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Which is of course how Miss Piggy greets the First Company of any given Space Marine chapter.
Showing posts with label RPG. Show all posts
Showing posts with label RPG. Show all posts
Saturday, 5 September 2015
Hi-yaaaa, Termie
Which is of course how Miss Piggy greets the First Company of any given Space Marine chapter.
Monday, 10 March 2014
Butchers of Men VI
"Please," Pavel screamed. "Please, don't! No, please, let me live!"
And the Northman shrugged, turned him on to his back with his boot, and stamped in his groin hard enough that he could hardly breath for minutes.
The ambush almost worked.
Gavril stuck a couple of the mercenaries with arrows, but not enough to incapacitate any of them. Before any of them got too badly hurt, they split up and hid amongst the ruined machinery in the lower room. Vras and Gavril shot desperately through the hole in the floor, but they couldn't stop them getting to the foot of the stairs. And then the elf wizard started chanting from somewhere in the shadows below, and another, unseen mercenary starting hurling slingshot up, forcing them back from their sniper's positions.
Aurel and Tusk were cut down when the Northman stormed up. Aurel stabbed him, but he might have stabbed the mountain for all the effect it had. Majewa almost killed the Empire veteran with his well-worn halberd, but Pavel had already folded by then. He wasn't going to die, not like this. Not for lies and stories and threats. Not under the edge of a cold, Northern axe.
And the Northman shrugged, turned him on to his back with his boot, and stamped in his groin hard enough that he could hardly breath for minutes.
The ambush almost worked.
Gavril stuck a couple of the mercenaries with arrows, but not enough to incapacitate any of them. Before any of them got too badly hurt, they split up and hid amongst the ruined machinery in the lower room. Vras and Gavril shot desperately through the hole in the floor, but they couldn't stop them getting to the foot of the stairs. And then the elf wizard started chanting from somewhere in the shadows below, and another, unseen mercenary starting hurling slingshot up, forcing them back from their sniper's positions.
Aurel and Tusk were cut down when the Northman stormed up. Aurel stabbed him, but he might have stabbed the mountain for all the effect it had. Majewa almost killed the Empire veteran with his well-worn halberd, but Pavel had already folded by then. He wasn't going to die, not like this. Not for lies and stories and threats. Not under the edge of a cold, Northern axe.
Sunday, 9 March 2014
Butchers of Men V
Pavel opened his eyes.
It was almost as if he could see the pain, tenebrous purple clouds of it blotting out the edges of his vision. The room was a fuzzy mess. Early cold daylight was spilling in through the roof and windows and mixing with their untidy camp of the night before. The other Slaughtermen stood or sat around, apart from Aurel. Aurel was lying on the floor next to him, grey of face, looking thin and wretched. Gavril stood over them both, sharpening a knife.
Majewa and Tusk were sharing rashers of bacon that Vras was cooking on a well-used skillet over the embers of the fire.
"Naughty boys," Majewa said, looking them over.
Saturday, 8 March 2014
Butchers of Men IV
Vras was half asleep. Full sleep was impossible, hunched against the side of a long-derelict rock crusher. It was freezingly cold in the room around him. His blankets were thin comfort against the hard stone. He'd tried to clear a little nest for himself amongst the dust and chips on the floor, but for every knobbly lump he threw away, another seemed to burrow its way underneath his back.
And all that was nothing compared to the fact that he was camping out on the Barlog.
He knew the stories. The Black Banner, the sleepers under the mountain. If they were just tales to scare children with, why did the old men in the town square mutter them under their breaths with pale faces, and never after dark? Why had the Prince, who wasn't even originally from Zenres, bricked up all the palace windows that faced the craggy mountain?
Why had nobody from the town been up here in living memory?
Friday, 7 March 2014
Butchers of Men III
They reached the quarry late that night and set up camp in the upper storey of an old bunkroom.
It was a desolate barn of a building made of huge grey stone blocks. The dwarves who'd built it made it to last, and the walls certainly had. But the roof was missing most of its tiles, was even open to the frigid night air in places, and there was a huge circular hole in the thick beams of the floor. Whatever mechanical device had rested there before had sunk through the mouldering wood and smashed into rusted cogs and bent metal plates on the grinding room floor below.
Perhaps it had once been a bustling centre of industry. Now it was a empty nest for finches, a sad reminder that the Dwarves were long gone and their kingdoms fallen.
Lonely though it was, it was a good place for an ambush. You could see the path where it finally made it into the step-cut bowl of the quarry. The sheer rocks all round made it unlikely that anyone would come up another way, and there were good lines of sight from the windows to the quarry yard outside.
The mercenaries would arrive, probably sometime the following morning unless they travelled through the night. And the Slaughtermen would be waiting for them.
Thursday, 6 March 2014
Butchers of Men II
They were sat in the back of a cart as it crept out of town. The mule pulling it kept farting loudly as it plodded along. It was just about the only sound to break the silence that reigned over the six of them.
Ion and Alin were dead. They'd never come out of the Sow and Shoats. Cornel was in the town jail, with a Bretonnian leech looking after the gut wound he'd taken. Majewa said he probably wasn't going to recover. Markhu was locked up in the stocks by the West Gate, still unconscious after one of the Tilean soldiers had cracked a cobble off his temple. The Prince's guards hadn't bothered to revive him before locking him up.
And the rest of them were heading for the Barlog.
Wednesday, 5 March 2014
Butchers of Men I
Pavel's torch was starting to burn out.
The orange flames danced down the square-cut tunnel ahead of him, making the limestone walls glisten. Cold, damp air was seeping from somewhere deep below, sneaking up behind him and caressing his neck with wet fingers.
Damn it, Pavel, watch the entrance, he told himself.
But he couldn't. Every time he turned his back on the tunnel, that clammy breeze started stroking him. It was unnerving. It was like the dead breath of one of the sleepers, something flickering out of a corpse's mouth. It demanded attention.
Majewa laughed at the old superstitions, laughed at anyone who jabbed forked fingers at a mention of the Barlog or the Black Banner. Her rough humour had soothed their nerves on the trip up. No need to be afraid, she'd said. Not men like you. Not with me around.
Pavel wished she was still here.
Saturday, 25 August 2012
Heroes Arise
Righto - that's all the fluff you're getting in advance from me, which has hopefully whipped you all into an anticipatory frenzy. If not, you'll have to turn to self-flagellation, my flailing arm is tired.
But with a week to go, if you can spare the time from army list tweaking and last minute painting and purchasing (I'm hoping to fit my entire army on the back of an Arachnarok Spider, for example), perhaps I could ask you to have a think about your characters for the evening sessions?
I've put together a two-part stand alone adventure for us, and I'm looking forward to running it. I'm also planning on writing it up as a short story afterwards, to be presented here for your further entertainment. All you need to do is people it with memorable characters, because I'm too lazy to create everything myself. It's going to be a mix of investigation, exploration andbeing killed by unfair traps combat.
The angle I'd like is that because this is a stand-alone, your characters are not even heroes in the making yet. This is effectively a prologue for them, the first ever time they might shine or gain a modicum of fame.
It's also a first outing for this particular version of the rules for me, and I'd like to keep it simple for everyone. All you need to do is generate a starting character as described in the core rulebook (which you can find in pdf form in the WoffBoot dropbox folder, the WFRP 2nd Edition one). You can pick your race, but random careers for this outing please.
I've had a think about how you'll be banding together. Obviously, in a darkened tavern over mugs of ale, we can take that as read. But here are three options you could consider when you're coming up with your own background: -
But with a week to go, if you can spare the time from army list tweaking and last minute painting and purchasing (I'm hoping to fit my entire army on the back of an Arachnarok Spider, for example), perhaps I could ask you to have a think about your characters for the evening sessions?
I've put together a two-part stand alone adventure for us, and I'm looking forward to running it. I'm also planning on writing it up as a short story afterwards, to be presented here for your further entertainment. All you need to do is people it with memorable characters, because I'm too lazy to create everything myself. It's going to be a mix of investigation, exploration and
The angle I'd like is that because this is a stand-alone, your characters are not even heroes in the making yet. This is effectively a prologue for them, the first ever time they might shine or gain a modicum of fame.
It's also a first outing for this particular version of the rules for me, and I'd like to keep it simple for everyone. All you need to do is generate a starting character as described in the core rulebook (which you can find in pdf form in the WoffBoot dropbox folder, the WFRP 2nd Edition one). You can pick your race, but random careers for this outing please.
I've had a think about how you'll be banding together. Obviously, in a darkened tavern over mugs of ale, we can take that as read. But here are three options you could consider when you're coming up with your own background: -
Friday, 24 August 2012
The Blancvik Sleepers
Excerpt from M. G. Seiber's 'Lore of the Border Princes'
Having defeated the attackers in the open field, Blancvik gathered his men about him and addressed them in this manner.
"Our foes lie dead or routed and now it is clear to those who lie beyond the World's Edge that Zenres can fend for itself. Many of our fellows lie dead, and I myself am sore wounded and nigh to death. And I have been told by a certain wise man that those upon who the Dark Bull breathed will be stricken with the Corruption of Zharrduk, and that their death will be unquiet.
"Therefore I say to you, let all those who have been so afflicted come with me, and we will go into a place of quiet that I have prepared. And when we are there, let those who are left seal us into the living rock, rather than let the dark corruption of the Dawi Zharr consume us so that we bring dole to our families."
So they went into a certain hill in the East where Blancvik had prepared his place of quiet. And those who had been spared from the Dark Breath bade them farewell, and they went to their place quietly and with good cheer.
Before they left, however, Wenclas, the Lieutenant of Blancvik, who had been spared the Dark Breath, asked one last boon of his liege, saying
"As we are to part, I remind you now of the pact we made when first I took up arms under your banner. Do not forget that you said your sword was not yours, but that it was passed on to you by one who had come before. And that also at that time, you looked on me with favour and said that the sword would not always be with you for all time, but that in times to come, another would bear it. As I am your man and first among your lieutenants, I ask you now to pass the sword to me, that I may wear it proudly and defend our families from the doom beyond the mountains."
And when he was done speaking, Blancvik spoke to him, saying
"Good Wenclas, I do not forget that I said this sword was not mine, but that it was passed on to me by one who had come before. And that also at that time, that I looked on you with favour and said that the sword would not always be with me for all time, but that in times to come, another would bear it. Nor do I unsay that now, at my death.
"But be it known, that other I spoke of was not you, and that as time changes, so do men. The favour I looked on you with has passed since the death of Mronas and your great rage. And although all know you have suffered and done your part to repair that wrong, the darkness now upon me lets me see that there is much also still in you. Therefore I cannot give you this sword, the Sword of Zwickan, that you covet, lest a great harm come to our people from it."
Then Blancvik went into his place of rest with all of his company that had fought the Dark Bull and been afflicted by its breath. And Wenclas went his way also.
So the Company of Blancvik were sealed into their place of rest, and a great many seals and wards were placed on the ways of entry to that place, that they might not ever come forth from it to disturb their people. And his name was sung by the singers at the dances, so that his sacrifice would be remembered.
But Wenclas did not dance or sing at the dances, but returned to the mountain by hidden ways, for his mind was ever on the Sword of Zwickan and how he might take it for himself.
And so he broke the seals and took the sword up from the breast of Blancvik, where he lay in a semblance of death on the cold rock, and then went forth again, rejoicing in his secret deed.
And Blancvik awoke, and found his sword gone and all his company lost to the Corruption of Zhardukk, and waxed full wroth. He took his banner and gathered his host, and lo, where once their banner was bright with colour, now it hung black and deadly upon the spear, and shadows seemed to come forth before and behind it.
And the sleepers came forth from their place of rest seeking the stolen sword, but they could not find it. In lieu of his sword, Blancvik took a great harvest of life, and his cold breath was felt all across the land. And so it continued in this way until the sword was found.
Having defeated the attackers in the open field, Blancvik gathered his men about him and addressed them in this manner.
"Our foes lie dead or routed and now it is clear to those who lie beyond the World's Edge that Zenres can fend for itself. Many of our fellows lie dead, and I myself am sore wounded and nigh to death. And I have been told by a certain wise man that those upon who the Dark Bull breathed will be stricken with the Corruption of Zharrduk, and that their death will be unquiet.
"Therefore I say to you, let all those who have been so afflicted come with me, and we will go into a place of quiet that I have prepared. And when we are there, let those who are left seal us into the living rock, rather than let the dark corruption of the Dawi Zharr consume us so that we bring dole to our families."
So they went into a certain hill in the East where Blancvik had prepared his place of quiet. And those who had been spared from the Dark Breath bade them farewell, and they went to their place quietly and with good cheer.
Before they left, however, Wenclas, the Lieutenant of Blancvik, who had been spared the Dark Breath, asked one last boon of his liege, saying
"As we are to part, I remind you now of the pact we made when first I took up arms under your banner. Do not forget that you said your sword was not yours, but that it was passed on to you by one who had come before. And that also at that time, you looked on me with favour and said that the sword would not always be with you for all time, but that in times to come, another would bear it. As I am your man and first among your lieutenants, I ask you now to pass the sword to me, that I may wear it proudly and defend our families from the doom beyond the mountains."
And when he was done speaking, Blancvik spoke to him, saying
"Good Wenclas, I do not forget that I said this sword was not mine, but that it was passed on to me by one who had come before. And that also at that time, that I looked on you with favour and said that the sword would not always be with me for all time, but that in times to come, another would bear it. Nor do I unsay that now, at my death.
"But be it known, that other I spoke of was not you, and that as time changes, so do men. The favour I looked on you with has passed since the death of Mronas and your great rage. And although all know you have suffered and done your part to repair that wrong, the darkness now upon me lets me see that there is much also still in you. Therefore I cannot give you this sword, the Sword of Zwickan, that you covet, lest a great harm come to our people from it."
Then Blancvik went into his place of rest with all of his company that had fought the Dark Bull and been afflicted by its breath. And Wenclas went his way also.
So the Company of Blancvik were sealed into their place of rest, and a great many seals and wards were placed on the ways of entry to that place, that they might not ever come forth from it to disturb their people. And his name was sung by the singers at the dances, so that his sacrifice would be remembered.
But Wenclas did not dance or sing at the dances, but returned to the mountain by hidden ways, for his mind was ever on the Sword of Zwickan and how he might take it for himself.
And so he broke the seals and took the sword up from the breast of Blancvik, where he lay in a semblance of death on the cold rock, and then went forth again, rejoicing in his secret deed.
And Blancvik awoke, and found his sword gone and all his company lost to the Corruption of Zhardukk, and waxed full wroth. He took his banner and gathered his host, and lo, where once their banner was bright with colour, now it hung black and deadly upon the spear, and shadows seemed to come forth before and behind it.
And the sleepers came forth from their place of rest seeking the stolen sword, but they could not find it. In lieu of his sword, Blancvik took a great harvest of life, and his cold breath was felt all across the land. And so it continued in this way until the sword was found.
Wednesday, 22 August 2012
Prologue: The Madman of Zenres
The three old men sat in the market square watching the madman.
It was a dank and raw autumn morning. A heavy grey band of cloud sat over Zenres like a sodden cloth cap, blurring the distant mountains. The cobbled square was streaked with wet mud, and the air was full of tiny droplets of mist that dripped from the red tiles of the tall wooden buildings.
"Doesn't he ever get tired?" Abel wondered aloud, swirling his palinka in its green shotglass.
Bartel shook his head, pulled on the brim of his hat. "Nope. Been at it all morning. Last night too, when I came out of the Sow and Shoats. Yelling like a new-cut barrow, he was."
Abel raised an eyebrow, mildly impressed. Anyone who could scream and cavort all through a clammy Erntezeit night in the Border Princes was owed a little respect. He toasted the shrieking figure with his glass and swigged; Janci and Bartel followed his lead.
Friday, 17 August 2012
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