The Knyght's Tayel - a Halloween Warcry Game

Once, as in olde stories played to crowde,

There was a grayt Kyng named Mudshroud;

Of wudland he, was protector and lord,

A conqueror he, lyved by the sword.

That grayter under Hysh was noone,

Fulle many battels he had won;

What with he's wisdom and he's chivalrey,

He wedded the Queene Mordgrave, you see.

He broght her hom with him to he's countrey

Withe much glorey and great solemnitey.

And thus with victorey and with songe

(from Moldforth; a jester, you'll meet ere long)

This nobel Kyng to Scarred-lande ryde,

With alle his hoste-in-arms, him besyde.

~ ~ ~

And surely, if it were not so longe to hear,

If the hourglass sands end wern't quite so neare,

I would telle een full howe his reygn began;

The gloreys of he's long life's span;

But alle that matter I must nowe forgo.

Of the storme aheed, they could not knowe;

The remnant of this tayel is longe enough,

The patha befoer theem: fraught and roughe.

So not to wonder offe the tayel I bringe,

And where I lefte, I will againe begyn.

~ ~ ~

The Kyng, of whom I telle this story,

His proud processioun; fulle of glorey.

Then came to gather fruite and meat,

(And othern thyngs for alle to eat)

In alle hys prosperitey and alle his pryde,

He yet grewn wary: caste eye aside,

He there beheld: that barred their waey

A companey of bandyts, yellen "Stay!"

Eache after other alle, clothed but halfe;

And such a dreadful noise their laugh.

That in this worlde no creeture lyving

Could wytness such without mysgiving;

And alle their revelrey did instantly ende,

When Queene Mordgrave killed a grot; theirn friend.

The bandyt cheef was aback-taken,

He decryed the Kyng fore stealyng hys bacoun.

"What righte have yoon, in mine own encampe

To robbe my feast, my grot's head to stampe?"

Quoth the Kyng "Have you no respecte?

By mine glorey, yourn hoomes I protecte

I stope incursiouns frome wythout

Yet swuch as you do moan and shoute!

Whom couldst we have so offended?

You tellen me, nought but a grot is ended!"

Whyle he spake with deadley cheer,

He's pylgrims hurryed farre and near.

They gathered up the fruits and the meats,

That the bandyts longe had saved up (to eats)

While pylgrims took onione and sayge,

Quoth loude the bandyts bothe, in rayge,

"While spake you so, of honour and glorey,

Your pylgrims' looting tells a differente storey!"

The pylgrims cryed in sorrowe and fear,

"No drop of pitey, for alle us here?

Poor wretched pylgrims that you blayme,

We onley dide as you dide same!

We thanked Fortune and her false wheel,

But nowe your axe, on head we feel!"

"But wretch, who weep and wayl thus,

We came for harvest, not for fusse!"

The Queene tryed to reasoun with bandyt-secound,

But withe he's great hounger she had not reckouned.

Fulle filled of ire and of iniquitey,

The Kyng stoode talle agaynst tyranny.

The first bandyt turned, and axes felle,

The Kyng, was slaine; dropp'd een a well.

T'other bandyt strucke the Queene, fulle-force,

And laugh'd aloude as she fellen frome horse.

While the lumbering wudland hoodes

Touk backe alle theyr stoulen goodes,

The laste three pylgrims fourght hard and longe,

Bothe warbands sang a bitter songe.

The tyde did turne and a pylgrim felle,

But soon did grot droppe dead as well.

The bandyts sought to ende this storey,

Of slaughtered Kyng and fallen glorey.

They rushed and wrourght in full-borne rayge,

Whych soon crossed pylgrims offe the payge.

When at laste onley Moldforth survived,

(I mencioned heem, when first arryved)

The bandyts boasted loude and oft,

They helde bits of half-eaten foe aloft.

All pageantrey and glorey ended

The court's injureys could not be mended.

Withe brouken heart, he heared them spake,

It seemed to heem he's heart would break.

So desperate last ploye Moldforth hadde,

He stolen their lunch, to mayke them sadde.

And wythout a word, wythout more delay,

The Jester did runne: he got away.

+++

(Apologies to Geoffrey Chaucer)

Viktor was back in Manchester for a week over Halloween, so we met up in a cafe near my office and played our nearly-traditional Halloween themed game. We played Scattered Spoils, from the first introduction of Bladeborn to Warcry in White Dwarf 477. The 3 Battleplans in that issue are designed for small warbands, of around 500 to 600 points. Perfect for a game squeezed into a short time!

It was a lot of fun! Even if I was completely slaughtered by a combination of picking a terrible list and Viktor's amazing attack rolls.

The Night of the Sorowmœn - A Halloween game in The Harrowmark

The last night of Graives, the eleventh month in the Harrowmark calendar, was called the Sorowmœn - a Harrowmark "festival" that commemorated an ancient unremembered cataclysm.

The Harrowmark has its own local moon, but long ago there were two: one was destroyed in some great calamity, the details of which have faded from even the long memory of the undead. The shards of the second moon follow the remaining one - they were called The Moon's Daughters by the locals and there were many sad folk-tales about them.

On one night each year, the night of Sorowmœn, the Moon's Daughters were not visible, and the surviving moon seemed to moan with grief for her loss.

But Sorowmœn also gained new significance because it was on that night the Necroquake first hit the Harrowmark. The locals said Nagash obviously knew what he was doing when he picked that day, of all days, to enact a ritual that was centuries in the planning... The restless dead became even more unquiet on that night, and every anniversary of it. So the mortal populous of the Harrowmark shut themselves up in their rotting hovels in the evening of the Sorowmœn; they doubled the number of fetishes placed on their lintels; fresh paint was daubed on the warding hex-marks protecting their doors, new-made straw poppets hung from every window frame...

But beyond that all they could do was hide, and hope to see the next dawn.

+++

SCENE I. A tavern at night. In the middle, a boiling cauldron.

Thunder. Enter three orruk pirates.

First Pirate

Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd.

Second Pirate

Thrice and once the hedge-pig whined.

Third Pirate

Bell rings. 'Tis time, 'tis time.

First Pirate

Round about the cauldron go;

In the season'd entrails throw.

Toad, that under cold stone

Days and nights has thirty-one

Swelter'd venom sleeping got,

Boil thou first i' the warmed pot.

Second Pirate

Fillet of a fenny snake,

In the cauldron boil and bake;

Eye of newt and toe of frog,

Wool of bat and tongue of dog,

Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting,

Lizard's leg and owlet's wing,

For a charm of powerful trouble,

Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.

Third Pirate

Well, that sounds disgusting. I ain't eating that.

Enter BORTAGNO to the other three Pirates

BORTAGNO

You'll eat what your given mate, or go hungry.

Music and a song: 'Black spirits,' & c

BORTAGNO retires

Second Pirate

Open, locks,

Whoever knocks!

Thunder. Enter KAPITAN Da LEEVA, wet from the storm.

KAPITAN Da LEEVA

How now, you secret, salty midnight coves!

What is't you do?

ALL

A deed without a name.

Third Pirate

Dinner. Which, its just called dinner ain't it?

Da LEEVA

Howe'er you come to know it, answer me:

Though you untie the winds and let them fight

Against the graves; though the testy waves

Confound and swallow navigation up;

Though castles topple on their warders' heads;

Though inverted pyramids do slope

Their heads to their foundations; though the treasure

Even till Destruction sicken; answer me

To what I ask you.

First Pirate

Speak.

Second Pirate

We'll answer.

Third Pirate

What's he taking about?

Da LEEVA

What will never be

Who can impress the forest, bid the tree

Unfix his earth-bound root? Sweet battles? Good!

Rebellious dead, rise ever fill the wood

Of Kalyustar's art, and his dark-placed crew

Shall shed the lease of nature, pay his due

To time and mortal custom. Yet my heart

Beats to know one thing: tell me, if your art

Can tell so much: shall Rotmoons this night

Leave this damned inn and join the fight?

Exeunt all pirates collecting their scattered weapons and gear, flustered and panicked.

+++

SCENE II. A forest graveyard by moonlight. In the middle, the necromancer KALYUSTAR at work among pumpkins. The Sorowmœn shines alone, low in the sky.

Enter twelve orruk pirates, whispering loudly.

DRAGANTE

Seize upon the dog; give to the edge o' the sword

His skeletons, his gheists, and all the unfortunate souls

That he play like puppets. No boasting like a fool;

This deed I'll do before this purpose cool.

AWKWARDO

Stab his eyes, and grieve his heart;

Come like shadows, so depart!

KALYUSTAR

By the pricking of my thumbs,

Some stinking orruk this way comes.

DRAGANTE

To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done:

The rituals and schemes of Kalyustar I will surprise.

Da LEEVA

This time, thou anticipate not my dread exploits:

My purpose never is o'ertook

Where is he? Gone? Let this pernicious hour

Stand aye accursed in the calendar!

Go on Ladz, advance without fear!

EL DOCTORO

I conjure you, by that which I profess,

Oh well done I! I commend you; pain!

Thunder and lightning.

Much running about by the pirates.

Enter Skeletons and Gheists, from below the ground.

KEINRICH (A Skeleton)

I thought to fright you thus, methinks, you are too savage;

I'll do worse with fell blade and cruelty!

He stabs.

DE LEEVA

Hold fast the mortal sword, and like good crew!

Gheists be gone, let flee to wail of sorrows new.

BORTAGNO

That Kalyustar, whose name blisters my tongue,

Was once thought honest: you'd have liked him well.

He hath not touch'd Shyish when he was young;

But by my blade tonight, he'll go to hell.

AWKWARDO

Thy traitor's blade has cut me deep!

To recover whence, I think I'll sleep.

He falls to the ground.

Drum rolls and battle-cries echo in the darkness.

EL DOCTORO

I'd conjure more but Parche; the blast would catch,

That fool pirate, with hook and patch.

KALYUSTAR

Let me seek out some desolate shade, and there

Draw out sad graves to empty.

KALYUSTAR runs from the pirates.

KALYUSTAR

What now to believe, and what I can redress,

As I shall consult my Shadeglass friend, I will:

What you have spoke, it may be so perchance.

The Shadeglass Skull

(You have no chance.)

First Gheist

He has kill'd me, again I'm free:

Whither should I fly?

I have done no harm. But I remember now

I am in this earthly world; where to do harm

Is often laudable, to do good sometime

I'll run away, to where Nagash won't see!

The First Gheist fades from sight.

KEINRICH

I bleed, bleed, poor country!

Great tyranny! lay thou thy basis sure.

DRAGANTE

You ain't what I call bleeding mate.

But that serves you right, poor Awkwardo, the late.

EL DOCTORO

Now Parche is clear, I can again,

Use my sorcery to bring your end.

Thunder and green lightning.

Second Gheist

You thought me gone Bortagno? Your blade bit deep.

It will be you that ends this day.

And I return once more to reap,

I see thee still, And from my blade your blood does seep.

FRANCOT

In my most ill-composed affection much curtailed.

My stanchless avarice fulfilled, that is, were I not impaled.

He dies.

Da LEEVA

These crimes of yours,

Stick deeper, grow with more than pernicious root,

Yet this sword of mine, I stole as loot,

Has slay'd kings and great beasts: so do not fear;

Of your own mere soul: will disappear,

With other graces weigh'd,

You'll not remember that you, I also slay'd.

TAMBOR

This drumming rhythm I will beat steady.

Come, go we to the Necromancer; our power is ready;

Our lack is nothing but Kalyustar, by our flanking,

Has proved to be just ripe for shanking,

And by the powers of Gork (or Mork),

Put up your club and hook, Parche. Receive what cheer you may:

The night is long that never finds the day.

They set upon the fallen Necromancer KALYUSTAR, and beat him.

Exeunt the pirates, joyous in victory.

ALL (singing)

Full fathom five the wizard lies;

Of his bones is worm-food made;

Those are stones that were his eyes:

Nothing of him that doth fade,

But doth suffer a sea-change

Into something rich and strange.

aethersea-beasts ring his knell:

Ding-dong.

Hark! now I hear them, ding-dong, bell.

Their singing fades into the darkness.

+++

(Apologies to Shakespeare fans for the mangling I have committed!)

We used "A Grave Mistake" Battleplan from Bringers of Death for our special Halloween game, a Warcry 1st edition book, but we played it with 2nd edition rules. It still worked perfectly well and proved that the old books are not to be thrown out! And 1500 points of Bonesplitterz is a LOT of orruks.

After the game finished we discussed things that might have balanced it better - our best idea was simply to add that all objectives should be controlled by the Death player at the start of Round 1. That way they would have at least a chance to summon a reasonable warband during the game.

It was still loads of fun though, Kalyustar nearly died so many times but managed to pull off some incredibly narrow-escapes.

Viktor's version of this tale is here.

Turnip28: The Bolyany Irregulars - part 2. The Root of All Evil

Bolyany

One of the few almost-green places along Lake Bykaal’s shores, Bolyany’s vegetable larders are fiercely protected by the natives.

Once a small farming community around a central market-town hub, Bolyany was sparsely populated but always busy, farmer’s wagons pouring into its market square every day and traders from all around the lake would come to buy produce. The root crops were withered and meagre by any standard, but still superior to any grown elsewhere around the lake. Local tribes-folk now inhabit the place, a twisted husk of what it once was but still growing some form of crop, namely blood-red sour beets and extremely large varieties of hideous turnip, and pretty much the only source of food around the lake. The sullen masked people whisper prayers to nameless gods, but mostly keep to themselves and tend to their eerie gardens

Old Growth Turnip Patches

On the other side of a tributary river from Boylany. Even without farming this land is overrun with hideously distorted and misshapen turnips. It would be impossible to grow anything else here. The farmers who gathered the crops have seen their families murdered by outsiders and are aggressive and resentful of anyone not wearing a traditional Bolyany mask.

Pool of Frozen Reflections

The faces of every mortal who has ever gazed upon this cursed pool’s waters glare upward with black, empty eyes.

The Market Square

The gated Market Square is surrounded by the largest and most ornate buildings in Bolyany, though like the rest of the village they have seen better days. Their faded opulence speaks of a time, long past, when the village was wealthy. The inner walls of the square were painted with murals of townspeople exchanging crops of turnips for fine cloth and jewelry, but the paint is blistered, peeling and weathered and it is hard to make out anything but the turnips.

The square itself is now cluttered with tangled abandoned waggons and market stalls and littered with long-rotted vegetables, the cobbled square used to be a hive of activity every day. Now it is infested with a herd of Deadwalkers, trapped among the broken waggons, aimlessly wandering back and forth.

The Lake Road

A winding dirt track that leads from Bolyany to Lake Bykaal, once the main route for outbound produce. It is pitted with holes and often flooded by rain or snow-melt waters. The mud makes journeying along the road excruciatingly hard work.

The Chapel of the Mask

A small, humble place of worship, outsiders are not welcome - especially if their faces are uncovered. The grey stone walls of the circular building are etched with frost damage and pitted with chips and cracks. The high arched stained glass windows are boarded and dark. A few candles light the interiors at all hours, maintained by the masked and robed priests.

The Sourbeet Fields

The earth is stained red with the beet-juice of a hundred crops but the hideous turnips have taken over here too.

The Bell of Nyura

A mouldy and dilapidated drinking-house with few customers near the gates to the village. It is treated as the “inn for visitors” by the locals.

The Twisted Root

A slightly less mouldy and dilapidated drinking-house, with slightly more custom. The stables behind the inn have been empty for years and are often used for late night gambling on bare-fist fights.

+++

Another Animosity Campaigns event is coming - socially distanced (i.e. mostly online) and this time a "one-weeker", rather than a full-blown five-weeker. It will be focused on one small town on the shores of Lake Bykaal, in Shyish: The Root of All Evil

I drew the maps (above) and some of the interior art for the event pack for the campaign and I have started expanding my #Turnip28-styled Warcry warband.

First up is a civilian villager (made form Cawdor upper half and Delaque lower half and a Gloomspite Gitz Boingrot Bounder head). Smolek is a candlemaker but they have become the de facto leader of a small group of Bolyany Irregulars loyal to Kemdedaya the eel-witch.

The band will battle the Root on the streets of Bolyany on Mallusnacht and light the turnip lanterns on the homes around the broken town wall.

"Light the lanterns and put on your damn mask! The Root is coming and it's our best defense!"

- Smolek the candlemaker

A Freeguild Handgunner (made from a Flagellant with a Greatsword head and normal Freeguild Handgunner arms).

Sitek is a priest from the Chapel of the Mask. He was assigned to the Irregulars to look after their spiritual wellbeing and make sure they wear their masks. He has very little actual work to do in that regard, so he has taken up a handgun. He has become the best shot in the warband.

Next is a mixed batch of a wizard (made from an ancient, and slightly damaged, plastic Talisman wizard, from the late 90s, rescued from the bottom of a box). Grega will do his best to assist the Bolyany Irregulars through his art; powerful though somewhat unpredictable Rootmancy. He won't always actually help, and may sometimes be a severe hindrance. He is a lot shorter than Smolek, and intimidated by them.

A peasant ruffian with a spiked club (made from the Cawdor legs left over from the first civilian, an old Mordheim Militia body with a long coat, a cut-down Cawdor head, Poxwalker left leg - the Cawdor's leg was bionic! - and right arm, and a Flagellant left arm). Kloc is Smolek's apprentice. He is fiercely loyal to them, and sees battling the Root and lighting the lanterns as just another part of his job, as well as important #Bolyany traditions. He is not a fan of Grega the Rootmancer.

Another Freeguild Handgunner (more of the 6th Edition Empire Handgunners, that I also used for the first batch of the Irregulars, with assorted Empire baggage and a knight's helm).

A tiny gryph-hound (an unconverted young gryphon, from the old Empire General kit) called Ollek.

And finally a horrible monstrous root-thing (made from the parts I didn't use when I converted a Feculent Gnarlmaw into a Tree of Woe).