Monday, 20 October 2014

Growls in the Gatehouse

As Geheimnisnacht arrived, the armies forging Empires in the Badlands formed up. Bitter differences between man and Lizard were put aside, to stand alongside the ancient Elves and Dwarves against the horrors that stood against them. Warriors of Chaos, far from the north. Ogres from the East, and Dark Elves from the West. As the armies ranked up and eyed Fozzriks Gatehouse between them, vile vermin started to spew from the north, between the Elves and the Dwarves. Astounded to see the ratmen abroad above ground, the Dwarves turned most of their wrath from the men of Chaos and onto them. The Elves, with an allied force of Lizardmen to their left, did the same. The ratmen were swiftly dispatched, and the fulcrum they had debased was secured.

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the battlefield, a mighty ruck had broken out between the men of the Empire and the ogres. However the narrow confines of the terrain, combined with a floating fortress and an uncooperative Steam Tank, left the enemies spending much of their time eyeing each other up as they champed at the bit waiting for their turn to fight.

With the forces of good dominating the winds of magic, mostly down to a combination of the Lizards Slaan controlling the casting, and the Dwarves using their knowledge to deny the enemy much power, the forces of good were in a solid position. The skaven had broken and fled, the ogres were being butchered to a (very fat) man, and the Dark Elves had not had chance to get out of their corner. The warriors of Chaos had turned the tide against the dwarf forces despatched to them, but with the skies darkening far too quickly, even for Geheimnisnacht, everyone felt trouble brewing.

At this point, a lone truthsayer took on a gamble and teleported into the Gatehouse. Exploring the (thankfully abandoned) building he found some treasures, but nothing more. Roughguts, knowing he would not be able to make it to the tower with the gathering stormclouds, left the truthsayer to his task, and set some ogre mournfang to rout.

Roughguts returned to the battlefield, and surveyed the scene. Sir Ulric and his hammers were going hell for leather against some Dark Elf knights, who seemed to have a very similar trinket on one of their heroes. No matter how many blows they struck against each other, they would shrug them off. The few that were felled with seemingly fatal blows soon got back up and back into the saddle. Crazy old Sir Ulric was having a smashing time, singing bawdy songs about rotund maidens whilst bashing his enemies brains out, several times in a row - Roughguts left him to it. Let the old man enjoy himself. But of the truthsayer who had teleported into the Gatehouse, no sign. Roughguts swooped across the battlefield, and found him hiding in some woods in the lee of the gatehouse. When asked why he had abandoned the fulcrum, the truthsayer just said "big, scary... nasty sharp pointy teeth..." and kept rocking back and forth in the foetal position. Roughguts sensed he would not get much more out of the man on this day, but from what had been said (and he had no reason to doubt the words, cryptic as they may have been) Roughguts held back from the tower.

As Morrsleib hung full, every surviving wizard on the battlefield felt a surge of power. The winds of magic flurried and swirled around the Gatehouse, as one of the very fabrics of magic was torn from the veil. The sky darkened still further, and the world felt chill. Roughguts sensed something epic had taken place, though he knew not where. The truthsayer stopped rocking, and softly breathed the words "He is Risen..."

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