mind was dull and his senses were deadened except to the headache that split his mind into fragments.

Carnelian realised his connection to Sigmar was broken. He had felt this connection ever since being forged into Stormcast. The lack of it frightened him beyond reason. He was known amongst his brothers as one of the most faithful but it was a truth appreciated only by a few that the most zealous were usually those who doubted the hardest. Was this the moment that his warrior-god abandoned him?

The next thing he noticed, once he opened his eyes, was the blurry image of huge menhirs looming directly over him, their rough sides imprinted with glowing runes in a language Carnelian had never set eyes on before.

Once the rest of senses began to emerge through the pain, he became aware of the sounds of a viscious melee happening around him: the clash of steel on bone and the thud of blade into meat, a sound he was familiar with. He heard desperate screams accompanied by the braying of raging beasts and the gutteral war cries of both the dying and victorious.

Moving his head to look around intensified his headache but it afford him a better view of his surroundings. He was in the middle of a clearing in a deep forest, lying between two giant obelisks. The battle was clearly over, the victors now simply picking off the survivors. The forest floor was scattered with the broken and dying bodies of aelves, their wood green garments splattered with blood and gore. Striding amongst the casualties were huge warriors clad in red armour and runes that Carnelian immediately recognised as belonging to the blood god Khorne. With every step, each warrior brought his weapon down into the body of another writhing aelf with bezerk rage. The whole clearing stunk of death.

There was still limited resistance against the Khorne warriors from a few outliers at the edge of the clearing, where leaf cloaked aelves let loose their remaining arrows with pin-point precision, but it was clear from the number of Khorne warriors and the desperate sobs of the remaining aelves that the battle was lost and had been a disaster.

Fear gripped Carnelian, of a type that he had not known since becoming Stormcast. It was only a matter of moments before the Khorne warriors would reach him in the centre of clearing. He looked around, turning his neck gingerely, but saw no hope, only the furious face of an injured aelf who was using the obelisks to help himself to his feet. Carnelian met his eyes for a brief moment. The aelf's eyes blazed with anger and sorrow, his features twisted into a grotesque grimace. There was no lightness or sympathy here. If Carnelian died here, he doubted he would return to Sigmar, his beloved warrior-god.

A different sound began to mingle into the clearing now, a rattling and scraping of ancient armour and ancient bone that merged with the pitiful sounds of the dying. Through the dense dark trees emerged a sand-coloured band of skeletons, garbed in ancient armour and wielding weapons whose shields and blades shined even in the dappled forest gloom, At the front of the army was a skeleton as tall and wide as Carnelian himself, who was hefting a giant blade and wearing a head-dress that clearly set her out as their leader.

The new-comers formed a shield wall with their leader in the front rank, before they moved as one unit towards the obelisks, hacking and cutting at the Khorne warriors as they went. Their leader let out a deep and joyous laugh as she decapitated the blood warriors, expertly sweeping her great weapon through their ranks.

The Khorne warriors eagerly launched themselves into their new foe but each blow they landed gave them little satisfaction. Their blows would shatter bones but the undead were not perturbed and would carry on fighting, gripped by a will that would not let them die. The perverse rage that had previously gripped the Khorne warriors appeared to be dissipating when they realised that their new enemies would not spill blood.

The few remaining aelves continued to lose arrows into the blood warriors and the tide of battle appeared to be turning surprisingly quickly, The leader of the Khorne warriors barked a command to his followers who turned away from the skeletons and towards the remaining aelves. The aelves, sensing the impending danger melted away in the depths of the forest as if dissapearing into mist. Like a pack of hounds, the Khorne warriors barked and howled and sniffed the air. Their leader made a swift and violent movement with his arm and they followed him out of the clearing after the aelves, clearly bent on their utter destruction.

One by one the few remaining Khorne warriors in the clearing, those who were too slow to follow their leader's commands, were cut down by the remorseless undead.

The aelf next to Carnelian had lifted himself up to standing height next to the menhir, only for his leg to give way and to fall to the ground next to Carnelian, letting out a groan of pained frustration. Carnelian also let out a groan as he lifted himself into in a sitting position, next to the aelf. The aelf turned to Carnelian and hissed with hatred.

"That's it. That's the end. They'll hunt down every last one."

With the battle over, the skeleton leader turned to her warriors and without a word, they ranked up into a defensive formation before falling silent and as still as statues in a tomb. The leader then looked towards the menhirs and shouted towards Carnelian and the aelf:

"Some of you still live, you lucky bastards - it's been many centuries since I last enjoyed such a pleasure!"

She roared with laughter at her own joke as she strode confidently across the killing ground towards them.

"Those idiots didn't understand the power of this place. They're like a pack of damn dumb animals. Hah!"

City of Silence - Earning that february objective

Thanks to the machinations of the heavens, I've been given another day to finish my february paintings. The City of Silence sees five reinforcements this month, as I paint until I almost give myself carpal-tunnel syndrome.

Morghast Archai:

Mournical sat abreast of his nightmare. It's dark red eyes widened with fear as the dark heralds swooped down. Landing with a touch that belayed it's mass, the Morghast turned towards him. "Where is your Master", it commanded. "He is sought". The ground churned beneath the giant creature of bone and armour. Spirits dug themselves out of the earth beneath it, seemingly lifting the herald off the ground. It's voice still echoed in his head as Mournical replied. "The High Lord remains in the palace, in parlay with the king of old. State your purpose, o holy herald, for I was to admitt none". To refuse a Herald of the Accursed One is a certain doom, but these are not unthinking beasts or slaves without understanding. Diplomacy is not unknown to them, for the Accursed One spends not his prizes needlessly. "Admitt us. The Supreme Lord has commanded us. All are to step aside and obey, as is His will". The threat was implicit. Though they were few, Mournical doubted they could defeat them in combat. His oath to the High Lord demanded he obey and admitt them not, but the Heralds cannot be refused. "Enter then, Heralds. We shall escort you, so your purpose may be fulfilled."



Necromancer: Nord Kalot

The elder of High Lord Karashocks two remaining Necromancers, Nord was a wizened, bitter and pragmatic man. Bordering on two centuries old, he has seen more than his share of tragedy and loss. Despite this, the former Lord of the Graves speaks more bitterly than he acts. Though his words are often harsh, his actions show a surprising care when it can be afforded. When there is little room for kindness however, Nord has no qualms about abandoning pretenses to serve his purpose better. He believes firmly in the ascendancy of Nagash, and wears his remaining trappings of his order proudly.



Bone Giant: Seidi

Of all the reanimants in the City, the great statue of Seidi. Carved in dark marble and clad in ancient armour, the Giant stands across the eastern gate, first in the line of Reanimants along the Marbled Path. As the gate was betrayed, and the enemy let in, time was cut short. In desperate hours, Seidi would be unleashed to carve a swath through the heart of the enemy. Yet it is slow to wake, and requires great spells. With the eastern gate fallen without a fight, there was no time for the statue carvers to bring life back into the powerful monuments. Thus they stood silent for centuries, their purpose frustrated. Now, as the city stirrs once more, the earth shall tremble beneath its feet. All shall fear it's mighty assault, or be destroyed beneath it's massive blades!



Spirit Hosts: The Unforgiven

Not all who lived in the city of Stilluna fought to their last breaths. The weak, the young, the sick all died in their homes or in the streets, unable to defend themselves. Yet there were some amongst the people who could fight, could bear arms and defend others. Some who fell to the dark influences of Chaos and cowardice. These are the Unforgiven. They are bound to the city by force rather than will. As a reward for their terrible acts of betrayal, the scions of the dark gods bound them to this place as eternal torment. Their spirits would have to watch over the ruins they brought about, forever lamenting their fate. As the city once more heeds the call of war, these damned spirits are dragged along. They scream under the commands of their betters, but fight for a chance of redemption, and for the chance of eternal peace.



Grave Guard: The Moonfire Guardians

They stood silent as the tomb. In each boney hand, an ancient, rusted weapon. The old gold and armour spoke of long years in waiting, guarding. Mournical had known some of these men once, when their flesh still clung to their bones and their mouths still drew breaths. Now they were naught but bones, and he didn't know which amongst them he had counted as a friend. Pale lights shone from within their eye sockets as they tracked the Blood Knights. Heads slowly followed them, though the Moonflame Guardians did not move. Do they even need a speech, Mournical thought. They've been dead nearly as long as I. Tradition demands respect though, and the guardians of the king must surely still expect that. "Wights!", a word strange to use about men he once longed to be. "We march forth once more. Long has your guardianship been. Long has been your restless slumber. Rejoice then, you souls of this proud city! For we march to war and vengeance against the dark gods, and all who have wronged you!". Short, he thought. But

"Be silent, Mournical. We remember your face. Show us what four hundred years of damnation has tought you in the art of war".




So that's what I've been painting. Total comes to about 86£, which should do nicely. 

Sunday, 28 February 2016

Clan Festerscar: The Blind follow the Blind

Hey all!  Better late than never to get the February Challenge done and push the stories of the fall of Alpines and Opstrum Painad, Plaguemaster Malkk, and now the Cult of the Illuminated and the vermin-surge on the day of the horned rat!  

I managed to get over £50 painted up this month - (2) Boxes of Plague Monks, (1) Plague Priest, and (1) Plague Claw Catapult.  Looking forward to the March Challenge, as well as completing the Miniature Painting Bingo Challenge over the year as seen below.  I will have completed the "Paint a new version of a mini that you painted years before"  with my Plague Monks.  Happy reading!


************


Insolent fools, they would bring about the destruction of everything that they had worked so hard to achieve!  Opstrum could barely contain his rage as he stormed from the mocking laughter of the high council of Alpines.  He bit back the urge to spit upon the dark marble floors as he flew through the dimly lit hallways.  It has been merely a few hours since the death of the ranger, and get already the city was awash with motion - like frightened animals, the townsfolk paced within the confines of their pen.  A bastion against the beasts of the dark forests, the people of the city-state of Alpines were - for better or worse - ill-equipped to face the challenges of the world that lurked but a few hundred yards from their "safe" walls.  Opstrum knew this and his mood darkened even further.  

High King Escogant and his motley Knights - if you could call them that - had scoffed at Opstrum and thrown him out of their sight at the mention of the Plaguemaster.  They chose not to believe in children's bedtime stories like some shriveled old fool.  Opstrum could feel the inferno blazing inside of him glow white hot.  They would be the ones who history told future generations "look here, these men were entrusted with the beauty and law of 1000 years of tradition and safety in the face of the realm of Ghur, and THEY are the ones that cast us back to the wilderness to suffer and die by the dozen at the hands of ungodly creatures and evil warlords."  Opstrum would not be the one to let that happen.

Upon reaching the great doors that led to the courtyard, Opstrum stopped in his tracks.  There was a faint scratching at the corner of the door, right where it seemed a small hole was beginning to form.  Opstrum stooped down to observe the small opening.  As he watched, a rather robust rodent stuck it's snout through and begin to look about in confusion.  Opstrum sneared at the foul creature.  This vermin was as true an indicator of their folly as any.  Gnawing at the very foundation of everything that Alpines stood for, this creature was the enemy.

The Skaven were a plague unto the world, one that Opstrum would see burn before his very eyes if it was the last thing that he did on this mortal plane.  Chaos erupted from within the halls of the castle.  Bells began to toll throughout the castle and the city beyond.  A messenger ran down the hallway towards Opstrum, his face drained of all blood.  "Grand Mage Painad!  My Lord, come quickly!  Its... its..." Opstrum placed a hand to steady the messenger and glared into his eyes.  "Calm yourself boy.  Tell me, what has happened?"  

The room went exceptionally cold as the words came from the messengers mouth.  

"They...they're all dead, m'lord.  All of them.  The King is dead."  And with that, Opstrum Painad lost all control of his inner flame.


************
"The fall of the royal houses of Alpines was like so much wheat before a scythe.  In a nefarious plot that had been implemented by the foulest of the Skaven, Plaguemaster Malkk, a weapon of most unimaginable destruction was placed within the castle by the hired blades of Clan Eshin and detonated.  With the death of King Escogant and the High Courts, it was left to the people of the city to declare a new leader from amongst themselves.  Before the fires had even been put out at the center of the Castle of Alpines, that decision had been reached.  Opstrum Painad, the lone heir to the founding house of the city of Alpines and Headmaster of Chaotica Studies at the University of Alpines.  He would soon be tested against the Vermin Plague and the full might of the Festerscar Clan"
- L'histoire de la Famille Painad
by Omer Bollen, High General of the Alpine Guard
************


Festerscar Tunnels Entrance
13th Day of the 13th Month

Rotten bronze bells began to toll.  Bale chimes caked in corrosion and hardened puss clanged in unholy unison.  Coruk the Illuminated stood closest to the tunnel entrance, though he avoided the silver moon light as if it was death itself personified.  His eternally burning eldritch torch glowed blue in his paws, stolen and corrupted from the church-shrine of one of the many villages from around the Dragon Sea in the raids of the past months.  It had granted him the ability to lead with uncanny amount zeal, something that the Plague Monks had in droves already.  The frenzied warriors of his Cult of Illumination flocked to his banner of contagion, hoping to either gain some of the unholy rage that Coruk contained within himself, or to steal the damned torch for themselves. It mattered little to Coruk on this most holy of days.  The end of the Skaven year was the most holy of occassions, and the most appropriate time to launch this Crusade to end all Crusades.  Plaguemaster Malkk would be rewarded for his great thought-plans.  It was as if the gods themselves looked down and granted unnatural life to the master of Clan Festerscar.  And then Coruk looked to the edge of the tunnels.

The cacophony of shrill notes was silenced immediately.  All chitter-squeaking ceased.  Plaguemaster Malkk looked upon his vast horde of Skaven kind and smiled a snaggletoothed grin that would chill the blood of the most enraged of Khorne's followers.  "Clan-Kin!!!  Today, the day of our great master-lord's ascension to the council of the great ones, is the day of our plan-scheme's beginning.  You, my chosen horde, are the first-great wave of the World Sickness to be brought upon the scum-creatures of this world!"  He spat a glob of something so thick that it made the sound a brick would make if it hit the cavern ground.  Coruk began to feel righteous fury building within him, until he felt a damp weight on his shoulder.  The old Plague Priest Zulrat was making his way to the tunnel entrance, towards Malkk.  Coruk bowed before the venerable priest, his rage subsided by the sight of one so great.  Would he be the leader-master of this first wave?

Malkk spread his arms wide, revealing his rotting abdomen and shriveled chest.  "Clan-kin!  To lead this great wave of vermintide to the south to begin the quest-task of conquering the Deathworld Forests for the harvest-gathering of many-much Felonwood Mushrooms is the Venerable Zulrat!!! He will squeak-lead you to much glory and holy redemption for our great god-rats!"  Plaguemaster Malkk turned to his underling and bowed curtly before he stepped back to allow the ancient one to speak-squeak.  Zulrat turned slowly to the gathered forces, the frenzied energy building into a palpable force around the cavern.  His one good filth riddled eye slowly panned over the gathered, and with a slight nod to Malkk, he uttered but one single, almost unintelligible syllable.

"Go."

The great Plaguemaster turned to the hordes and lifted a paw high into the air, and then brought it down in a flash of putrid green light.  The tallest Screaming Bell in the cavern moved slowly, protesting each inch with a louder whine than before.  A single bell toll rolled out through the cavern.  As one, the vast horde of Plaguemonks, Censer bearers, and other vermin caught up in the thick frenzy of the charge poured from the tunnel towards the south.  The ground shook with the weight of the warcry they cried as they emerged into the night "PLAGUEMASTER!!!!!!"  Within the horde, a dim blue light surged into a blinding flame as Coruk and his Illuminated rushed into the cool air, foaming at the mouth for the blood of the unholy.

Malkk turned from his underling Zulrot and strode towards the true bulk of his Crusade; numberless within the deep confines of the cavern.  The great boiling cauldrons were already beginning to have fires lit beneath them.  He had much work to do, and the dispatching of his most troubling rivals to die in the first wave was complete.  No longer would the bastard Zulrat meddle in his plots.  Malkk sniggered as he watched the fires catch under the black iron of the cauldrons.  All would begin soon…
Taken from Jon-Hodgson on epilogue.net

************

Lord Corrupter Vepseudal stroked his long, puss encrusted whiskers as he leaned back into his throne.  He thought for a moment before he beckoned with a long bony finger to his nearest attendant.  The creature bowed deeply and set out through the portcullis towards the realm of the great diseased ones.  Another creature lay at the feet of the Lord Corrupter, which Vepseudal regarded with passing interest.  

"TELL ME AGAIN OF YOUR MASTER... CHLOROTHRAX.  WE MAY HAVE NEED FOR HIS... SERVICES." 

The one eyed Doombull looked up at the Verminlord and a snarl of satisfaction slowly crept across the creatures scared and oozing face.....

************


Photo dump of all the painted gubbins from this month.  Enjoy!
The Plagueclaw Catapult of Caecus the Everseeing 
The Plagueclaw Catapult of Caecus the Everseeing
Plague Priest Zulrot 
Plague Priest Zulrot
Cult of the Illuminated, led by Coruk
Cult of the Illuminated, led by Coruk
Cult of the Illuminated, led by Coruk 
Cult of the Illuminated, led by Coruk







Friday, 26 February 2016

The Great Bog Wyrm Arjax and the Mute

Over countless ages the sucking mud has cradled her.  Deep in sleep she looses track of the arc of time and space, the woes of dragonkind and the wars of mortals.

Recently she stirs, called to by a distant soulflame.  Though she fights it and roils deeper into the mud that shelters her the call is clear and she is pulled ever upward.  Emerging from the timeless bog she understands and accepts that her destiny lies in blood and battle, not the shelter of the fen.

The one that called her is a curious creature,, directing its kin through posture and sheer force of will instead of words.  The wordless one is imbued with the old and powerful magic granted to those who have made great sacrifice in service to dragonkind and she has been called to repay the debt with tooth and claw.





Thursday, 25 February 2016

The City of Silence - Escape with the Artifact

This battle report was between my Death army and my opponents Sylvaneth. We played the scenario "The Hidden Artifact" from the Balance of Power book. Very fun scenario. Standard run-across-the-board fare, but with two twists. The Carrier of the artifact is hidden, and the carrier can reveal itself for bonuses.


"Whatever shall we do, my lady? It seems we are pursued by the little spirits of this forest." His voice was playful, almost nonchalant. Perfectly matching his noble, aloof demeanor. "Don't be so light-hearted, my dear. They're older than us, and taller than a Morghast", she replied. Annoyed at her lover's uncaring attitude. The undead may have the lead, but these tree-folk are old and powerful.  The wind rustled in the leaves, and blew dust across barren ruins. Striding not a hundred paces behind them were two treelords, vengeful and glowing with inner fire...


Turn 1: 


The undead start the battle off defensively. Using the spirit hosts to block the Spirit of Durthu, they were confident of running. Morghasts moved up to block any treelords from approaching around the spirit host blockade.


Spirits do nothing to Durthu, while he only makes a single wound in return!


Showing off that defensive blockade.


Sylvaneth turn 1, a Wildwood approaches!


As do the outflanking dryads! The combat between Durthu and Spirit Hosts goes well, for the Spirits do 6 Mortal Wounds!


Turn 2:


Well, that was unexpected. Another Sylvaneth Wildwood popped up in front of me. As did Durthu and the Treelord.


Treelord smashes into the Grave Guard! The guards reveal that they carried the artifact. Durthu did no damage to them whatsoever. Bad Durthu.


Morghasts smash into the Dryads. Casualties all around. They do five wounds to the Morghasts, but take 6 in return.


Undead turn 2. The Grave Guard finish off Durthu.


The Morghasts take no damage, and slowly finish off the Dryads.


"You can't fight him! He'l' crush  you! Or Impale you!" She called out to her lover, to his reason. The tree-thing was more than a match for him, and she needed him. Forever.


Dodging between hardened branches, he swung out his sword. It bit deep into the hardwood legs, drawing the life-sap of the Treelord. Pulling it out with artistic flair, he ran around the trunks of the monster. As long as he kept moving, he would win.


Sylvaneth turn 2. Meanwhile, the Morghasts ended the Dryads.Short work, really.


A vine lashed out around his feet. Rough bark and hard wood smashed across his face, sending him sprawl. As he lay there, a vast staff of heartwood came hurtling down, impaling him to the ground. His ribs, his chest, his body was crushed under the impact, like a dried branch under thundering hooves.


The ring on his finger pulsed like a slow heartbeat. Powerful inner light beat and shone with each pulse. Wounds grew over, bones mended as the ring used its magics. Rising slowly, and with little grace, he lived again.


Morghasts move in to support the Grave Guard.


The lady of the host joins her husband, and goes all stabby stabby. Their combined might slays the treelord!


 "That ring the best wedding gift", he grunted. "Keeps me here with you, my love". She glared at him. He had almost died. Almost left her. For some forbidden artifact that she cared nothing for. The tears were blinked out of her red eyes. Watching him impaled, crushed and torn apart by that thing... She would need to rejuvinate his ring. She couldn't continue without him.
"You fool", was all she could muster.


With the treelord dead, the game goes to the undead.

The game could have gone very differently, had the treefolk not fluffed so many attacks. Durthu rolling a 1 for his damage meant he took a ton of mortal wounds at the start. Not doing any wounds to the Grave guard didn't help either. I didn't take a lot of pictures of the Treelord-Vampire combat, but it lasted an absurd amount of time. The vampire, after being slain quickly the first time, never took a wound again. Which really shouldn't have happened. My opponent cleverly used his dryads to drive me towards his Wyldwood. Two teleporting treemen should have caused some serious hurt. Unfotunetely for him, his could hardly have rolled worse. If he were Skaven, I wouldn't have to do anything at all.

Until next update, adios.