Schrodingers Computer

So, I got my pc back... but I'm still writing this on my Kindle (which, I have since taken to calling Dorian...), because, well... I've ordered a pretty high end machine, so if I use it and it works, fine... but, if I use it and it's not back to full working order, it's just wasted one hundred of my hard-earned pounds.

... in other news - Merry Christmas! Did you all get something nice? If so, fantastic! If not, Steam Sales don't end for another week, and Warmachine Tactics is under £20 (which is something I plan on investing in...)

So, my news... Not much. Spent Christmas working, and the days since on Unity (don't even bother with rifles by the way), so there's not much been done. In a startling change of character though, I plan on grabbing some 40k... not much, but a bit. A couple pre-made squads of orks from a nearby hobby shop, just to finish off that army, and trawling ebay for parts for a conversion; a lieutenant from Epsilus' army. He's been pretty big in fluff, but I never got around to actually making the model for him.

So, that's me for this week. Hopefully, something more will happen this weekend, and if not, I'll get y'all some fluff, alright? Cheers for reading, Volodanti out.

... my Kindle predicted everything after 'cheers'... I'm getting predictable.

Nope

Nope. Nope nope nope.

Nope.

... computer is back in the shop. All my files are forfeit, and I've not had a game in two weeks.

... all I've done is remade my Magic Deck, and had a talk about the Jugisium campaign... the rebellion one I mean. Which is set to take place 17 months later, at the onset of winter. I don't wanna say too much about it, cos a) it's not mine, b) a lot of it is still open to edits, and c) that's about as far as we've got...

... Alright, fine. I'll discuss the armies. Cos I like warfare (in games) and it gives little away.

So, I mentioned in an earlier post that the loyalists field mailed halberdiers as the bulk of their forces, supported by heavy crossbowmen. This is still the case, but with the change of enemies from bandits to a well supplied and trained rebellion, they've had to adjust somewhat...
Because of the large number of mages in the opposing force, loyalist infantry has adopted a loose checkerboard formation, to limit the damage that can be done with area of effect magic. They only form up into a tight block when they charge. Secondly, crossbowmen play a much larger role in battles than before, both screening the advancing army, and punching holes in the enemy formation for the halberdiers to take advantage of.
... And I was going to raise the point that they should be attempting to get gunpowder into common usage, though they're still a long way off.

And on the other side of things, the rebellion likes to field large blocks of swordsmen bearing tower shields. They tend to form into shieldwalls, and advance on the enemy, trusting their heavy armour to ensure the storm of bolts.
These, obviously, are supported by clusters of battle wizards, who do everything in their power to keep the enemy spread out, so they can't present a wall of armour piercing pole-arms.
And, to round them out, are skirmishers - lightly armoured scouts armed with shortbows. Mostly, they just distract the enemy missile troops, and soften up the halberdiers.

So, this has created some interesting tactics. As a rule, the rebels need to get in close to win, as their mages only hold a couple fireballs each, and after that they're at the mercy of the loyalists crossbows. But, the loyalists need to open the enemy formations, or neutralise their mages else they'll unable to form a spearwall, and quickly fall to the enemy swordsmen.

...Yeah, so, that'd a basic look at the militaries of the campaign. Won't really be all that relevant in game, but I hope you've enjoyed it.

Hopefully I'll have some good news for you next week, but until then thanks for reading. Volodanti out.

Revenge of the Void Dragon.

Yeah, pc is still busted. Went to the shop, came out, and the problem persists... pretty decent chance I'll be replacing it come January.

... sorry my love, but I'll always cherish our time together.

... anyway, today's post... brief update ad to what I've done this past week:

Nothing. Literally nothing.

I wrote up some magic items that were meant to be rewards for the D&D party. Then the PC crashed, so the Girded Girdle remains but a scribble in my phone.

... yes, the Girded Girdle. It's a belt that boosts AC. With an hilarious name.

The others are mostly fluffy things. A cape that boosts environmental resistance for a character who was forced to walk through a desert. A ring that makes the wearer less memorable for a rogue. Ancestral sword for... hang on, that'd ruin the surprise.

Nice try party, nice try.

Anyway, the other main thought I had was about a new Iron Kingdoms Character... don't worry, I have no intention of killing Elyas off. I still really enjoy playing him, and he's a nice character... but he's definitely nearing the end of his character arc. He has lost a good friend and a hated ally... both after attempting to do the 'nice'. And I think it will leave him a harder person. Perhaps he'll 'redeem' himself, and come to peace with his past.

... or he could fall to vigilantism, and stalk the Thornwood, preying on isolated Khadoran patrols.

Or just join the Resistance. Who knows? Depends how his adventures go.

... so, the replacement? Right, the idea was born from a joking guess with regards to an eSiege Brisbane. The idea was he'd realise how good Assault Kommandos are in siege warfare, and copy them...

It kinda evolved from there.

So, he's an Ordic Warcaster/Soldier. He'll start the game with medium warcaster armour, a shield and a carbine. As he advances, I'll trade in the medium armour for heavy, stick a variety of runes onto the shield to boost armour - or just nab the Tempest Shield from No Quarter... 50? - and swap out the carbine for the Crucible Arms 603.

Because fire bullets.

... I'll give you the fluff next week - honest - once I've figured it out fully. Have an idea for his history, but not the characterisation of him... or even the name to be honest. I've just referred to him as knock-off Siege so far, and made jokes about his personal 'jack "Won on Penalties".

But yeah, anyway... I'm tired, and you're likely growing bored. So we'll call this session here. As ever, thank you for reading. Volodanti out.

Blame the Void Dragon

So, my computer is broken... last night, it just went caput, so I'm gonna have to take that into the shop this weekend... which, is very irritating for me, and mildly for you cos it had this week's update saved on it.

... so, instead, cos I'm short on time, I'll give you a quick update to how Journeyman League is going for me... pretty average.

I lost to Circle again, cos I misunderstood the rules... "wholly within" the objective is an alien concept to me. Nearly lost me a friendly game too.
Beat Trollbloods. 3 objectives works very well for me... but, not so much for the slow-moving models that have to stay bunched up to avoid being shot.
And Menoth killed me. Rolled badly on a damage roll and a 'jack broke Wolf... which indirectly led to me losing on objectives. I say indirectly - Wolf was on his way to contest.

But, ultimately, all of this is irrelevant, because a Legend has been born; Coward the Custardly Warjack. Yeah, Jackal bonded to Kraye with the Craven personality. So, a model with a maximum range of 4" cannot get within 2" of enemy models... And is DEF 16. I ain't gonna lie - I love it. It's good in game, but the Fluff is so good. I imagine him crouched as low as possible - almost touching the floor with his knuckles, complaining bitterly as he's ordered forward.
Oh, and my Hunters both got the same bond - Combat Positioning. They can now move up to 8" after their activation ends. Which is just hilarious. Well, could - Wolf lost it when he died...

... so, yeah. That's what I've been up to... And, you'll hopefully get a proper post next week. So thanks for reading - Volodanti out.

Le'Vehn Again

... The pun in the name is that, no matter how hard I try to call it Lay Vein, to my mind it's Leh Ven.

... I never said it was a good pun. Average rhyme though. Moving on...

So, we're starting a new D&D campaign, with the original group (minus one), in my original original-setting. In January. Which is fine - not as soon as I'd like, obviously, but you know... busy times for all of us. Well, most of us. Veddidex...

... That's a pseudonym, obviously.

Anyway, no, getting back to the point... I don't have a point. See, this is what happens when I start to write without an end-point... I find it funny, but you probably don't... Sorry about this.

So, two months from now, you ought to get monthly updates on my upcoming campaign... provided all goes right. If it doesn't... well, that's to be expected, but with two DM's running two separate campaigns, the chances of neither having anything prepared at the end of the month is really quite unlikely.

This, is, of course, assuming that they're all okay with me chronicling it... I could count this as me asking, since they both claim to read it. So, yeah - Vavalrus, Veddi? You don't say no, I'm gonna write about this.

... So for the love of Morrow, make it good.

Anyway, just to finish off, and since it's appropriate, here's the rest of Kyln's backstory. Thanks for taking the time to read so much. And, if you want to read what has been described as 'probably my best work', please continue. Either way, I'm off to start trading with India. Volodanti out.

“You Kyln?”

Kyln looked up to see an imposing figure before him. A head taller than him, broad and well-toned, he would have been imposing even without the horns curling from his brow, or the milky white of a blinded eye.

“Aye, I’m Kyln.” He responded warily.

The figure sat down opposite him without asking. “Zhukov. I’d like to hire you.” He said, leaning forward, elbows resting on the roughhewn table of the tavern.

“You want something stolen or someone dead?” Kyln replied less interested now that he knew this was just another job.

“Neither.” He replied, frowning at the lack of interest. “I lead a band of soldiers called Sons of Bael, and we’re about to take Jor Corvrun.”

“Where?” Kyln asked, signalling for another drink.

“Jor Corvrun… The fort. Surely you’ve heard of it!?” At a blank look from Kyln he sighed. “You new to Senhekanto?”

“Only been here a year or so.” Kyln responded noncommittally.

“You must have been pretty far away not to have heard of it…” Zhukov said before shrugging. “I suppose it doesn’t matter if you’ve heard of it. The point is this; we want to take it. But, it’s currently held by some rivals – a bandit clan. They’ve locked up, and we can’t get in without someone opening the gate – from the inside. See where I’m going?”

“You want me to break into a heavily guarded fort, alone, and find some way to open the gate. Without anyone noticing me or I’ll be dead in seconds?” Kyln thought about it for a moment, before shrugging. “Beats this shithole.”

Kyln gritted his teeth at the burning pain in his arm. He hung from his fingers upon the battlements of Jor Corvrun, one arm hanging by his side, the tips of his toes on a slight outcropping. It would be a near impossible position for a human, but training and elven blood allowed him to hold it – if on temporarily.

Above him, the sentry walked slowly along the wall, humming quietly to himself. Kyln had little fear that the man would notice him – a black smudge below the walls, all his gear dulled so as not to gleam in the dim moonlight. Still, it was a risk, and Kyln willed him onwards, eager to climb up.

Eventually, the man moved past his position, and Kyln launched himself over the top, landing silently barring the slight whispers of his cloaks rubbing together. In an instant, he was on the sentry; a hand clamped about his mouth to stifle the cry of surprise that came when he stabbed the man in his side; blade angled upward to pierce the heart. He held him for a moment, as the life rushed out of him, and then deposited the figure over the wall, his body landing with a dull thump on the sand below.

Normally, Kyln would have preferred not to kill him – someone may notice his absence, and raise the alarm. But, by the time someone even thought to check the assault would be underway. In any case, he was just making it easier for his employer.

Kyln stalked around the sandstone wall, regretting that he was not wearing brown. Instead, he had to be twice as careful – a black blur over a beige backdrop would likely draw suspicion. Still, the sentries were few and far between; the bare minimum necessary, because they’d have more than enough time to rouse their fellows before an enemy reached the walls.

Eventually, Kyln made it to the gatehouse; a pair of squat towers containing the mechanisms for raising the iron portcullis they flanked. Kyln moved the entrance – thankfully without a door – and glanced in, keeping his profile minimised.

Within were a trio of guards – simple bandits outfitted cheaply. Each wore a suit of leather armour, reinforced in places with maille, and carried shortswords. Additionally, two bore a blue sash tied about their torso, while the third – the only Tiefling – instead wore blue half-cloak wrapped about her shoulders. Kyln took her for the sergeant, and resolved to remove her first.

Kyln stepped back then, withdrawing the tools he’d need for this. He took his dagger once more in his off-hand – palmed as though a punch dagger – and a spare knife reversed in his main hand. Finally, he took a handbow in his good hand – a one shot weapon, but it ought to even out the odds.

Kyln ducked out of sight and closed his eyes. He’d need to be perfect here. Taking a breath, he readied himself and stepped out.

He fired instantly – the bolt catching the Tiefling between her shoulder blades, and driving the breath from her lungs as she was knocked to the floor in a gout of blood. The others turned to see him approach; drawing their weapons, but it was already too late.

Kyln drove his punch dagger into the stomach of the first, winding him, and then ducked beneath the wild hack of the final foe, turning his back to him and rising to plant the spare dagger hilt-deep in his throat. He gurgled as he fell, clutching at the weapon protruding from his windpipe. Kyln ignored him and delivered a second stab to the other man, this one through the heart. He turned away from the pair of soon-to-be corpses, and approached the mechanism controlling the portcullis. He frowned for a moment, taking it in, and then began turning it; to be rewarded by the groan of the defences being lifted.

Kyln smiled to himself. Zhukov’s lookouts would soon see the gate was open, and begin the assault. All that was left for Kyln to do was wait for their arrival.

All in all; it was a job well done.

“There you are!”

Kyln looked up at the voice. He was sat in the gatehouse still, drinking from a wineskin he’d found on the sergeant. The captain – Zhukov – had just walked in, a frown on his face as he beheld Kyln.

“What’re you doing in here? We could’ve done with your help attacking the gates.”

“I opened the gates,” Kyln responded calmly, taking another drink, “and killed four besides – including an officer. Can any of your men claim the same?”

“No, but every one of them fought at my side, until the battle was won. Can you claim the same?” He growled, clenching his fists about the grip of his iron longsword.

Kyln shrugged noncommittally and rose to his feet. “Over and done with now. I’m a cutthroat not a mercenary. If you’d wanted me to join in, you should’ve specified.”

The captain grumbled and turned away, motioning for Kyln to follow.

“Well, as it happens, I need you again. Any good at lock picking?” Kyln made a gesture to the effect of so-so. “Well, still better than my men. We’ve a door needs opened. Help with that, and you’ll get to pick over the contents. Deal?”

Kyln thought to himself as they walked, rubbing at his cheek as he considered asking for more pay instead.

“I take it you’ll get the first pick?” Kyln enquired.

“Obviously.”

Kyln shrugged, mind made up. “Why not, take me there.”

“Look out!”

Kyln heard the warning a moment before the spear was thrust at him, and quickly executed a cartwheel to avoid it. It gave him a bit of room, but he was left off balance, and had to resort to spinning to avoid the next strike. His cloaks whipped out, hiding his position while he regained his footing. By the time his cloaks straightened he was crouched, ready to spring.

The Tiefling opposite roared as Kyln leapt, narrowly avoiding the barbed tip of the spear, and brought the edge of his short sabre down on his foe’s collar – splitting the bone and leaving a deep wound. Kyln turned away from the dying foe, stabbing him with a dagger almost as an afterthought. The skirmish around them was nearing its end, favouring his side.

Nearby, Zhukov was duelling against a man and a woman; the former wielding a halberd, the latter carrying a heavy shield and mace. Zhukov was on the defensive, but he seemed to be holding his own. Elsewhere, a dozen or so combatants fought individually or else in small clumps. Kyln spotted Rhaanus – Zhukov’s second – in the moment before his head was crushed by a blow from a heavy maul.

Kyln bared his teeth, sighting his next opponent. He quickly drew a dagger and launched it at the brute – his armour stopped it from penetrating too deeply, but really it was just to get his attention.

He turned, growling as he saw the source of his discomfort. He was well over six foot of muscle, wrapped in the leather-and-mail favoured in these lands. What marked him out though was the crest of blue-dyed horsehair on his helm. He marched towards Kyln, weapon clenched in both fists.

Kyln offered him a patronising smile as he moved in; sabre almost loose in his hand. The brute swung as soon as Kyln came in range, forcing the half-elf to duck under the heavy weapon. He rose inside the man’s defences, aiming for a quick end to the fight, but was rewarded with an elbow to the sternum. Kyln’s breath exploded from his lungs as he staggered back, barely avoiding the next two blows. He was forced into a roll to avoid the third, tumbling sideways to avoid the blunt force trauma.

Kyln rose quickly and decided to take the offensive. He leapt over the maul, and swung in with a kick to the side of the man’s head. The blow rocked him back, allowing Kyln time to land – foot almost as sore as his foe’s head – and dart in with a thrust of his dagger. It easily slid through his leathers; scoring a deep cut to the stomach. Kyln leapt away before he had the chance to respond.

Or so he thought. As he leapt back, he felt a tug on his cloaks, which quickly overcame his momentum. As he flew past, he made eye contact with the brute, realising that he’d managed to grab Kyln’s trailing clothes and hurl him bodily across the room.

Kyln landed badly – smacking off the wall, and bouncing to the floor. By the time he managed to get up, the brute was on him, griping him by the throat. Kyln struggled a moment as he was throttled; eyes watering, mouth screaming silent as the blood pounded in his head. After a moment – though it felt far longer – Kyln grasped a spare knife and lashed out wildly. It sank deep into the brute’s cheek, and Kyln was dropped as he roared in pain.

Kyln fell to his knees, only managing to turn it into a roll by instinct. When he came up, wobbling to his feet, his foe had dug the weapon out, and was eyeing Kyln with a mixture of rage and hatred. His eyes shifted though, changing to surprise and alarm as he brought his weapon up to deflect a blur of steel.

Zhukov stepped up, using a quick, efficient cut-and-thrust style to put his foe on the defensive.  His blade work was impeccable, and the runes marking the crossguard seemed to glow a dull red as he drew closer to the end.

It was a tiring style though, and Kyln could notice tiefling’s strength flagging even if the brute wasn’t aware. Kyln climbed to his feet, and withdrew his hand crossbow. It was a big target, but a difficult shot with the movement. Kyln timed himself, waiting until Zhukov moved from the line of fire. Aaand… there. Zhukov stepped aside to avoid a quick jab with the maul. Kyln pulled the trigger, propelling the steel-tipped bolt from the small weapon, with just enough power to bury itself fletching-deep in the brute’s shoulder.

 The man let out an inarticulate bellow of pain, which swiftly turned to a gurgle as Zhukov took the opportunity to impale him on the end of his falcata. The weapon sank deep into the side of his throat, the tip emerging from the far side. Zhukov held the pose for a moment, watching the man’s life fade impassively, before he stepped back, narrowly avoiding the spurt of blood.

“Thanks Zhukov.” Kyln smiled lightly and stepped forward. “Bastard almost had m-”

Zhukov’s hand smacked across Kyln’s face, the blow stunning him with its unexpectedness. Kyln staggered back, and held a hand up to cup his cheek; face a mixture of shock and anger.

“Don’t you fuckin’ ‘Thank you’ me, like you did nothing’!” Zhukov snarled, glaring down at the half elf. “You saw me fighting, but you decided to get the glory yourself. If you’d helped, we could’ve finished him, easy.”

“It’s not glory, Zhukov.” Kyln snarled in return. “When have I ever cared about glory?”

“Call it what you will. It almost got you killed, and could well have killed me besides. So, next time you wanna be the hero, just. Fuckin’. Don’t.”

Kyln was silent a moment, before replying, speaking so quiet Zhukov almost didn’t hear him. “Touch me again, abyss-born, and I will personally, and painfully, end you.” His eyes shone – Zhukov would’ve claimed they glowed, if that weren’t impossible for something black. In any case, he gripped his sword tighter in his hand.

“Kyln, you’re dismissed. Help clear up here, and then get your arse in your tent. Understand?”

Kyln held his gaze for a long moment, before stepping away, unspeaking, as he began to strip a corpse of its valuables.

Kyln positively exuded contempt, both for his employer and the world in general, but on the inside he was much more contemplative. Some small, distant part of him recognised that he had probably deserved the blow. He hadn’t lied when he said it wasn’t glory he sought – and it never was. It was a challenge; plain and simple, he sought to test his abilities whenever possible. It was a memento of his past – he’d never been allowed to plateau; it was improve or fail. And it was something he’d struggle to overcome… if he even wanted to overcome it.

Still, there was one thing that was obvious – his cloaks needed to go. They had been an unofficial uniform for him for years, and they were something he’d struggled to abandon… but, they drew attention, impaired his movements, and slowed his motions. And, as he saw there, a savvy foe could grab them. And Kyln unmoving was a Kyln dead.

The slight misdirection it afforded in combat was simply not worth the deficits… maybe something more form fitting – a jerkin, or perhaps a coat? Whatever it was, Kyln would have to talk to the quartermaster about getting something like it.

“You sure about this Kyln?”

Zhukov frowned down at him, face gruff as ever but displaying the smallest sliver of emotion; sadness perhaps? Or regret… Kyln still wasn’t the best at judging emotion, and Zhukov was doing his best to hide it.

“Aye, I’m sure.” Kyln replied, scratching at his cheek. “Big world to see – too big truth be told. And I’ve spent near half a decade exploring the same fifty mile stretch of river… No offense to your ancestral homeland, but it’s kinda a shithole.”

Zhukov force a laugh at that, but it wasn’t in his eyes. “I thought, perhaps, that you might have taken up the cause. You’ve been fighting for it longer than half the men in my company.”

“It was never my cause Zhukov.” Kyln sighed, adjusting the strap of his sack. “I fought for money… later cos I like you. But politics, empire building… that’s all a bit beyond me. I’m not meant for higher purposes.

“You could be. Big changes come from small origins. You don’t have to care for the ending – just help us make it.”

Kyln shook his head slowly, and motioned for Zhukov to walk with him. The Tiefling did, if a bit reluctantly. “Listen Zhukov… the fact is this cause isn’t for me. You’re making Bael Turath again… home of the Tiefling race; and empire for the devil-blooded across the Three Lands… but, I’m not a Tiefling. I’m a half elf… less in fact. I’m a shade.”

“Yes, but you could be more than that.” Zhukov stopped, and looked at him; an intensity in his eyes that Kyln didn’t even bother to meet.

“This is me being more. More than I ever had a chance of… and I’m a killer who whores himself out to whoever has the money for it.” Kyln laughed then, a bitter thing but mixed with genuine humour. “Apart from anything, the less I’m in your history books, the better Nova Turath will look.”

“I suppose you do rather sully any story you’re in.” Zhukov conceded, offering a slight grin.

“Aye, can’t have Senhekanto look too bad. Gotta bring down the rest of the continent; Jugisium first, then the Deserts.” Kyln offered his hand to the Tiefling then, who took it without hesitation. “I’ll probably be bored of them soon enough… From what you’ve said, there’s not much call for my skills north, and the east sounds awfully boring. Sand, rocks, and not much else. At least there’s bracken here.”

Zhukov smiled, and nodded, releasing his hand. “Then this is it, for now. I look forward to seeing you again Kyln.”

“And you Zhukov.” Kyln replied, turning away. Zhukov turned too, not one for emotion. Kyln marched northward, towards the river which had been his world since arriving on the surface. By the time the sun was setting, he’d booked passage aboard a cargo ship bound for the coast. From there, he’d be able to book passage north to Jugisium, and explore that exotic land.

Kyln smiled to himself. He’d never been on a boat before. They’d told him he’d likely feel ill, and he did feel somewhat off, but he was enjoying the sensation – the gentle rolling of the ship on the river. It presaged good things to come.

“Hey, Halfbreed!”

Kyln ground his teeth, and turned to the offender. A dwarf; stuck behind him on the gangplank. Kyln nodded, and moved along, stepping foot in Jugisium for the first time. It was only after the dwarf had left that Kyln realised that he was reminded of something. A sense of déjà vu, as though, for all his travels; he’d never really gotten anywhere.

A Couple Settings

A few weeks late, but here's what I promised - a bit of work on a few settings for... well, a variety of things. I can't promise that any of them are complete, they're more the groundworks, but I'm here to share them with you.

So, to start: the setting of Guardians of a Galaxy (far, far away...). Yeah, this isn't any less dumb a name when it started, but I like it. It's a little funny, and takes itself about as seriously as it should. So, yeah, lets give it a start:

It's around 200 BBY, on the Fringes of the Galactic Republic. Perhaps on the edges of the galaxy, or else where it butts up against Hutt Space. The Republic is on it's final legs, though no one present knows that. The victory at Ruusan which 'eliminated' the Sith Order has left cracks in the facade of the Republic, which are now widening. Without an external threat - or, really, anything - capable of challenging it the Republic has fallen into stagnation and overly-obtrusive bureaucracy. The Senate can take months to reach a proposal, never mind come to a decision, and people in the rimworlds often suffer for it. Small wars can start - and occasionally end - before the Senate even begin discussing the cause. Many feel abandoned, and this grumbling sentiment will eventually give way to the Separatist movement.

... For those interested, this isn't too much of me taking liberties. Look up Grievous' back story for more information...

The conflicts themselves vary in size - some are trade wars between competing systems, wherein each hires individuals to disrupt shipping from their competitors. Others are civil insurrections, or 'border disputes' between two factions on a planet. None extend beyond a couple close-lying systems, or involve more than a few hundred troops per side, so that ought to give you an idea of the scope.

So, anyway,  the PC's are all gonna be mercenaries taking part in these 'wars'. They'll start about Level 3-5, with a few tools, and an unarmed freighter. From there, it's up to them to make a career - hopping about from world to world as rumours come through of a variety of jobs, from piracy, to intimidation, to scavenging, to war, and everything between.

... So, that's the former. Now, for a variety of short 'concepts', either to be used in this campaign, or saved for later.

So, the first, and most thought out of my ideas is Obidum. Depending on the system it could be anything from a city-state to a hive world. The point is that it is an old city - very, very old. The foundations rest upon a whole buried city, and even that is several layers from the bottom... for inspiration, look to the most recent Thief game... it might not have been great, but at least the city put forward an interesting concept not often seen in Fantasy.
But, getting back to business, here's what's interesting about city; some time ago  - possibly centuries, possibly millennia - there was a religious order. And, part of their doctrine was that those who sinned were not permitted to see another sunrise. So, they maintained an elite cadre of assassins for this exact purpose... for inspiration, think of the actual Hashishin, rather than the videogame version - and boy, I am giving you a lot of homework... but, no, religious order, highly trained assassins...right.
So, here's the thing; these assassins were never caught. If spotted, people knew to ignore them - holy duty and all. So, one day, someone has an idea; what if I dress up like these guys, then I can get away with murder - literally!
He died, probably for sinning. But the idea stuck. And so,others tried it, successfully as it was. And the authorities had no way to know which murders were righteous and which were just murder.
So, they enforced a simple system; if they were caught, they weren't we'll trained enough to be agents of the order. If they weren't caught, they were.
So, even after the order died out, the law remained, and to this day assassinations aren't followed up on. An interesting world of intrigue then, whether the players are hired as guards, or blades.

... the latter is a hell of a lot shorter... more a feel than a setting. It's set on a volcanic island, or world - but not the kind you're thinking. Thin lava; the fast flowing kind that doesn't cause eruptions, instead it just dribbles near constantly from the crater. Everything is build several feet above the ground.
... but here's what I want. I want the players to step out onto this alien land; their visibility only a few scant feet. As they step forward, they find themselves trudging through knee-high snow... but it's warm. Too warm with a start, they realise that, actually, it's a thick carpet of ash, which quickly covers everything they have seen.

... anyway, that's enough of that. Next week'll be more fluff - whether t last of Kyln's or some WARMACHINE I don't know... But I hope you've enjoyed this. Thanks for reading. Volodanti out.

Urrgh... Part 2

Oh, dear sweet Morrow I feel awful. Like, really, genuinely bad.

I don't like moaning, but... that's a lie, I do. Anyway, your update for today is, well... actually, screw it - you remember how I mentioned that the character I played as in Jugisium was kinda boring? Well, in preparation for the future of that setting I re-wrote his background to a) flesh him out, b) make him fit more in-line with the Pathfinder system and c) make him less of a gorram cliche.

Anyway, it's long. Really long - in fact, this is only the first half of it. But, if you have the time, it's one of my better pieces of fluff:

“Hey, Halfbreed!”

Kyln sighed as he turned to face the speaker; a dwarf of about ten, his gauntness strangely unnerving, flanked by a human of around the same age. The dwarf was shorter than Kyln, obviously, but the boy had perhaps a few inches on him – and both, it must be said, were noticeably thicker.

“Why’s a runt like you need all your bread?” The dwarf asked pointing to the stale loaf Kyln held. “Somethin’ skinny like you don’ need it.”

“’E don’t, does ‘e?” The boy replied for him. “So be a good li’l mongrel, and give it ‘ere.”

“But it’s mine.” Kyln responded, taking a half step back.

“No, you were just holdin’ it for us.” The dwarf guffawed, shaking his head. “Now, give it here before I have ta hurt ya.”

Kyln glanced down at the bread in his hand – a crust of cheap, stale bread no bigger than his fist – and then to the boys before him; the dwarf; still stocky despite his malnutrition, and the boy; near five foot of lean muscle.

Kyln raised the bread towards the pair, knowing that the fight wouldn’t be worth it. The dwarf laughed once again, before reaching forward. Just before he grabbed it, Kyln spat a wad of phlegm onto it, before dropping it to the floor.

“… You’re gonna regret that halfbreed.” The dwarf growled, cracking his knuckles as he stepped forward. He swung with his good fist – a solid blow that failed to connect. He followed it up with another wild swing; an impressive amount of power considering his size, but lacking any real accuracy. By now, a crowd was starting to gather, and even the guard glanced across, faintly amused to see the slaves making each other’s lives worse.

The boy was bored by now, and reached out, his hand catching Kyln by his short mane of dirty silver hair. Kyln cried out in pain and tried to pull away, before the dwarf caught him in the gut. He flopped over, cradling his stomach, as he retched. The dwarf smiled sadistically, before kicking him across the face, bursting his lip.

“You got ta learn respect mongrel. Useless turd like you shouldn’t be getting’ any ideas above his station. So next time I ask for some bread… that bread is mine, got it?” He knelt down then, to look Kyln in his teary eyes. “You ain’t shit. And you’re gonna remember that. Cos I’m gonna make sure you do. I’m gonna break your arm.”

The dwarf stepped away for a moment, before returning with a spare pick handle. He motioned for his friend to stretch Kyln’s army out. The dwarf guffawed as the younger boy screamed in terror, and lined up the weapon for an over-arm blow. He paused a moment, enjoying the quietening of cries to fearful snivels, before bringing the stoat rod down as hard as his muscles could.

The blow didn’t connect though. As the dwarf began swinging, Kyln’s freehand whipped out; drawing a splash of blood from the boy holding him, before he rolled away. When he regained his feet, the crowd saw a shiv in his hand; a sliver of slate dripping with blood. Rather than the fear, his face now was a snarl of wild anger. He darted back in, drawing another line of blood from the boy – a deep cut across his forearm that oozed heavily. The boy took a look at the blood pouring from between his finger, then at the child who’d delivered him the wound, and backed away through the group.

Kyln turned his eyes then on the dwarf, who looked less certain all of a sudden. His confidence returned though, just a moment before an armoured hand gripped Kyln by the shoulder.

“You’re gonna regret that scum.” The guard declared, black eyes shining with delight.

“What’s your name boy?”

Kyln glanced about the room, eyes wide, mouth scrunched tight. His silenced earned him a hard blow to the back of his head.

“He asked you a question slave!” The guard snarled.

“Ka-Kyln, master.” Kyln replied, eyes to the floor.

“Hm… and do you know why you’re here?” The Drow replied, sitting forward on his throne.

“F… For slicing the bully?”

The Drow laughed; a hard, pitiless bark. “Boy, if I had any interest in that child, you’d be dead already… or dying anyway. No, I have no interest in the petty rivalries of slaves.”

“Then… then why am I here?” Kyln asked, his confusion only just overcoming his fear.

“Why indeed?” His owner replied, settling back. “Because you fought back? That’s part of the answer, but not the whole thing. In a sentence – because I will it. I am left with the choice of killing you – after all, you did damage my property… but, that would be a waste of two tools in a single afternoon.” He lapsed into silence again, and finished half his glass of fungal-wine before he spoke again. Throughout the silence, Kyln fidgeted nervously beneath the stern gaze of both the guard and his owner. “Here’s what is going to happen. I have needed a tool for a while now, and Paeruz here believes you are suitable. He – and others – will train you for this, and should you fail I’ll have your corpse dumped in a river. Agreeable?”

Kyln’s eyes were wide as he nodded, likely signing his own death sentence.

“Very good. Paeruz, take him to a cell. You can begin training him when your shift ends.”

“Again!”

Kyln gritted his teeth as he struggled back to his feet. It took him a moment, but he managed it. In his time since he’d started his training, he’d learnt not to ask for a break, nor to plead for mercy. He did it, or he was punished – simple as that.

Kyln swung the training weapon about in his hands – a wooden sabre weighted with lead to make it twice the weight of a normal weapon. Across the room, Paeruz held a similar weapon – though sized for an adult, and as he saw Kyln rise to the ready stance, he stepped forward, darting in with a quick thrust. Kyln knew he slowed his own attacks, but it was all the half-elf could do to parry them, never mind riposte.

Kyln lasted only a moment – though a few clashes longer than the last time. Paeruz grunted in contempt – but Kyln had long since learnt that anything less than active abuse was progress on his behalf.

His training lasted another hour, before he was allowed a short break for lunch. Kyln ate a quick as he dared – if Paeruz finished before him, he’d lose the rest of his meal, but if he ate to fast he’d be ill. Neither event was pleasant, nor something he would care to repeat.

By the time they finished, Kyln had a dozen new bruises criss-crossing his body. His muscles ached, and his mouth tasted of dried blood – how was that even possible? Yet, he marched across to the weapon rack to return his and his trainer’s weapons. He was preparing to replace the padded armour when a messenger slipped into the room. He whispered something in Paeruz’s ear, and then left, never even glancing at Kyln.

“Come on boy. Your owner wants to see you.”

Kyln looked up at that. In the three years he’d been training, his master had never so much as looked upon him, nor asked about him to his knowledge. Kyln attempted to straighten his tunic, but gave on it soon after as pointless.

Kyln was led through the house – upwards, as if towards the ‘surface’, but he didn’t think he’d passed above the floor when the main entrance was located. Instead, he was simply taken to another corner of the mansion, to a small stone room devoid of decoration except two doors and a chair upon which sat his owner.

“Come in boy, let me see you.” He said without preamble. Kyln moved forwards, and the noble beheld him, taking his chin between slender finger and thumb, feeling his wiry muscles, inspecting every cut and bruise. “Paeruz has done a good job. He tells me your skills are acceptable… for a halfbreed anyway.”

He snapped his fingers then, and the side door was opened. The messenger who had called him down entered, bearing a chain in one hand. As he entered he gave it a tug, which prompted the arrival of another slave – this one a human of around fifteen – thinner even than Kyln, and gaunt in the face from lack of food. His wrists were bound with iron, and he stumbled as he walked. Kyln kept his face blank, but inwardly he was bemused by what was about to happen.

“Now boy this is… a slave, what does it matter his name? He is going lame, and serves me no purpose anymore. So, I have decided on a test for you – one of commitment. Kill him.”

It was the brevity with which he said it that shocked Kyln – utterly without emotion, even the glee with which many anticipated violence. Kyln’s eyebrows went up before he could stop them, and he received a blow to the head for the act.

“You were ordered to kill, not to think. Kill him or yourself that I might find a replacement.” Paeruz barked, thrusting a dagger into his hand.

Kyln looked down at it; a squat iron blade, its hilt curving both forward and backward – perhaps designed to catch an opponent’s weapon? Kyln paused as he felt the weight of it in his hand – would he really kill another slave at the behest of the slave masters, that he may live to repeat it? He could end it now – slit his throat, and end a life of beatings and murders. Better surely to join the gods than slay an innocent? Or, perhaps… could he kill any of the Drow if he were fast enough? Paeruz wasn’t even a question – he’d fail before he even tried. The messenger shouldn’t be an issue – Kyln though he’d be dead before he could raise a finger.

His owner though… he had no idea. Surely, he was accomplished at survival; given that he, as a man, held a relatively powerful position? But, was that his prowess, or the skill of his bodyguards? If Kyln leapt at him, would he get in a fatal wound before Paeruz could intervene, or would the noble personally end his life?

So, kill an innocent, die quickly, or die slowly then? Still, more of a choice than most slaves got.

The boy was staring at Kyln with a mixture of fear and loathing – a mere child controlled his life, and one taking orders from the enemy. From the masters. Working for them was worse than blasphemy amongst the underclass, and no self-respecting slave would even consider it. The boy’s eyes bored into Kyln’s, a plea, a condemnation, a threat and a dare all at once.

Kyln sank the blade deep into the boy’s chest. His eyes went wide with shock, and his manacled hands rose to grip at the weapon. Kyln twisted the weapon once and stepped back, failing to avoid the jet of blood. It felt warm on his hands – over his whole body really, but especially upon his hands; Kyln was almost worried it would burn him.

His reverie was broken by a slow clapping. He looked up to see his owner, smiling down at him. “Good job Kyln, though in future I’d prefer you not make such a mess of yourself… Go wash yourself, you’re filthy. And, keep the dagger – a man should always remember his first kill, no matter what it is.”

“I cannot teach him.”

It was the way he said it more than the words that inflamed Kyln. The trainer had no reason not to – he’d never even seen Kyln move – he simply refused to teach him. Because he was a halfbreed. The contempt in his voice made Kyln want to grind his teeth. But he refrained. This was why he was chosen – because they’d never suspect a half-elf could even be taught the basics, let alone master them.

Still though… the obstinate refusal hurt his pride. Kyln would’ve loved to show him up, petty though it may be.

“Cannot, or will not?” His owner asked, frowning slightly.

“Does it really matter?” The man replied, crossing his arms. A well-toned Drow, clad in mix of leather and black steel, he was an imposing figure, even had Kyln not known his identity.

“You, Rhaeloth, were in your prime the best assassin in the city. Even now, you are still a name to be feared…” His master stated, filling a tumbler with an inky liquid. “And yet, you claim it impossible to train this boy. Perhaps your reputation is overstated?”

“I am the best in half a millennia; and were this not your home you’d know it. Personally. But, no I will not teach him. The arts of my trade are not to be dispensed to… mongrels like him.” His voice rose at the end, and he threw Kyln a look of such contempt that the thirteen year old was surprised he didn’t catch fire.

“You are sure of this?” His master asked, filling a second tumbler. When Rhaeloth nodded, he sighed, and offered him a drink. “Shame. I’d set aside a good deal of wealth for his tutor.”

“I cannot be bought.”

“Actually you can. Otherwise, you’d have much less a reputation than you do.” Kyln’s master offered the drink again.

“Let me rephrase that then. I will not be persuaded by greed.” He frowned again, finally accepting the tumbler. “And I cannot think of another of the profession worth his hood that would. If you insist on this… foolishness, you’ll have to get an amateur.”

“I fear you may be right…” The noble frowned, taking a sip of his drink. “I hope I can still trust in your silence on this matter?”

“I am yet to reveal any of my previous employers. Though, I feel that I may deserve more funds for keeping this plot silent.”

Kyln’s master made a gesture somewhere between a nod and a shrug, as if he’d anticipated this. “Of course. We can work out the details later. As I’m sure you can understand, I will pay, well, great expenses to ensure this remains unmentioned.”

Rhaeloth grunted noncommittally, and took a sip. Almost immediately, he choked, eyes bulging. He dropped his glass, and let out a strangled gurgle, followed by a cough of blood. Sinking to his knees he stared at the noble with accusing eyes as his hands gripped his throat.

“A shame you said no. You were my first choice Rhaeloth… Boy, fetch Paeruz. I have a body that needs disposed of.” His master settled down into his seat and enjoyed his tumbler, watching as the former Assassin contorted in agony on the hard stone floor.

“As you command it.” Kyln bowed low before leaving, but inside his mind was whirring. His owner was truly willing to go to such expenses to keep his existence silent? Was it simply that he did not desire his ploy was discovered before it could be set into motion, or was it a fear of losing his position, or worse –his life?

“You want how much!?”

Kyln supressed a smile at the indignation of his mark; a squat Drow merchant, inspecting the wares of a stall worked by a dwarf slave. He mumbled quiet apology, head bowed in deference to the raging Drow. The merchant offered him a disinterest backhand, and set off, searching for a better deal.

Kyln followed, even a dozen steps behind. Fifteen now, he’d dyed his hair a muddy brown to disguise it, and combed his hair so it covered his pointed ears. In the rags he wore, a thick iron collar about his neck, no one would offer him even a second glance – especially not while he bought produce as if at the behest of a poor master.

Though he tried hard not to show it, Kyln was nervous. This was his first real assignment. For a year now, he’d been practicing – tasked to place a button upon a servant without them noticing, leaving a dagger on Paeruz bed without being caught, and so on. But this – this was the first time it was neither an exercise, nor against a target in his owner’s employ.

This time, he would truly kill someone.

She stopped off at a new stall, inspecting a collection of jewellery presided over by an aged Drow to poor for even a shop keeping slave. He talked up his wares, and she seemed vaguely interested – more so when he cut the price. She took a pair of the earrings – dull iron stars affixed with a greenish gem – and placed them within the folds of her robe. She left once more, this time angling towards the exit – the sweat on her brow implying that she’d had enough of walking. Kyln had taken his place by the archway well before she had crossed the square, and was busy looking through his purchases – as if checking that he’d bought everything.

He stood as she approached and turned about, bumping into her. He fell back – only partially faking it, and landed on his rear, goods going everywhere.

“You clumsy oaf, how dare you touch me!” She shrieked, slapping him across the face.

“A thousand pardons mistress, I had not seen you.” Kyln grovelled, moving to his knees in a display of supplication.

“Then perhaps you should keep your eyes open for your betters!” She replied, kicking him in the face. He went down, groaning, and she took the chance to kick him in the stomach before stepping over. “And pick up this mess, you filthy creature. Is it not bad enough that you dirty the square with your presence without also leaving goods lying everywhere?”

“O-of course mistress.” Kyln gasped, as if the wind had been knocked from him. “At once mistress!”

Kyln rolled onto him knees and went about picking up the dropped produce – making a great display of searching frantically for each piece while she watched. After a moment, with a snort of contempt, she turned and walked away, scratching at her hip.

After less than a dozen steps, she slowed, brow furrowed in confusion. She felt flushed – more so than before, much more. And her leg would not stop itching – it was as if she had a splinter in her side. She scratched again, lower, and her fingers brushed against something – pulling at it, she lifted it to eye level and beheld a short needle – not even the length of her thumb, made of a dull greyish metal. He leg itched again, and she felt a powerful urge to vomit – one which she obeyed. She turned, confused, meaning to ask the slave the meaning of this.

But Kyln was long gone, the only sign of his passing an assortment of strewn foodstuffs.

Kyln ran. Hard. Through dark, twisting, unfamiliar tunnels he ran. He’d been running for over an hour now – perhaps longer, he had no way to know. His lungs burned, his muscles ached, and yet he ran on anyway. His cloaks whipped about him as he powered on, panting deeply with exertion, but unwilling to rest for even a moment.

He’d been taken to a new city last week. One near the surface, one that raided the topsiders for slaves and other goods. His owner had sent him to take out a threat to his business – Kyln didn’t really know the details. He wasn’t often told why he killed, simply that he must. But this one he cared heavily for – it offered him a chance of that which he’d never even trusted himself to dream of.

In it, Kyln sensed a chance for freedom.

Paeruz had brought him to it, so as to keep an eye on him whilst he went about him business, but Kyln had given him the slip on each outing. Some on the pretext of needing to move about unseen, others when he’d claimed that Paeruz being spotted would undermine the purpose of a secret assassin. Last time, he’d simply wandered off, saying that splitting up would offer a better chance of covering ground.

Kyln hunkered down a moment as he heard something. Voices up ahead. He ducked down a side passage, waiting for the voices to pass by, or move on.

Each night, he’d sought out knowledge of the surrounding tunnels – of routes upward, towards freedom from his bondage. He’d returned on time each ‘morning’ though – as if trained beyond even considering such thoughts, and always bearing a wealth of information about his mark – their home, the guard, or any regular excursions by either party. Paeruz had been unhappy by his disappearances, but had thrown aside such thoughts as excitement to be in a new place, and eagerness to get the job done. It was, after all, one of his more difficult assignments, even ignoring that it was in a settlement he’d never even visited.

Kyln thought the voices had moved away again, and set off once more – his panting swiftly returned, and Kyln wondered that the short rest had only left him worse off for knowledge of how a rest would feel. The slate grey stones tunnels about him were dimly illuminated by luminescent moss, giving off just enough light to avoid tripping.

In the end, Kyln had proposed a plan to kill the target that ought to take an hour at least from leaving Paeruz. He’d been a bit unsure about it – it had been notably more cautious than Kyln’s usual practice, but once more he put that down to nervousness in a new environment. After receiving his approval, Kyln set off, and made with all speed for the surface.

Klyn’s breathing was more that laboured now, and he stumbled to a halt – one hand resting against the wall. He was so tired, it took him a moment to realise – his hand was pressed against the cool, hardness of the stone, yet the tunnel was still light enough to see. Glancing around, he could see no other moss, no other real source of light… other than that the far end was slightly lighter than the route he’d come from.

Kyln almost laughed at his slowness. He had almost made it. The surface was almost within reach. Straightening up, he walked toward the source of light.

As he rounded the corner, he found that he had to squint. A few more corners, and his hood was up, throwing his face into deeper shadow. He could see the exit now – a bright white maw that led to freedom. Smiling in spite of the glare, Kyln marched out.

He’d taken no more than three steps out when he froze. Above him was limitless nothingness – a pale blue… thing that stretched as far as he could see in either direction, and seemed to have no roof. Around him, rolled plains of green – not like the sickly lights of his masters, but a deep, lush green that seemed to shimmer. And above all, the light – painful, and blinding, like the worst migraine he’d ever suffered.

Kyln was terrified, such that he fled back into the waiting cave with bitter tears pouring down his face. He’d finally made – he was free. Nothing to stop him from walking out and never looking back.

Except himself.

Kyln curled up then, his back to the cave mouth, weeping silently. He’d wasted it. His one chance at freedom, and he couldn’t escape. Bound not by chains of his master, but of his own making. The irony only made it worse for Kyln.

He thought back then, over his life to this moment. It had been bad, sure… but could he truly complain? It had been leagues better than the typical slave. And he’d thrown it all away. He’d gotten greedy – always desired more than what he had. And what did he have to show for it? A headache, and likely a squad of slave hunters searching for him, or Paeruz himself, ready for a fate worse than death.

Perhaps… perhaps if he returned now, he could claim the job had gone bad? It had been a long time, but he could claim, well… anything. That something unexpected happened and he’d been forced to wait, and had only just given up?

Or tell the truth. Admit he’d attempted to flee, and had failed. That he couldn’t escape, and wouldn’t try again… If he killed the mark, they might just let it pass – punish him, for sure, but neither was one to waste a good tool.

So wrapped up in his thoughts was Kyln that he didn’t notice the time slip away. Before he knew it, he’d wasted an hour just thinking. He was truly in the shit now – he’d be lucky to escape with a clean death. Sighing, Kyln stood up, and cast one last glance at the freedom forever denied him.

Kyln started. He was squinting still, but not in pain. He took a small, cautious step closer to the exit, his cloaks swirling about him in the cool breeze. Another step, this time more sure of himself. After a moment’s hesitation, he stepped outside.

It still hurt. It still terrified him… but it was definitely darker now. Kyln was amazed – changed to the lighting? That was unheard of. He shook his head, and glanced about; to his right, the blue was darker; a deep navy lit with sparkling points of white light. The other was, Kyln saw in a brief glance, was a fierce orange – a semicircle of pure, blinding white half resting on the earth.

Kyln smiled to himself.

If it continued like this, he could pass almost unheeded. The surface had grown yet darker, and the semicircle had shrunk yet more… Kyln retreated back to the cave, and settled himself down to rest. He didn’t trust himself to sleep – the light could return at any minute, but a simple rest as the shadows deepened would do him good.

Kyln watched, amazed, as the light dimmed, shadows lengthened, and above him more pinpricks of light lit the great navy blanket. He could almost trick himself into believing it was the ceiling of a cave, which comforted him more than he cared to admit.

Kyln had to admit… It was all very pleasant to see. He gasped in amazement as another orb appeared – this one dimmer than the former, a soft white, speckled with darker spots, like freckles on a face. He decided then that he much preferred this orb, and would like to see more of it.

Eventually, Kyln decided that it was dark enough. He took a few hesitant steps out of the cave, to check that the light had faded enough to be comfortable.

Kyln laughed, and set off, walking into this darkness, but away from one of a wholly different nature.

... If you're still here, I'd like to thank you once again for making it this far. Volodanti out.

How To: Waste Points With Kraye

So, a quick model post - or post on a model... the terminology is appropriate either way.

So, basically, for my journeyman league I'm gonna include two units of Rangers (free walls in my deployment zone are very fun for an army of high-DEF Prowlers), which'd normally use up next month's 10 points... but, here's the thing - Kraye makes Rangers cheaper... so, I need to figure out a way to spend 2 points.

Cygnar has a couple options here, most of them pretty good, but Kraye's list only includes two; a small unit of mechanics; who are good but less useful in an army of super-light 'jacks, and the Gun Mage Captain Adept, who is pretty useless but very good at annoying people...

... Captain Adept it is then.

So, here we have Captain Adept Garrett Scarrow (which, once again is wrote upon his base in runes). I like this guy - he's a bit darker than the rest of the army, but he still seems to fit with it... somehow. Also, I put a lot of effort into bluing him up, which basically involved a blue wash for his coat and little touches of blue wherever I could fit them.

In contrast to the rest of the army, his armour is quite bright - a shiny breastplate rather than leather or brass like my other models. It's a little touch, but I like it.

What I do not like so much is the skin. My first real attempt at Midlunder flesh came out... less than stellar. It's not bad, per se, just worse than I would have liked. And I can't decide whether he looks like he's wearing gloves, which it transpires is very annoying. The runes too are a bit shaky - I had more room than I thought, but less than I would have liked, so the runes are variously squashed or stretched...

... But I like him. The model is very nice, on the whole I think he's decently painted, and most importantly he's gonna be incredibly annoying versus slower-moving armies, especially when paired with the Black 13th.

So, yeah, that's this week. Next week ought to be that Setting... thing I've been threatening since Stevenage, so look forwards to that. And, as ever, thanks for taking the time to read this. Volodanti out.

Journeyman League - Mobile Strike Force

As I said, I'm working almost non-stop this weekend, with stupid hours besides, so this is just gonna be a quick post - a couple pictures of my second-level army...

Kraye
Not much to say - I already posted him a few months ago, so look to the 'Scouts Enroute' post from July. Since then I've not really done anything with him - beyond gluing his arm back in place an half dozen or so times. I'm actually considering soldering it in place...

Wolf
My first Hunter. For a while, he had wolverine-claws, but I eventually replaced it with the axe... still not entirely happy with that either, but well, it's still better than the standard axe. In case anyone is curious, the head is from the Ork Nob sprue, while the shaft is from a classic Charger... and that sounded really dirty.

Anyway - not my best work, but to be honest I'm not that fond of the model. The stomach is too stretched out, and the body too hunched... the Grenadier is a massive improvement in almost every way, and the Minuteman has markedly better arms. Still... the rules are great, and it gave me a chance to paint something a little darker.

Hound
The newest addition to my collection, the pose is much better. I prefer the colour scheme on this one too - the added silver really sits better than the usual bronze... Axe is oversized, but that can't be helped.
... Not much else to say really. Paint job is a bit better, and I managed to get him built and painted in under two days, so that's a plus.

Jackal
Ah, the Minuteman... a much better sculpt, and he can fly. Then explode. Then shoot stuff with slug guns. Really, the best kinda jack of all trades - capable of doing whatever's needed, rather than just not terrible at something.
... Haven't had that much use out of him though. He needs to get a bit too close to the enemy for Kraye's liking, and when you have two Hunters, his slug guns seem a bit unnecessary. I mostly just brought him to take care of the inevitable Choir of Menoth... Nice paint job though - markedly lighter than the rest of the army, he stands out in a good way.

Black 13th
A handy unit in virtually any Cygnar force, and being part of Kraye's tier list is beautiful. They'd good for countering Borka's "No-non-magic-attacks" spell, and Lynch's True Sight and Fire Beacon are immensely handy against Circle... Seriously, there is never a reason not to take them.



... So, yes, that's my 15 point force. Utterly terrible in Objectives games, or tight quarters, but give it some room to manoeuvre and it is the kind of army people hate... My friends, for example.

Anyway, I'll leave you with this picture of the full force, and my continued thanks for reading this.  Volodanti out.

Urrgh...

No post today friends. I didn't get a chance to take the photos I discuss during the blog before we lost the light... besides which, I've been up since 5am, and just feel awful. I'm sorry about this, but I just don't have the energy to write out a replacement post... Come the morn I'll take the photos, add them to the post, and finalise it, but for now it's taking all my concentration not to write gibberish.

... So, yeah, post is coming Sunday around midday. Sorry for the inconvenience. Volodanti out.

Iron Kingdoms - The Finale

... Don't worry, it's the season finale, not the last ever session.

And, to be honest, that's only in-universe. Realistically, well be doing another session next chance we get. But, in game... actually, I'll explain it later. Spoilers, you know.

So, before we start I should mention that I've left out of the previous two write-ups. So, in the Inn that we woke up collared in, we met this fellow called Andrei. He was looking for his sister, who'd gone missing around here recently, and we ended up befriending him. The reason I left him out is because he only had a brief mention at the tale-end of one session and wasn't involved in the next session... so, yeah, he's relevant later on, so just filling you in.

So, the session begins, and Elyas is joined by his allies at the entrance of the lab/base/temple. Armed with the code, they quickly unlock the gate, and are allowed entrance thanks to their collars. Descending down a corridor they eventually arrive in a large semi-natural cavern, dominated by a shanty-town of sorts. Within dwell two distinct groups - the regular members of the cult, and the so-called "chosen", of which we were apparently members. A short round of the town and we have been able to ascertain two facts; that the chosen are summoned at irregular instances to the lower reaches, and Vladoslav and the Professor are down there.

So, we begin to formulate a plan. The path down is guarded by several priests, who we quite likely could kill... but that start a full on war at best.

So, the plan; Tiny and Cara start a brawl, and while the guards are distracted smashing heads, the rest of us sneak down. Alright, everyone gets in position, and-
-Orthan spots Andrei.

He's clearly injured, but seems determined. While he won't explain why he has a gunshot wound in his side, he tells us that he has tracked his sister to this temple - and she is downstairs, taking part in a ritual. And he has prepared a distraction, if we can help him move, he'll get us past the guards.

... to be honest, the plan was the same as ours, only on a larger scale. Using the cover of a riot, we run through the gate, down a long corridor, and descend a spiral staircase for what seems near a mile. As we walk, Elyas notices that a the walls all seem to display a similar sigil; sixteen lights in a ring, all bar one lit. We could figure out what this meant.

As we descended the staircase, Andrei's breathing has become ever more laboured, and as we reach the bottom he can barely walk. A few steps later, he slumps to the floor with a weak groan, and admits that he' not gonna make it much farther. As he slips away, he implores us to save his sister, before the light dims from his eyes...

... and the sixteenth light ignited. A groan of machinery could be heard throughout the complex, and we knew that we had little to no time to grieve.

Soon after, we came to a large door, beyond which we could hear the machinery at it's loudest. We each took a moment to prepare, and then Cara opened the door.

Inside, we found, well... this:

A large, circular room with a dais in the middle, surrounded by a pit that fell away into darkness and immense gears turning for some unspecific purpose. The outer ring was lined with six cages, four of them containing semi-conscious forms, and guarded by perhaps a dozen or so cultists. Upon the dais was an animus... no, of course not really, it's just easier to describe it as that rather than 'reclining metallic machine-bed', so I'm gonna call it an animus... anyway, it was linked up to a bunch of machinery, and upon it lay a metallic body which looked surprisingly like our dear Captain Finnean.

But, that wasn't what Cara saw. What Cara saw was the figures stood next to the control panel; a large form that was reminiscent of the descriptions we'd heard of Professor Finnean, a Steelsoul Protector... and Vladoslav.

They recognised each other instantly, but it was the protector that reacted first - calling the men to arms and racing off towards us.

... I could describe our actions as a precise, para-military sweep, with half flanking left and the other half right, but... I'd be lying utterly. Cara sprinted ahead, yelling about re-deading Vlad, Orthan and I took up firing positions at the doorway, and Tony regretted his large base as he couldn't move past us. Orthan managed to put some hurt on our enemies, and Elyas greatly appreciated the trick-shot runeshot, and when we were charged Lunexa cut down our foes before sprinting after Cara.

Soon after, we split into two distinct groups - Tiny and Orthan turned left to fight across the upper walkway, while Cara and Lunexa ran through their enemies in the lower path; Cara's magics knocking back any who got in her way, and Lunexa putting down anyone who was left.

Throughout this, Elyas attempted to talk some sense into the Professor. It went about as well as you would imagine... but, Elyas still saw himself as the hero of the story. So, it was with great regret that he realised there was no other way this could end... it took several rune-inscribed bullets to wreck the metallic body of the Professor, who throughout it made no attempt to protect himself - only to keep the process on track... I think that's what hurt Elyas the most; that it wasn't killing to survive - it was murder.

So, throughout this Vladoslav had been making his way towards the back door, so our female party members were trying harder than ever to reach him, but two things stopped them; the Steelsoul protector lived up to it's name in a fight against Cara, and the Innkeeper who took us in revealed himself as a cultist... replete with Andrei's Mechanika Pistol. Lunexa managed to put him down - more than Cara managed - but was still hurt doing it. Eventually, the party ganged up on the Protector, and we managed to destroy that too... which is when we noticed a new sound:

A quiet sobbing.

Captain Finnean had awoken in a new iron body, only to find her father's corpse beside her. She was past caring. When Elyas went up to comfort her, her first words were "Kill me." When he refused, she attempted to throw herself from the platform. When he stopped her, she grew violent. Elyas tried - I want you to know that, he did - but in the end... a hold-out pistol isn't really supposed to fire runeshots. The magics warp the barrel, and can burn out the firing mechanism... but they can. And when a suicidal friend-turned-robot alternates between attacking and trying to fling herself to an unsure death...

Vladoslav had escaped. Half the cages now contained corpses - though we managed to rescue Andrei's sister... For most of the party, this was a minor victory, and most left the temple determined to finish the fight, once we'd rested, repaired and re-equipped. A short break - we'd take the winter off, because you can't do anything in Khador during the winter anyway - and then back to the hunt.

Elyas was happy for the time off too. He needed to think... twice now, he'd tried to reason with cultists, and twice it had left a friend dead; Sergei and Finnean... And if he'd been quicker, he could have saved the Captain... two deaths, and he'd have been in the temple hours earlier... two strangers for a friend; was it worth it?

... And with that dark thought, I'll leave you for this week. Got quite a few things in the works - makes a nice change - so I can't promise what you'll get next week - come to think of it, I promised you more on GoaG last time - but, yes... So, thanks for reading. I hope you've enjoyed this as much as I did writing it.

Volodanti out.