Clan Festerscar: Escape

Hey all!

Hope everyone is having a lovely May so far.  This month I am focusing on getting some of the many models that I started last month done in time for this months bonus objective. You'll (hopefully) be introduced to the foul Plaguesmog congregation of the Festerscar tribe, sent forth by Malkk to observe Zulrot during his "mission of most importance."  I'll also be introducing the first batch of the Boiler-Stokers, a subfaction within the mighty Clan Festerscar in charge of the small but powerful Skyre contingent of the clan.  These will be represented by the Arch-Warlock Amushock Engineseer and his trio of Warlock Engineer underlings and personal guard of Stormfiends.

Over the course of the month I hope to get a few more battles in, as I am finally in a place where I can schedule some games after a few grueling months off from gaming - going to get battle reports started today with a report for an intro game that I ran for a long time friend of mine, using my small collection of Bloodbound against a selection of Clan Festerscar.  It only seemed appropriate that this should be Zulrot fleeing the battle portrayed in "Stoking the Fires."

We played a 7 Warscroll game, using the contents of the Age of Sigmar starter set Bloodbound plus a Slaughter Priest (as it was just too cool not to use) against Plague Priest Zulrot, 2 units of Monks, 2 units of Censer Bearers, an Arch Warlock, and a Doom Flayer.  We played the scenario Breakthrough.

I know that it has been a while since the last update concerning the Fall of the City of Alpines and their Mad King, but I will be returning to that within the month - possibly next month at the very latest.  There are lots of whirling cogs with that story line, the curious storyline converging with Beasts of Nurgle's Cholothrax Tribe, and the Verminlord Vepsuedal's secretive plans; all of them will be addressed in due time.

For now, I hope you enjoy "Escape"....


Zulrot wheezed as he carried himself over the lip of the rocky outcropping.  He looked over his buboes covered shoulder, scratching viciously at his forearms, a look of disgust etched on his withered face.  What remained of his rear guard was little more than a patrol force.  Hardly a full Congregation of Filth. Beneath him, the one true master of Clan Festerscar to have such a small force at his disposal.  If it were not for the treachery of Malkk - Zulrot spat at the very thought of his name - he would have his finest warriors still at his disposal.

But he did not.  

He had been fooled at the edge of the Deathworld Forest, on a quest for some damnable mushrooms that - as far as Zulrot knew - more than likely did not actually exist.  A great ploy to kill off those that would oppose the supposed Plaguemaster.  The pilgrims of the Horned Rat that brandished his divine wind through plague censers stood at the front of his forces.  The few remaining Plague monks of the Congregation sprawled out in disorganized mobs behind them, muttering prayers to the Great One and picking at scabs to keep their gifts freshly oozing.  The mysterious Arch-Warlock Nagrat the Tinkergear communed in hushed squeaks with his one remaining contraption - a Doom Flayer. Zulrot and Nagrat were not on squeaking terms at the moment, the fool had tried to incinerate him when Zulrot ordered that the mechanical monstrosities he had created be left for the Bloodbound to destroy.

Zulrot looked about their surroundings for the first time since reaching the edge of the forests.  Rolling rocky outcroppings for miles in any direction, with the occasional large crater - probably from one of the roaming Iuthict'gnu, great flaming creatures of immense size that were rumored to be born of perverted Earth Magicks.  Throughout the open hills, there was the occasional dot of a structure.  There was a concentration of arcane buildings in this area it seemed - a Numonus Occulum there, a Dragaonfate Dias there, and most surprisingly?  A pair of Realm Gates, crackling with uncontrolled energies.  Zulrot had seen those gates destroy entire congregations that attempted to enter them.  He knew well enough not to trust in untamed magicks - only those realm gates that were purified with enough blood and holy taint could be traveled through safely.  

Directly before them, though, was a great tower.  Zulrot's spine electrified as he looked upon the unholy battlements and saw that it was not brick and mortar that kept this tower standing tall, but skulls and untold gallons of congealed blood.  A Skull Keep.

A deep horn sounded from within the Keep.  Not a soul occupied the tower from what Zulrot could tell, but the horn sounded again, and again, and again - over and over. What the horn called to couldn't possibly be real, for it felt like the Brass and Blood clad warriors materialized out of the very air before the host of Zulrot.  Before them stood the same warrior that had stood before them at the Battle of the Deathworld Forest.  A cold fear began to eat at the very soul of the shriveled old Plague Priest.  Was the Great Horned Rat so displeased with him that he deserved to be killed by these loathsome creatures above all others?  It did not matter.  Zulrot would live.  Vengeance turned its ugly head within the little rat and made a great show of itself.

"Zulrot will live!  Curse be to the gods, one and all, that would stand in the way of my vengeance against the thrice cursed Malkk!"  Planting his staff into the ground, he let loose a great gout of steaming filth from the warpstone implanted at the tip.  "We will escape these foul heathens!"

The battlelines clashed with a thunderous explosion of metal on metal, and the dull thuds of weapons finding purchase in weak flesh.  The two Perishes of Plague Censer Bearers charged headlong into the fray against a great Korgorath and a large horde of Blood Reavers.  After inflicting all but the killing blow to the Korgorath, the fools managed to survive a wave of attacks against them.  Zulrot glowed with pride as he felt the eyes of the Great Horned Rat on the battle erupting.  He hoped that he could make his master proud.  

The Bloodsecrator chanted litanies of hate against the cursed rats as they swarmed over the lines of Blood Reavers.  The Censer Bearers cared not for their own lives, only for the furthering of the word of the Great Horned Rat.  

Zulrot and his personal bodyguard of monks sprinted towards the closest Realm gate. Caution would have to be abandoned in this case.  They simply had to escape the hordes of warriors making their way towards the Skaven congregations.  Arch-Warlock Tinkergear cast a spell of protection on the Plague Priest, before turning to try and make short work of the Blood Reavers, but the arcane sorceries of his exo-skeleton failed him, and he was unable to conjure forth any additional magics.  

Zulrot knew that planning would have to be completely on the mark if he wanted to escape with his life and wreck his vengeance against those that had wronged him.  Zulrot ordered the other Perish of Monks to march on the cadre of warriors that was barreling down on his position - the elite of the Bloodbound struck for the heart of the Congregation.  A snarling visage that seemed all too familiar to Zulrot ran screaming towards them - a flesh hound in tow, as well as the most armored warriors in the Goretide before them.  A Bloodstocker whipped the lot of them into a frenzy as they charged towards them.

Zulrot turned, lesions on his back bursting as he strained to see the course of the battle to his far flank.  The warriors of his Censer Bearers were no more, as the last blade came down to decapitate the whimpering form of champion he'd chosen himself.  Zulrot could not make out the hulking form of the Korgorath - hopefully it burned in whatever hell spawned it.  The form of the Arch Warlock could be made out as he raced towards the oncoming horde of Reavers.  He was quite mad for a Skaven, even one from the Clan Skyre.  

Before him, the monks he'd sent to stall the Mighty Lord of Khorne were performing their task perfectly.  They died by the dozen to the fell ax sweeps of the Warrior, but for every three that fell, one of the Blood Warriors was dragged down with them.  The Bloodstoker was being strangled with his own whip by the largest of the Monks.  A fitting end to such a creature it seemed.

It would only be a matter of time before the last of the Monks fell to the ax of the champion of Khorne.  Zulrot began to panic.  He could see the Reavers getting close to the Arch Warlock.  The world began to spin.  He turned to the Monks at his side.  "You, Scumlicker, come here, quick-quick..."

Arch-Warlock Nagrat squealed with glee as he unleashed yet another bolt of incandescent lightning at the fleshy ones.  They clawed and teared at his armor, but he simply twisted out of their grasp to the sickening crunch of breaking bones.  Whirling again, he pointed his warpfire gauntlet at a large clump of them trying to rush the Skyre Engineer, vaporizing them in green warpflame.  A huge explosion of light from behind him made the warlock engineer drop the reaver he was eviscerating and turn.  The Realm Gate to the west had been opened, and the Plague Monks had scampered through.  He counted as they went through.  Twenty Monks went through, with only Zulrot staying behind to fend off the Khorne Leader from getting through.  It was a quick fight.  The Lord of Khorne held aloft the head of Zulrot as prize for all to see.  Turning, Nagrat saw the Monks exiting the Realm Gate to the East.  One.. two... three..... all the way to Sixteen little Plague monks skittering away.  But no more Zulrot.... A loud bang and a pop of black inky smoke made Nagrats temper explode as he watched the last of his precious creations - the Doom Flayer - be hacked to pieces by the Khorne Lord before his malicious gaze turned to the engineer.  Nagrat swallowed hard as he released all of musk glands at once.....

End of the Battle over look 
The Plague Monks of Zulrot escape without their master... or did they?

The single turn kill pile for the Arch Warlock was pretty Crazy 
Within the Horde of shuffling Plague Monks, Zulrot scratched at the robes of the now presumably dead Scumlicker.  He had managed to survive the day through cunning, and that was enough for him....


Across the towers and catwalks of Blightcity in the Realm of Chaos, the screams of rage from Vepsuedal could be heard for 13 full minutes as he slaughtered his way through the thirteen halls of his palatial abode.  He would not have his plans be foiled by an insolent Plague Priest with his mind set on vengeance.  Not after so many millennia of planning to create this exact moment.

It simply was not allowed to happen.

The great Belltower at the center of the city rang once, long and hard.  Even the lowliest rats in the gutters, without the mutations of all skaven, turned their heads and silenced their ruckus.  The Great Horned Rat had tolled the bell.  It was once step closer to the day of emergence.

It was written that, 

Thirteen times the bell well toll, 
Thirteen times again.
Once the thirteenth bell of the thirteenth hour rumbles from within,
The Thirteen Horned Master will throw open the doors, 
And with His emergence, the emergence of the Chosen people will begin....

Folks that's all I have today, I hope that you enjoyed the read.  Again, I apologize for not taking more photos and for not having all painted models on the table.  Looking forward to the next update with a good number of models painted up hopefully!  Until then!


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