Forum adverts like this one are shown to any user who is not logged in. Join us by filling out a tiny 3 field form and you will get your own, free, dakka user account which gives a good range of benefits to you: No adverts like this in the forums anymore. Times and dates in your local timezone. Full tracking of what you have read so you can skip to your first unread post, easily see what has changed since you last logged in, and easily see what is new at a glance. Email notifications for threads you want to watch closely. Being a part of the oldest wargaming community on the net. If you are already a member then feel free to login now.

The Marauder scout traced the armored footprint with corse fingers, muttering to himself, before standing and hurrying back to the silent warhost that stood like statues on the ridge behind him, towards a giant in black armor who stood at their head.

"It is a Northman tread, my Lord." the scout said, with a respectful bow to the giant, "Another band has reached the city before us."

"do you have their numbers." said another voice, and a young woman stepped out of the ranks of heavily Armored warriors, her red hair and cloak thrashing in the wind as if alive, if she was cold she gave no sign of it, she was used to far worse in the Wastes.

"It is impossible to determine exactly, mistress." he said, with another bow to the woman, no less then that he had given to the gaint, "but it would seem to be a similar size to our own, perhaps even smaller."

The woman nodded and gestured fro the man to rejoin his fellows, then with another gesture ordered the war-band forward, armored boots marching in perfect unison as they drew even closer to the cursed city.

The flame haired woman gave the giant's armored gauntlet a gentle caress, then rejoined the ranks of the chosen, drawing her blades as the ruined walls came into sight, while the giant, having given no indication he had even noticed her marched with the other unit of warriors, his mace in hand.

The other Northman band was interesting, Freya thought, the Southerners were weak and undisciplined, falling to fear and panic at the mere sight of blood, but another tribe would a worthy battle, a chance to prove the high Favor her Lord was held in by the Gods.

She gave a delighted little shudder as she felt her lords voice in her mind as he laid out an order of battle, then she pointed a sword at the distant city and bellowed a war-cry that was taken up by the others until it echoed through the forested hills like the roar of some mighty beast.

Lord Harrab the Eternal had arrived to claim this city and everything within it.

nice. from which direction are they approaching?

The Dead Fist Inn, Docklands

The winds and rain howled against the walls and windows of the Dead Fist Inn. Sigmund and Gregor got to the tavern just before the rain picked up.
The tavern went eerily quiet as they walked to the bar. Each table had a different parties, race's from every corner of the old world, Dwarves, Elves,
even barbarous men from the north, all sat in an uneasy peace. Sigmund called for the attention of the bar wrench. She was a stocky woman, with dirty red
hair and few teeth left.

She shoved two filthy mugs of ale in front of them. Gregor took his happily, and drank it in one go. "You gonna drink dat, boss?" asked Gregor. Sigmund
took one more look at the stained glass. "Go ahead" he muttered, and pushed the drink away. Gregor took the drink happily, and called for two more.

As night set, the tavern got busier. Gregor joined a table of Dwarves, and drank heavily, swapping stories of past battles. Sigmund sat beside the fire,
enjoying the warmth, and drinking deeply from a bottle of Bugmans he aquired from Gregors new freinds. The bar wrench came over and cleared the table beside
Sigmund. She glanced up and smiled at him, Sigmund grinned back. Not a fething hope, he thought.

Eventually, as the last groups stumbled out the door, and the bar staff began clearing the tables, Sigmund thought it was best to try and sleep. Gregor was
passed out on the table, his snoring loader than the thunder outside. The staff tried to move him, but ended up leaving him be, and cleaning up around him.
Sigmunddragged himself out of the chair, and tried to climb up the stairs. He found his room, pushed the old battered door, and passed out on the damp
straw matress.

the next morning, dead fist inn (sigmund I guess is still asleep)

Skrit Verminfang walked into the tavern, his large form looming over the floor. He still had to look up to people though, for a skaven, 5’7 was height not to be scoffed at.
The patrons were visibly repulsed by his countenance, possibly more though, by the 8 stromvermin and 2 rat-ogres that acconpined him. As he leaped onto a chair, his troops tried to mingle, but the Mordheimers had never seen the children of the Horned one before, Skrit sneered, and nibbled on a chunk of warpstone, the ancestral rock that had created the skaven race, rats had consumed it, but had mutated, into half-breeds, destined to live in their macabre under-cities, and sewers...

The bartender, a thin man with an air of greed about him walked up just in time to get the barrel of a jezzail pointed at him. “Gimme Rotgut.” He snapped at the man.
Skrit turned around to watch an orc and a massive human punch it out over some drunken triviality. He took the opportunity to fdling a small knife into the tangle for laughs, and grinned to himself when the man howled and clutched his arm. The orc then slugged the man in the face for his weakness, as the beverage was placed in front of him, he looked around at the other patrons.

Reiko pressed several dirty rags to his thigh, in an attempt to draw out the warm milk. He was met with little success, only managing to soil his pants slightly with grease. He slipped off his pants, and pulled on a new pair, with holes in the knees worn in from work in the field. The little shack was small, maybe ten foot by ten, only fitting a small dresser, stove, a table with four chairs, and a small spot to lay blankets as a bed. One yellow window above the stove let in the sickly light, slightly coloring the shack and casting haunting shadows across it. For a roof, a plate of tin had been hammered into the wood, without even nails or bolts to hold it down. He picked up his soiled pair of pants, about to take them back to the creak, when he heard Bell let out a horrible cry.

The Dead Fist Inn, Docklands

"The Empire of men is divided, the throne remains empty, and the lands are in turmoil. These are dark times indeed." Sigmund dreamt of the last time he spoke to his father,
the night of the fall of Helmgart. He still had nightmares of that night, his first real battle. He was one of the few survivors who managed to escape, his father gave
his life to ensure Sigmunds escape. They had no chance, the Count had intended Helmgart to be a stumbling block, and withdrew the bulk of his forces to the main cities.
Only a skeleton army remained, charged with slowing the advance down. They had no chance.

"UUURrraaagh my frikking head!" Sigmund gritted his teeth, as he rose as slowly and carfully as he could. With one hand holding the side of his head, and the other keeping his
balance, Sigmund walked down the stairs, into the steaming, stinking bar. He took one step at a time, cursing the name of Bugman and his own foolishness of drinking Dwarfen
ale. The bar smelt even worse now, but Sigmund couldn't place it untill he walked into it. A huge wall of damp fur and muscle towered before him. Staring down at him with
rat eyes, and a drooling mouth, the rat ogre breathed angrily. Sigmund looked up at it with one eye, and rested his free hand on his pistol.

Something got its attention from behind. It turned slowly, ready to shred whatever stumbled into him. DOOSH! Saliva and blood sprayed from what once was the rat ogre's maw. Now
it was little more than a pulpy bloodied mess. Sigmund looked up at Gregor, who it seemed wasn't affected from the nights drinking. Sigmund stepped over the huge furry form and patted
Gregors arm. "Hell of a punch. Doesn't look like its going to be getting back up" said Sigmund as he kicked the lifeless form. "I think we better get going" said Sigmund as he
gestured for the door.

Skrit jumped up. The rat ogres jaw had been knocked out, and the stormvermin had formed a circle around him. The rat ogre was merly unconscious, a byproduct of the warpstone embedded into it’s skeleton. But Skrit was mad…
-later-
Skrit raised a paw, and the booming of the rattling guns went quiet. The inn was up in flames, and Skrit’s clanrats were trashing the surrounding areas. When Skrit had seen the ogre fell one of his mightiest of beasts, he had lost it, and ordered the entire block put to the torch. The jezzailers were taking opportunistic potshots at the fleeing civilians, and the clanrats had looted everything and brought it to Skrit’s fortress, under the city. When the area was utterly devoid of life, the skaven left it, taking their priors deep into the undercity…

Such was the wrath of Skrit Verminfang

Aww man that was going to be like my bat cave. My base of operations.

No matter though. Now you got a rat ogre with no jaw

yeah. I was trying to capture the skaven's utter overblowing of everything, and the fact that they are ruthless.

also. next time you attack roll some die.

also. next time you attack roll some die.

I wouldn't know what I'm rolling or what the stats are or anything. That's why I punched instead of stabbed

A wolf. A wolf had attacked Bell, and it was now eating her, her entire left hind leg gone. Reiko's vision went red, feeling something that he thought he had left behind a long time ago. Rage, Hate. He ran towards the wolf, not even sure what he was going to do. The wolf dropped his muzzle from Bell, his maw red with the blood of Reiko's only friend. It crouched low as Reiko approached, then sprung up at his face. Reiko grabbed the wolf's maw, ensuring it would have no taste of him, and pinned it to the ground as he began to beat the wolf with a fist. At first the wolf ignored him, choosing to flail dull claws at his face, leaving a perfect three line scratch across his cheek. But the steady rain of blows, strengthened by Reiko's immense rage, began to take the toll, and the wolf instead began to whine for mercy as it flailed it's legs at the ground desperate to escape. Reiko released the wolf, and kicked it in the ribs before it made traction. The wolf flew a full four meters with a satisfying snap. It's wounds were painful and crippling, but no where near fatal, and began to limp away before Reiko could do more harm. Reiko turned to Bell, letting tears flow freely. She lifted her head slightly, eyes bright at the sight of her master, wagging her stumpy tail even as blood spilled from the mortal wound in her side. She had no hope of surviving. Reiko fell to his knees beside her, the flow of tears had become a storm, as he sobbed softly, scratching behind Bell's ear as he did when she was just a pup, scratching at the door in hopes of a home. She sighed softly, as Reiko bent down to her form, burying his face in her coat. He smelled deeply of her scent, the copper tang of blood and the ever present stink of dirt and wet dog. He let himself sit like that for a moment, then lifted himself to his knees and picked up a good sized rock, distracting her with his other hand by tapping the ground gently. Any lesser creature would be dead, but not Bell. She wouldn't leave him. She never would be happier anywhere else. Who would feed her, warm her, and love her as no one else had ever wanted to? Even as she lay dying slowly, her eyes were still bright and loving, completely unaware of her condition. Reiko brought the rock above her head as she sniffed where he had touched the ground, wondering what it was he wanted her to see. Then, he brought the rock down sharply.


He wouldn't stop screaming for hours.

erm...wow...i feel bad now :/

Killing a dog, making audiences cry since old yeller.

ouch. depressing.

Toastedandy wrote:Killing a dog, making audiences cry since old yeller.

Plot device. It worked well enough.

going to bed, try not to do anything more than street brawls OK?

aside from soK who has just received her combat results.

edited out.will post later.

South Quays, Morning, Second Day



After a hearty breakfast of fried bacon and potatoes, Sigmund felt much better. His headache was clearing, and he was feeling more like himself. Gregor
helped himself to a whole roast pig, followed by a large amount of ale. Sigmund gave the hostess a gold coin, brushed himself down, and followed the grinning
Gregor out onto the street. The streets were packed with soldiers, beggers and dockworkers. A fight broke out between a bretonnian noble and an orc a few metres
ahead. It seemed that the huge orc didnt appreciate the horse walking infront of him. In one movement, the hulking green beast reached up, and threw the noble clean
off his horse, and into a pile of muck.The nobles men at arms quickly surrounded the orc, pointing halberds directly at its neck. The orc snarled, but if it moved
at all, it would impale itself on the blades.

A heavy arm shoved Sigmund out the way, as half a dozan orcs charged at the men, howling and screaming. The men quickly cut the first orcs neck, and formed a shield
wall around the fallen noble. The orcs crashed into the shields, knocking the men back. Samshing their heavily armoured gauntlets against their shields. The men
were overwhelmed and pinned down by the massive strength of the orcs. All they could do was hold their shields up, with all their strength. One of the bigger orcs
grabbed one of the men, and threw him a clean 8 feet, into a passing cart. Sigmund reached for his pistol and nodded at Gregor. Gregor smashed into the orcs, sending
them flying. One of the orcs got caught under Gregors heavy boot, and screamed in pain as its bones were crushed and organs ruptured. One of the orcs scrambled to its feet,
and turned to see the barrel of Sigmunds pistol infront of its left eye. CRAck! The orcs head imploded from the impact. Sigmund only just had enough time to draw his sword
as the biggest orc came charging through the smoke. Sigmund lept to the orcs left, as it swung clumsily with its choppa. He dove to the left again, as the huge orc swung around
on its heels, bellowing war crys at the top of its lungs. Sigmund stumbled over the body of a man at arms, and the cheiftain dove ontop of him, pinning him to the ground. CRACk!
Sigmund rolled the lifeless body of the chieftain off and picked himself up. He turned to see Gregor pummeling the last orc into the pavement, the rest fled after seeing their
leader defeated.

"You all right boss? Deres some blood on yer" panted Gregor.

Sigmund looked down at the blood gently flowing down his shirt. "Best see if we can find a doctor" said Sigmund. Gregor walked over to the dead Noble, picked up his gold purse and
tossed it to Sigmund.

"Least he could do" grinned Gregor.

aha! good portral of the battle! I commend you.


(we managed to dam the doorway)

The Elf council had told her that before moving out to the City Mordheim that there was an encampment of Beast men near the Elven city to the north that threatened there supply root for trade and caused a blockade that wouldn’t allow any reinforcement to approach. In order to gain any help through out there invasion of Mordheim her and a strike force designated as the first wave of attack against Mordheim would be sent out to deal with these Beast men.

Moving silently and swiftly through the forest Nami Ethuna crouched low listening for sounds of recognition from the beast man patrol that blocked the road through the forest. Nothing, they remained un-aware. She had made this journey to the blockade with a strike force of 20 glade guard. The force they saw now at the ram shackled gate that the beast men had constructed from broken tree trunks and iron spikes was more than they had expected and she would need more assistance in order to defeat these monsters that befooled their forest.

Summon the strength of the earth mother and channelling magical essence from the air she drew upon the powers she had been bestowed with at birth and summoned more forces of Dryads and Tree men to aid in the ruination of this blockade. Savage looking gnarled trees around them sprung to life and marched towards the blockade.

The Tallest beast man garbed in chaotic armour plates and ragged fabric tourniquets spotted the advance of the trees and roared a wild maniacal bellow to the guards. The beast men counter attack with rapid response, which caught Nami and her forces off guard. A hail of arrows that was let lose from the Glade guards long bows rained down upon a group of armoured Gors that advanced up the road from the wood elves left flank. Their thick armour was too tough for the finely crafted arrows to break and the Gor continued their advance.

The Beast lord had leapt at one of the Giant towering Treemen and used its giant axe to hack away at the Treemans leg causing it to tumble to the ground with a thundering crash. Another Treeman rushed to its fallen kin’s aid and pounded the Beast lord to the ground with a humungous knotted fist. The 20 dryads that had been summoned rushed to confront the 5 Bestigors that rushed into the forests to slaughter these attackers.

Catching them off guard the dryads ripped one of the bull like creatures in half with countless stabbing wounds via their spiky twisted arms. 2 Centigors dashed through the trees towards the dryads only to find there way blocked by the colossal figures of another pair of Treemen who hastened to attack the four legged monsters. Nami rushed to aid the Treemen against the savage beast lord and using a quick spell to constrict him in vines allowed the Treeman to crush this foul creature.

The Gors had charged the Glade guard and were now caught in a furious close combat fight that saw the deaths of 3 Glade guard in exchange for the final end of the Gors pathetic existence. The remaining three Bestigors fled as the Treemen advance on them and Tore done the barricade in the road allowing passage for the trade root once more, however that would not stop these disgusting beast men, there were more in their Camp which would still need to be slaughtered in order to ensure the safety of this trade root.

nice! I will write up a bit in a bit.

you can still RP in the meantime.

riverbank looking to the Rock

'So thats it' Kurt Manbane said 'Seems well defended. Do we know anything about its defence?' One of the Chaos Warriors answered his lord 'No sir. It seems empty, but I dont think it is.'
Suddenly, a gun fired, and one of the Marauders fell on the ground, dead. All of the servants of the Dark Gods grabbed their weapons, and the Chaos Knights jumped on their horses.
'You seem rich fellas! Best give me your fancy stuff, or ya will end up like him!' A mercenary captain stepped forward, pointing at the body of the Marauder. Kurts answer was simple; 'Kill them all.'

The mercenaries came out of cover, drawing their weapons. As they shot at the Chaos Warriors, hoping that they would kill them, a dark cloud surrounded them. The Chaos Warriors, all alive, charged anouther band of mercenaries, knowing what would happen to those that were shooting at them. Put of the dark cloud, screams were heard, but the sound wasnt loud. The mercenary captain looked to the horror that happened to his gunners. He thought he saw strange shadows in them, not being human atleast. As he looked around him, he saw that the rest of his men were finished off. As he wanted to run away, he was slammed on the ground. Screaming in fear, he saw Kurt Manbane walking towards him. With a smile on his face, Kurt Manbane began the spell known by some as 'Daemonic Gift'. The captain would pay for this attack, and serve Kurt for eternity as a Chaos Spawn.

Quayside - Middle Bridge - Clocktower


It didn't take them long to find a doctor. The orc weapon cut suprisingly cleanly across Sigmunds left shouldar, it was a long, but shallow cut and
didn't require anything more than a quick stitch. The doctor was a kindly old woman, clearly efficant from years of battlefield surgery.

"Your a lucky man, I've seen what orcs can do." said the doctor as she put her equipment away.

"Orcs was never a match fer us, there too thick in the head." exclaimned Gregor proudly.

"That should just about do it" she said as she finished cleaning the wound.

"Where too know boss? Ain't gonna get much done if its just the two of us"

Sigmund pointed east. Scrapping through the thick layers of smog and ash, standing as a symbol of Imperial engineering. The Mordheim clock tower still
stood, as proud as ever.



The crowds slowly disipated as they left the quayside, the only people left were fool hardy treasure hunters. Up ahead they could see the improvised
roadblocks set up by the city guard. Woudldn't do them much good here, thought Sigmund.

"Alright lads, hope your not wanting to go looting, are ya?" the two guardsmen on watch approached lazily, resting their halberds on their shouldars.

"Nothing like that, sir" said Sigmund as he slipped a few gold coins into the greasy hand of the guard.

"Good too hear" he said while checking the authonticity of the coin, "Its a bit wild out there, gouls and zombies and the like."

"Hmmph, Ain't nothin' fer us" grunted Gregor as they left the roadblock, and continued down the deserted roads.



They didn't travel very far, but they were taking their time. Could be anything out there, in the dark. Gregor was on edge, he kept one hand on his handgun
at all times. The sun was still high in the sky, there was a good 6 hours of sun light left. They did not want to get stuck out in the darkness. The silence
was occasionally broken by a falling roof tile, or crow. Other than that, it was deathly quiet. The noise of their footsteps echoed along the narrow streets.
They travelled without instance for what felt like an age, across bridges, past burnt out buildings, over charred corpses.

As the sun dropped down behind the city walls, the city suddenly became very dark. Gregor drew his handguns and grunted to get Sigmunds attention.

"There's things out there in the dark. 'Ungry, blind things. Things that ain't right. They sniff you out, and then.... well, there ain't much to eat
out there, that's all I'm saying"

Sigmund nodded, he knew Gregor well enough to know when he's agitated. Sigmund drew his pistol and Rapier, and they began to move with haste towards the tower.
Clouds gathered over head, and it began to rain lighly. The only light in the streets now was coming from the tower, like a beacon in the dark. Sigmund raised
his hand to warn Gregor to stop. Sigmund peered around the next corner, and turned pale. The heavy doors of the tower were just ahead, barred closed from the
inside. The only thing between them and there destination, were 4 ghouls. There eyes bestial and insane, their snarling lips revealing sharp teeth. Troubled
souls for whom the taste of dead flesh drove them insane long ago. Gregor bellowed and charged headlong into them, firing his handguns at the first pair, dropping
one. He swung one of the guns around like a club, catching the creature under the jaw, snapping its neck back fully. Sigmund sprinted along behind him, shooting
one of the gouls in the chest. The remaining goul shrieked, causeing the hairs on Sigmunds neck to stand on end. Gregor threw a rock at it, smashing its face in.

"See that? right in its ugly mouth it was hur hur hur" laughed Gregor

Sigmund reloaded his pistol as he walked over to the door. He banged his fist against it "HEY OPEN UP! ITS SIGMUND!" he banged again, but there was still no answer.
Sigmund took a few paces back, checking the tower for any windows they might be able to climb in.

SMASH! Gregor charged straight into the door, sending it flying off it's hinges. "Oi boss, in here"

Sigmund re holstered his pistol and followed him in. Once he got in, he heard that scream again, only loader this time. He turned around to see a corded, muscle bound
creature standing on a rooftop across the road.

"gak"

nice, very nice.

hey, you seen my other RP too?

The Star wars one?

Im not a star wars fan.

ah, too bad.

Location: The Rock

Beyond anything else, Kashbad felt a sense of disappointment, the myriad mutants that inhabited the ominously named 'Rock' had provided much less sport than the Chaos Dwarf had anticipated. True, the battle had not been without amusement, and Kashbad chuckled as he recalled fondly how the Gor had screamed as he buried his axe deep into its face. He was pleasantly surprised at the amount of blood that had splattered his black, curly beard, and he had snaked out his tongue to taste the crimson spray. The mutants had been caught unawares by the volley of lethal spells launched by the five priests of Hashut, turning the crude wretches inside out with bloody pops. Kashbad had taken the lead, lopping off limbs and heads with each deadly arc of his great, runic axe, Khaznorgber. The slaughter had been incredible, although altogether much too short for Kashbad's liking. The cruel dwarf laughed spitefully at the lack of martial prowess displayed by the warp-spawned freaks, reminiscing fondly of their dying shrieks. Of the survivors, the Chaos Dwarfs had clapped in chains, ordering their new slaves to aid them in fortifying the Rock even further, which would serve as a waypoint for the soldiers of Zharr-Naggrund in their conquest of Mordheim. If a slave fell form exhaustion, well, all the better. Torture was an art the Dawi'Zharr had long ago perfected, and the screams of their victims rang throughout the Rock. Kashbad watched with fell pride as his warriors performed weapon drills within the central square of the prison, the clash of their weapons mingling sweetly with the screams of the tortured. Kashbad smiled, his steel-shod tusks glittering from beneath his deaths-head helm in the torch light. This city belonged to the Dawi'Zharr, all others would be broken beneath the tread of their iron boots. They would scream sweetly to him.