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From an online journal kept by all those who play in our little group. These posts were posted during a campaign we just finished. Using this journal helped add a lot of character and personality to our heros and generals.
The Yellow Fang Tribe -
Two wolf riders, slipped through the underbrush on the outskirts of town unnoticed by the assembly of mercs awaiting orders from their leader. The two goblins had seen all they needed to know, now they just needed to tell Dorg...
Drog Ard'Ed waited impatiently for his scouts return, it'd been weeks since a good fight, and he and the boyz were even starting to tire of their favorite game, chuck da gobbo. The time had come to march out and find something harder to beat the puss out of...
Sometime near morning the wolf riders slipping into camp, found Drog's hut, then started to beat each using their spears as clubs.
"I wuz 'er first, I tell 'em!", WHHAP
"wuz not! n 'e like me better anyhow" THUMP...
Drog threw open the door to his hut,
"Waz all dis? $#&@*ing gobbos!" trying to kick the nearest and stumbling over a terrified wolf in the process.
"wee found ummies, make'n ready for fight."
Drog grinned, finally the news he'd been waiting for, looking down at the two cowering goblins, fangs gleaming in the moonlight, Drog lifted up his arms and bellowed,
Last edited by phoenixr; April 4th, 2006 at 00:57.
Yellow Fang Tribe -
Drog Ard'Ed and his boyz followed the Ummies for a day and a half, heading ever closer to the forest of Asrial. The wolfrider scouts had been quick to get the news back to Drog, but not quick enough, the hoard was still not close enough to cause the men to turn and fight. In desperation Drog turned to Bizzagh, his hoards shamen.
"Go fasta. Bash'em ummies before get to pansies and woodses. Bash'em good. Mork 'elp" and with that Bizzagh pulsed with green energy and walked on towards the ummies.
Confused by what just happened Drog started forward as well, joining his fellow black orcs, they seemed to move faster and more tirelessly than normal.
At their new pace, and by marching through the night, Drog's hoard was able to close the gap and set up for a good scrapping at the enterance of the forest...
Watching the mercenaries approach, Drog's spirits rose, this would be a good day, Gork would be proud of him. He looked around at his fellow black orcs.
"Time for da ummie bash'n boyz. Waaaaagh!!!"
The army surged forward, a spear came flying overhead and took out a couple undead, what they were doing with the ummies was anybodies guess. Drog looked to his right just in time to see the sneaky night gobbos throw 3 drugged gobbos with giant ball and chains toward a unit of scirmishers, taking out all but 2, who promptly fled. He turned back to the advancing ummies, bellowed and charged, crushing a unit of pikemen, and running down those who didn't fall before the boys. Chaos around him now, he noticed that the night goblins were able to repel a unit of Norse berserkers, and chase them down, there were squigs bouncing everywhere, eating goblin and ummie alike, and his othe large unit of boyz was stuck in fighting the undead. The enemy lines were now falling apart, Drog glanced at Bizzagh, green electrity coarsing though and all around him, every now and then shooting off at some random ummie. In the distance he could just make out his pack of wolf riders chasing down the ummies on horses, and closer, the night goblins were all fighting over who got the shiny armor of those who fled before them.
"aaaaghhhh, @($&&^@ gobbos!!!" screamed Drog, leaving his black orcs to teach those pesky gobbos who they should be fighting.
Squigs continued to bounce all around, one bursting in mid air with a loud bang. To Drog's right his boyz had had enough of the undead they were fighting, no matter how many they dropped, there seemed to be more being created. Behind him, a unit of ogres charged his black orc boyz and in front of him, the night gobbos continued to fight over shiny objects. More frusterated than ever he charged at the night gobbos, if he couldn't bash the ogres, the only real challange the ummies presented him, then at least he'd kick a gobbo.
In those few steps to the gobbos, the battle was over, the remaining ummies had fled the field, and the boyz were cheering, Drog stopped, turned to his boyz and cheered with them, he could feel the waaaaash energy flowing through him, and surely there must be someone else nearby to fight.
Collecting his forces, the boyz marched into the forest.
"what 'id da ummies want in 'er anyway?" thought Drog, smacking a gobbo that got too close to him.
Though the winding road, they marched, not a sound from the forest around them, a stench was in the air. Rounding a corner, what lay before him confirmed Drog Ardâ€™Edâ€™s suspicions and his heart sank. Deadies, he was hoping for a good fight, not the weak walking dead, they werenâ€™t fun at all, never scream out in pain, or run as the chariots crash into them. Perhaps, he thought, there may be one within their ranks who could offer a challenge.
Vampire Counts - (after first battle)
Nicolas Von Carstein peered from the dense underbrush, watching the ragged mercenary army march through the dry creek bed, just as he had watched the Orc horde rumble down the road several hours earlier. The Orcs had thoroughly beaten the human army, but not enough to dissuade it from pursuing the Spirit of Asrial. Just thinking of its dormant power ending up in the hands of any other made him burn with anger. If only the blasted humans had never come, the Orc horde never would have followed them, and he would have been able to easily strangle out the Spirit's guardians over the winter. Now there would be fighting, and death, and blood. The prospect of it brought a slight smile to his face.
The fight would be sooner than he had hoped, though. The creek bed the human scouts had found led straight to his base camp, where his army was being assembled. The human army had mostly passed now, leaving only three halflings, struggling with a large pot over the rocky terrain, slowly falling behind. Nicolas barred his fangs, it was time to feed.
"Begin the ritual." he said to the ragged individual lurking behind him, and then darted out into the creek bed. A quarter mile ahead, the last man in the column of humans turned, thinking he had heard a loud metal clang, then dismissed it as irrelevant.
Vampire Counts - (taunting before second battle)
Nicolas paced back and forth in the ancient mausoleum, waiting for the accursed sun to set. This natural powers could fill the skies with clouds most days, but he needed rest. The battle with the human mercenaries had been a victory, but a costly one. His forces had driven the humans back until the ritual was complete, then occupied the old cemetery. The victory had cost him dearly though, with nearly his entire pack of Dire Wolves destroyed. Luckily his necromancers had been able to raise a few of them and "persuade" a nearby pack of wolves to join their cause. There was a sharp knock on the crypt door.
"Enter." said Nicolas. Mikal Nostrum, his head necromancer, entered.
"Sir, the sun has set and the army is ready to march at your command." Mikal said in his old and gravely voice.
"Excellent, we head directly for the Spirit. We must act quickly before the other forces here gain the advantage."
The undead force had marched through the night, and the day had dawned with thick gray clouds blocking out the sun. Nicolas marched at the head of the column, his loyal Gravegaurd surrounding him. He heard a slight commotion behind him and came to a halt. Running up alongside the column was Hans Gruber, his other necromancer.
"Lord! An army approaches from the rear! Greenskins!" Hans gasped.
"We will end this now, and stop them at the bridge. Prepare the troops for battle!" Nicolas ordered.
The two armies eyed each-other warily across the river(those in the armies that actually had eyes, that is). Nicolas scanned the faces of the enemy rabble, watching as each one moved back and forth between anticipation and fear. He spotted the brute that must be the leader of this ragtag bunch of mongrels, leading a unit of larger greenskins. That one, he thought to himself, would be a fun diversion. His army began moving steadily forward at the same moment as the greenskin horde let loose a great "WAAAAAAAAGGH!" and surged towards the bridge. The battle was on.
Wood Elf - (in response)
Ahaliae Orletlarn had seen enough. The filth in her forest was not going to take care of itself. The three war bands had met in battle and had not done enough damage to each other to stop them from being a threat. First the Greenskins and the Humans had clashed at the road into the forest. The Greenskins had walked away with control of the forest path, and the humans and sulked to a dry riverbed to maintain their advance. She had sent scouts to follow both. Her Waywatchers and herself had followed the Humans, and watched in horror as they confronted an Undead horde being raised right within the borders of the woods.
She spat in disgust at these creatures invading to steal the Spirit. She was done waiting, it was time to report back to Lafael, and hope that his wisdom would lead them to stalk this filth and cut them down before they reached the Spirit.
Lord Lafael Kennyrlylth moved his way up the hill. It had become ritual now, this nightly walk. He almost needed to see it. He broke the crest of the hill and his eyes fell upon it. The waystone stood like a spire gleaming in the light of the moon. It was early evening, and the moon was not yet high, but the Stone still shone as if the sun itself were gazing upon it, picking out the details of every talisman carved into its surface. In a circle around the stone stood statues, clad in heavy armor and sculpted with double ended spears. As Lafael grew closer to the waystone the ring of statues seemed to become even more ridged than when he had broken the crest of the hill.
"At ease," he commanded, and the statues again seemed to relax. Statues they were not, but the Eternal Guard that traveled exclusively with Lord Kennyrlylth. His personal guard that he assigned to stand over the waystone. The Spirit of Asrial itself.
Lafael, his Guard, and many more elves were here to protect this forest. The forest itself had risen to help defend itself, spawning Dryads and even one of the Ancient Treemen. The Elven Spellsingers had all had a fearful dream one night. The forest itself had cried out to them for help. The lords of Athel Loren were called to a meeting deep within the forest, and it was decided that Lord Lafael Kennyrlylth would take an army to the forest of Asrial to protect it.
Suddenly on the other side of the waystone five figures seemed to materialize from nowhere at all. Waywatchers. Their leader nodded to Lafael who commanded her to explain her intrusion.
"M'lord, trouble is at hand. A band of Greenskins, a group of Human Mercenaries, and an army of Undead are in the forest. I fear they are on their way here to the Waystone," the leader explained.
"Unfortunate. Take your Waywatchers and as many scouts as you can. Wait at the bridge and if things look dire you have permission to engage. But only with bows, you must remain hidden for the time being."
"So it shall be done, m'lord."
The Waywatchers departed, leaving Lafael and the guard alone once more. Lafael turned and headed back to camp. War was going to hit this forest, but he and his guard would lie dead at the base of this waystone before any of this filth would dare touch it.
Ahaliae was upset. Lafael should have commanded the entire war host out to meet these intruders first hand. Her second in command could taste her disgust.
"Ahaliae, be rational. Moving the entire war host would have left the Spirit unprotected. You know that would be unacceptable," He murmured to her, but a whisper. But their ears were sharp, and silence was needed. In the woods all around them Waywatchers sat restless in the night.
"This is true, Fislyn, this is true. We will follow Lafael's command to the letter. We shall depart in the morning, along with a few other groups of waywatchers, and wait near the bridge. We shall see how well the Undead deal with death from the trees."
Fislyn nodded and set out to notify the scouts that would be accompanying them in the morning.
Ahaliae watched the Undead shamble their filthy rotting corpses across the bridge. The cloud cover was unusually thick. Magic, powerful magic. Beyond a mere Necromancer. A vampire perhaps. Her blood ran cold at the thought; the Spirit truly was in danger.
A shrill bird whistle caught her attention, and she glanced to her right. Fislyn Dryearelrvis was in another stand of trees, and he nodded straight ahead, and then gave another whistle to get the attention of the other Waywatchers.
Ahaliae trained her eyes past the Undead and spotted the first of the Greenskins. She swore under her breath, there was going to be a battle here. More than likely for control of the bridge. Whoever claimed it would destroy it for sure. What a waste. Her Waywatchers would not be able to ambush from the trees, only lend arrows to the battle and pray to Ariel that they could thin the numbers of the intruders.
Vampire Counts - (after second battle)
Nicolas ripped his mouth away from the Black Orcs neck, tearing flesh with it, and threw the drained body off the bridge to join the other two corpses. The Orcish blood was bitter and thick, but intoxicating like strong ale. The battle had gone well enough, his army had held the Greenskins at the bridge and scattered their army. The intervention of the Faerie was a surprise, but not completely unexpected. He turned and surveyed the area around the bridge. His troops were spread out in a wide perimeter, and his Dire Wolves had chased the troublesome elves off. With control of the road and bridge, he had a clear path back to the cairns, where his necromancers would summon more troops. With the Greenskins scattered he could take a little more time, as well.
The bridge itself had been the setting for the most heated combat, with his Graveguard taking on the Black Orc bodyguard of the Orc general. Even with their strange magic helping them they had been unable to dislodge the elite undead from the bridge. The Orcs had fled, their general clutching a wound in his side. Fear had been his most potent weapon, causing causing several of the smaller Greenskins to flee before combat had even begun. The Winds of Magic had not blown kindly, the necromancer's spells doing more harm than good.
Yes, he had time to rebuild his forces, but he could not slow his assault for long. The Faerie had finally struck, and he didn't want to give them more time to plan an attack. Just thinking of the taste of fine Elf blood made him salivate; it had been a long time since he had fed on an Elven noble. The Orc blood was not up to his standards, but it invigorated him none-the-less. They would march tomorrow, he had a feeling it would be overcast...
Wood Elf - (after second battle)
Ahaliae Orletlarn swore in Elvish under her breath. The battle laid out before her wasn't going to go as she had thought. Her waywatchers had deployed in the wrong location to take advantage of the situation. She had failed.
She whistled to Fislyn and signaled him over.
"Fislyn, I need you to report my failure back to Lord Kennyrlylth. We have one last chance to stop these denizens before they reach the Spirit. We need to single out each group and ambush them before they reach the heart of the woods. Lafael needs to send more waywatchers and scouts to guard the paths, everything he can muster without leaving the Spirit unprotected. Be firm with him and send him my sorrow for my failure. I'm taking a few of us around the battle to see if we can do anything. Now go!"
Fislyn darted off into the woods heading back to the Elves encampment near the waystone.
Yellow Fang Tribe - (after second battle)
Drog limped through the dark woods clutching his side. The battle had not gone as planned. His fellow black orcs failed to push through the enemies superior numbers, while most of his army ran for the hills. The boyz could be counted on, and stood strong, but it was too little to late to matter in the overall battle.
â€œGonna hunt dem deadies down, show dem, watâ€™s we made of.â€? Drog promised himself. He looked around at his fellow black orcs as they made their way through the trees, and slowly he begin to make out small shapes coming through the underbrush his way. Beady eyes peered out at him from under hoods, and joined the boyz at the back of the army. The gobos who fled, were now returning.
Gratz returned to the hoard with the other goblins, and reluctantly made his way up to Drog, for he knew Drogâ€™s temper and the sadistic way he treated goblins. However, his news was urgent.
â€œWarboss, Drog, master choppa. Gratz â€˜is seen pansies with pointy sticks in des woodies. Saw â€˜em scoutâ€™n after battle wit deadies.â€? Gratz squeaked out as quickly as he possibly could. Drog swung his good arm back at Gratz in a halfhearted attempt to bust the goblins nose.
â€œPansies tooâ€¦ Drog have fun wit dem,â€? said Drog as a slight smile flickered across his scared face. â€œDrog and da boyzâ€™ll have good time bashâ€™n pointy ears.â€?
Vampire Counts - (after final battle)
Nicolas crouched in the shadows of the crypt, fingering the ragged scar in his side. He had been so close to the Spirit! Just as he had laid his hands upon the carved stone, a hurled spear had crashed into him, carrying him off the hill and out of the battle. He had recovered in time to see the Orcs rebuke the human's attack. He hastily left, retreating to the crypts where the army had been raised. There he had put out the signal to any remaining troops. Over the next few hours, a few ragged wolves appeared, followed by a pack of ghouls, a dozen skeletons, and to his surprise Mikal, his head Necromancer (his arm bandaged).
A rough cough shook him from his memories, "Lord, I have returned from surveying the battleground." said Mikal.
"Report." snarled Nicolas, he had little patience left these days.
"The Orcs remain at the Spirit, feasting the bodies of the elves...and their own kind. The humans are retreating from the woods and are of no concern. The Elves have dissapeared altogether, my Lord, I could find no evidence of them. The Orcs have turned the Spirit itself into a giant idol to their gods, unknowing of its potential power." Mikal reported.
"Begin the rituals of summoning. They will not stay for long in this place with no one to fight, and we will haunt them from the shadows until they leave. Then we will claim the Spirit and see what power still resides."
Mikal bowed and left the crypt. Nicolas continued fingering the scar in his side. Yes, he would have his vengence on the Orcs, no matter how long it takes.
do you want me to read all that?
Last edited by Lady Bastet; April 15th, 2006 at 06:41. Reason: how rude!
if anyone helps you with an army list or rules/fluff , then give them some rep