Recent Posts

Pages: [1] 2 3 ... 10
General Wargaming / Re: A Tilean Campaign (Warhammer Fantasy Battle)
« Last post by padre on February 20, 2019, 04:03:11 PM »
If on a pc/lap top then Please right click on the pictures to open in a new tab to see them fully!

Unholy of Unholies
Second Prequel to 'The Battle of the Valley of Death'

Trantio City, Early Autumn 2403

Moved by the malice coursing through his every vein, Biagino mounted the sanctuary and strode to the altar. Although the congregation’s whimpering could be heard throughout the building, he failed to perceive it – for him, the sound was buried beneath the much more powerful sensation of their fear and the delicious stench of so much warm blood. As he greedily guzzled great gulps of the despair emanating from every living soul gathered within the church, their pathetic sobbing was akin to being merely one of several subtle notes possessed by a fine wine. He had other things on his mind to distract him, not least the fact that an enormous army was camped to the west of the city, obviously intent upon doing battle.

Since late afternoon he had been mulling over what to do about the enemy. Should he meet them upon the walls of Trantio, forcing them to assault the city, or out in the field where he could bring his whole force to bear? Should he even be attempting to take on such a massive foe at all? Perhaps his mistress would prefer he retreat than risk losing the army he now commanded? He had left Viadaza with his own Church of Nagash, including his vampire thralls and the huge mob of resurrected cultists he named the Disciplinati di Nagash but referred to as his children, and a small but substantial army gifted to him by the Duchess Maria, containing powerful, arcane constructs and even a monstrous, undead dragon. Once he arrived at Trantio, this army had grown even stronger, as he, his step-get Captain Tusco and the necromancer Pascal della Cava, raised several regiments of ancient warriors, both foot soldiers and horse, from the ancient graves and burial pits of the necropolis valley of Norochia.

Yet the enemy army, no doubt a grand alliance of several states, made all this seem paltry in comparison. This was not to be an easy decision.

Once behind the altar he gave vent to an involuntary hiss and slammed his gold-topped crozier upon the stone floor, the sharp sound of which elicited a temporary silence.

His red-robed acolytes, the vampire thralls known as La Fraternita di Morti Irrequieti, stood nearby on the sanctuary, while his newly raised, fleshless soldiers lined every wall of the church, but he paid them no attention. They gave him nothing, only took from him. It was his will that lent them purpose - without him they would neither be nor do. It was the wretched huddle of people in the nave that fascinated him, for he could feed on them, play with them, delight in their dread.

Tonight, however, he wanted something different. He wanted their worship. Raising his hands to command general attention, he began.

“Let us pray!”

There was some confusion amongst the gathered, and even that gave him joy. The living were a veritable cornucopia of feelings, every one improved by with a seasoning of terror and despair. He leered at them, then raised his eyes to the great church’s ceiling, and began intoning.

“Nagashi, exaudi nos.
Domine, majestatis infinitae.
Domine, fornax ardens.
Domine, virtutum omnium abyssus.
Domine, omni laude dignissimum.”

He fell silent and lowered his head to glare at the cowering flock before him.

“Well?” he demanded.

Someone began to sob – a woman by the sound of it.

“No,” he hissed angrily. “Say the words.”

The nearest acolyte, his face obscured by a hood, now sang in a voice as beautiful as it was terrible,

“Sanctificetur nomen tuum.”

This was followed by a stumbled attempt at repetition by the cowed congregation. Apart from the children, all the reluctant worshippers knew the words, being the same as those chanted by all Tileans during the most common service to Morr. The entire unholy mass was to be an inversion of the familiar; a profane mockery twisted to serve Nagash.

“Better,” muttered Biagino. His satisfied smile revealed the crooked fangs sitting uncomfortably large in his mouth. Then he addressed the congregation with a short homily.

“It gives me great satisfaction to see you all gathered here today. You are the last of the living in the city, and in what days remain of that life, your prayers will serve as the perfect prelude to your imminent sacrifice. Let your every thought be fearful, and all your pain and suffering be a gift unto glorious Nagash, for soon you will be his entirely, for ever more, and then all your suffering will end.”

He crooked his finger at his acolyte, who now sang another prayer, pausing between each line to allow the congregation to give their faltering repetition. 

“Libera nos, Domine …
A peste et fame…
A morte perpetua ...”

“Indeed, you shall never fall sick again,” declared Biagino, recommencing his homily. “Nor feel the pang of hunger. You will be delivered from all these things. Death itself shall not come to thee, and you will forget all that you knew, even the name of the false god Morr, for you will walk this earth as a servant of great Nagash, wholly beholden to his will through the medium of myself, his true servant.”

His own words reminded him that there were still creatures in Norochia that he had yet to bend to his will – a mob of ghouls and a large pack of dire wolves. And there were without a doubt still many more ancient warriors lying there he had yet to summon to swell the ranks of his army.

This train of thought was suddenly disturbed by a commotion at the back of the nave. Peering with a power of sight his old, living body was pathetically incapable of, he spied a desperate fool clambering over a pew in an pathetic attempt to flee, only to come face to face with the rank of skeletal guards. Two thrusts of a rusty-tipped spear sent the potential escapee scrambling back to the other prisoners.

Biagino tutted to show his disapproval, his subsequent sneering glare no more or less ugly than his face at rest.

“I will brook no such nonsense,” he warned. “Any foolishness will be punished most severely. There are worse ways to suffer than your present misery. Now, shall we continue with our prayers?”

Biagino himself took up the prayers once more.

“Nagash, dominus et magister
Adveniat regnum tuum, Domine
Fiat voluntas tua”

Once again, the response was ingrained in the forced-worshippers’ minds, despite the unholy insertion of foul Nagash’s name in the preceding prayer.

“Nunc, et semper, et in saecula saeculorum,” they sang with a tunelessness occasioned by fear.

Now, where was I? he asked himself. Ah yes, the valley.

Suddenly, he knew exactly what to do. He would array his forces in the valley and meet the foe there, where the ground itself would provide him with reinforcements. He could wrest magical mastery of the wild inhabitants to make them his to command also.

The enemy would find themselves facing a foe from their nightmares in a place of their nightmares.

Where better?


Nagashi, exaudi nos (Nagash, graciously hear us.)

Domine, majestatis infinitae  (Lord, of infinite majesty)
Domine, fornax ardens  (lord, burning furnace)
Domine, virtutum omnium abyssus (Lord, perfection of all virtues)
Domine, omni laude dignissimum, (Lord, most worthy of all praise)

Sanctificetur nomen tuum (Hallowed be thy name)

Libera nos, Domine (Lord deliver us)
A peste et fame (From pestilence and famine)
A morte perpetua (From everlasting death)

Nagash, dominus et magister (Nagash, lord and master)
Adveniat regnum tuum, Domine (Thy kingdom come.)
Fiat voluntas tua (Thy will be done)
Nunc, et semper, et in saecula saeculorum (Now, always and forever)

Revolution / Re: The Tragic Tale of Miss Tyndall
« Last post by faceknives on February 20, 2019, 02:36:28 PM »
Today I met my new comrades.

It is good of Mr Cohen to find me this.  Too long has gone without revenge on the decadent slugs who rule this damned city.  My group were shockingly informal, even calling each other by their Christian names!  Despite my committment to the cause, it seems I still have much to learn about the social norms of the revolutionary movement. Still, my new colleagues were kind enough not to mention my disgrace, despite the fact I am sure they must all be aware of it.

From what I know of revolutionary theory I would put this group strictly in the nihilist camp.  They were uninterested in revolutionary speeches, being more focused on explosives and plans that involve blood. This suits me fine. There is more than enough time to build the new Jerusalem after we burn London to the ground.  For now, destruction is the primal and necessary urge. Perhaps they could do with a somewhat more focused understanding of the propaganda of the deed.  But I am a newcomer to the group and it would be impolite of me to raise it at this point.

I have some impressions of the other comrades involved but I am sure these will be revised in time.

Peter - Peter is obviously a man from a comfortable background much like myself, which is interesting. He is also the leader of the group.  So far I am unconvinced either way on his competence. He seems knowledgeable but he rearranged our activity at the last moment, for reasons unsure.  He keeps mispronouncing my name, but that is merely a niggle and I need not say anything.

Violet - An unbashed libertine.  Violet is coarse, unladylike, vulgar and entirely unashamed to flaunt her (admittedly impressive) charms.  I rather like her. If I am honest with myself I rather envy her free spirited nature.  Still, I have had enough scandal for both this and the next lifetime. So it would be best if she turned her sapphic attentions elsewhere.

Rose - The twin sister of Violet and some kind of alchemist I believe.  She would look like Violet, if not for the unfortunate state of her face.  I pity her but not openly as she does not strike me as the type of lady who would welcome that emotion.  She seems good at her skills and apparently is familiar with the art of the sniper. (While I generally look down on the use of firearms I admit they can be useful in this context). She has been polite enough, although she is more professional and less warm than her sister.  Her name rings a bell of familiarity but I cannot place from where I might know it.

Magnus - A doctor.  Again, it surprises me that this group contains so many of the middle orders. I would have expected more men of toil in a revolutionary cell!  Magnus is quiet and reserved, much like myself.  The rest of the group seem to like him, but I have picked up a certain level of tension there.  Perhaps there is more to him than meets the eye? Perhaps he dabbles in the forbidden arts so popular in the penny dreadfuls Mama always forbade me to read?

Fog - He is Prussian, although that is not his fault.  A striking gentleman, surprisingly good at the arts of the burglar for one so large. He is a newcomer like myself and still seems to be settling in.  But what is a Prussian doing in a British revolutionary cell?  This is not a question I currently know the answer to, but I record it for posterity.
Revolution / Re: Tagebuch des Nebels
« Last post by Captain Shortworth on February 20, 2019, 01:43:56 PM »
Alles ist klar
Hell Trek / Markmann Convoy Voting
« Last post by 348 on February 20, 2019, 12:48:22 PM »
Day 3:
Call for the exiling of Pike Forrest
For [11] Crane 2, Canye 4, Plymouth 5, Mantua 6, Skyclad 10, Alder 11, Proctor 14, Robin 20, Rhand 21, Western 24, Bronski 25
Against [9] ITT8, Davis 9, Freedom 12, Lucky Roller 13, Matt 15, Damascus 16, Happy Waggon 19, Casa 22, Merrick 23
Abstention: [3] Trant 7, Applepie 17, Applemac 18
Trekk Leader: Vote not cast
Result: Pike is exiled from the convoy, his uncle, Major Trant elects to stay with him.

« Last post by 348 on February 20, 2019, 12:29:29 PM »
Day 3:
Morning camp: The waggons vote 11 to 9 for exiling Pike Forrest from the convoy. Major Trant, his uncle, consents to stay with the young man and gives the convoy a day's start before he resumes trekking.
« Last post by 348 on February 20, 2019, 12:11:02 PM »
Kat Western is discovered hidden in bushes,with a bra wrapped tightly round her neck. Doctor Cornelius believes she actually died of cardiac arrest rather than asphyxiation.  :'(
Kirk Bronski and Werner Smitt die at some stage in an assault on Smitt 26 by a band of mutants belonging to The Brotherhood of Darkness.
Smitt 26: Is reduced to a large blast radius of fragments originating from a crater.
During a scuffle, as Ned Wanders tries to stop Pike Forrest who is attacking his wife, Beryl, Wilma Forrest is inadvertantly shot, though Doctor Cornelius manages to get her heart started again. She is placed in Canye 4 to recieve medical care.

Revolution / Tagebuch des Nebels
« Last post by Hunk of Huddersfield on February 20, 2019, 09:17:10 AM »
Was für ein anstrengender Tag. Diese Revolution, der ich beigetreten bin, hat mir einen alten Freund zurückgegeben. Peter mein früherer Lehrer. Wie schön war es, ihn zu treffen. Ich werde ihm mehr von dem neuen Englisch zeigen müssen, das ich gelernt habe. Einige der anderen in dieser Gruppe machen mir besonders Angst, dass Rose mir etwas Gefährliches zukommen lassen muss. Sie wird zusehen müssen, wie sie mit mir spricht. Ich mag keine Dinge, die ich nicht verstehe, und jedes andere Wort, das sie spricht, verwirrt mich. Dieser Doktor erinnerte mich an denjenigen aus meiner Jugend, als würde sie nichts für ihren persönlichen Vorteil anhalten. Diese beiden anderen Frauen sind sehr hübsch, eine ist jedoch sehr zurückhaltend, aber die andere scheint eine Schlampe zu sein. Wir werden in den nächsten Tagen ein Haus angreifen und ich werde der Nebel sein, der über dieses Gebiet fällt. Es wird brennend eingestellt. Für alle, die sich mir in den Weg stellen, den Tod des Todes.

Ich mag diesen Postdienst, von dem Peter mir erzählt hat. Mail an mich, egal wo ich bin, das wird sehr nützlich sein. Ich werde aufgeregt für diesen Überfall, um die wahre Natur dieser Frauen zu sehen, die mit mir kommen. Sie erzählen mir wenig, warum dieser Ort für die Revolution so wichtig ist. Ich hoffe, dass in diesem Haus etwas Geld ist. Ich möchte danach nicht unbezahlt sein.
Ich glaube nicht, dass diese Gruppe es mag, dass ich aus Preußen komme, sie schauen mich alle komisch an. Ich denke, Peter scheint der Anführer zu sein, also sollte ich in Sicherheit sein. Aber Peter kommt nicht in dieses Haus. Peter kann mich nicht retten. Ich kann all das trotzdem annehmen. Sie sehen schwach aus und wenn meine Klingen fliegen, spüre ich die Angst, die von ihnen ausgeht. Ihr Blut wird die Mauer bedecken, und ich werde der Held sein, der den Tag rettet. Der Nebel wird für immer auf London niedergehen. Es lebe der Nebel.
Revolution / Re: All the news, that's fit to print...
« Last post by Captain Shortworth on February 19, 2019, 04:48:13 PM »
The Post

Tuesday, September 8th, 2105

A new Slayer?

Today we have confirmed reports that the five missing individuals from the garment district have been found and identified.

The delay in this announcement however did not include the usual boilerplate about informing next of kin. Instead, this publication was told that it was a simple necessity born out of the state of damage done to the bodies, and the time it took to correctly identify them, paired with certain lower classed groups' unwillingness to speak to the Police, even on matters of their own safety.

After being reported missing two days after they were last seen, the only other reports that seemed to deal with these disappearances was that of a naked woman, covered in blood, screaming and snarling like a possessed beast, or someone under the influence of some dark alchemy.

The woman is still wanted in connection with these murders, but the far more simply brutal causes of death - blunt trauma and strangulation for the most part - the Smeddlington Slayer has not yet been implicated.
Revolution / Re: Memoirs of a Revolutionist
« Last post by Baldry on February 19, 2019, 04:32:48 PM »
Tuesday cont...

The past two days have been too trying. It would seem that even Magnus can not be trusted. I do not know if the new members of our volatile group can be trusted. I do not know if Karl could ever be trusted not to turn on us all as simply as the wind changes. Mouse and Mr. Mole are the only two with any modicum of sense to not try and destroy us.

When I awoke with Robert I could never have anticipated the actions of the Doctor. I would never have even assumed they were capable and yet time and time again the people I work with seek to destroy us from the inside. Their fickle needs threatening to destroy the future of the people! I know it is presumptuous to assume people would care as I do but this damn Doctor can not be trusted even with their closest friend! If I was more of a pessimist I would fear what will follow when I next wake but I cannot possible imagine things getting too out of control. Magnus will most likely die. Regrettable to say the least but Karl will never let her live. I do not know what Mouse wants but he is not a bad man. I genuinely believe if he could he would try help and save her but Karl is not one for debate. If it was up to me we would still let the Doctor continue but in a limited and observable capacity. To kill any healer, as ill-informed as some of their actions may have been, is to do damage to the community they operate within. No. Too many people die as it is, we must avoid deaths wherever possible.

Potentially I am tired. All this business with the Doctor, saving October, planning our attack, scouting, working on bombs we have not given ourselves a chance to rest. It is possible the fight that erupted in our group earlier is an isolated event. I pray it is.

Monday started out… interestingly. I met with Violet and Rose Brocklesby. A charming enough pair, Violet I must say is one of the most stunning individuals I have ever laid eyes on, i’m honestly concerned that she may be too beautiful if that is possible. Perhaps it is that I’m not used to being interested in such an individual. Rose shares quite a lot of similarities with Violet bar a burn on her face. Rose was the first problem I encountered that day. The name Brocklesby has at one time associated with the Witch of the East End. A killer of sorts but the agreeable kind, she, apparently, only went after those like those we now seek to bring down. “At least this murderer comes with a lab” I remember thinking to myself hah! The needs of the revolution must come first as always. Mouse laid out quite a good plan but wished us to launch it as soon as humanely possible to make sure October was alive. In his inquiries he believed he had tracked Richard and October to Hudson house and that the longer we waited the more likely it was she would die. I agreed but we needed time to work on explosives and get everything prepared! I wish we could have charged in there but to do so would risk death, or worse. Mouse was not happy about it but there was nothing we could do bar a suicide mission.

Once away I checked in with Cohen to see if he knew of any good targets within the printworks. He had some quite delicious targets around Hudson House that would be quite good at causing a diversion. The printworks, the Times and a diplomats house on the other side. If we had more time then I would make sure we got the times but if we are to have any chance of saving young October than we must make this one exception. I did not have time now to scout out the locations as I wished to do some homework on Rose before I accused her of something that may not have been her. Equipped with the knowledge I made my way to hers to work on the bombs and pry into her past.
Magnus had other plans for us.

Upon arriving I met with Rose and we received a note from Magnus telling us she was at Karls’ place. We quickly made our way there hoping to expedite whatever was troubling her so she could help us with the bombs. On the way there I spoke with Rose on the matter of her killings. She seemed upfront and honest which in hindsight is quite refreshing. I do believe she is truly dedicated to harming the rich and I have no problem with anyone that way inclined. So long as they do not seek to harm those who do not deserve it then they will always be an ally. Which brings me to Magnus.
She was erratic when we found her outside of Karls. She was a mess, making no sense. She said that she’d left her bag in Karls’ place and that she couldn’t work without it. I feel like such a fool looking back. I knew something was wrong. It clearly wasn’t about her bag but with no reason to question it all we could do was help. We actually broke into Karls’ for her. Once open she barged in with the bloodlust of a crazed, malnourished, pitiful rat scavenging for even the tiniest morsel. I was concerned we would have to restrain her she was so crazed. When it became evident that her bag wasn’t there she became more crazed! At this point Violet appeared with her bag. I then, foolishly, believed this ridiculous farce we found ourselves to finally be over but no! The Doctor was having non of it, now in desperate need of her journal. Fool! Fool! Oh this wretch before me. If I had known I would not have let her out of my sight but instead we sent her off to Karl and Mouse with Violet in tow but the revolution called. Myself and Rose returned to hers to work on some bombs while there was still some day left. We managed two before fatigue set in and we rested there for the evening.

And then it was today. Fucking Tuesday. Mouse sent for us at his hovel and we made our way there only to be confronted by some truth about Magnus. She had poisoned Karl with something by the name of Wake. It was why he was as he was when I last saw him at his.
I was sickened, I still am. My mind started racing at the possibilities! What if she had been responsible for Richards actions?! We knew not how long she had been active! Anyone of us could have been her plaything. I, sadly, was not my best. I just wanted the truth from Magnus but she would not yield anything. Mouse seemed like he had a plan but I was in no mood for one. It seemed he knew more about what was going on than the rest of us and if it wasn’t for the arguing we may have got somewhere but I was still too appalled. Thankfully Rose and Mouse’ infernal bickering gave me something to focus on (If one did not know any better you would believe they were either married or truly wanted the other dead). I trust Mouse to do the right thing, whatever it may have been. I left Mouse, Violet and Mr. Mole to deal with the Magnus problem while I took Rose out of the situation and got on with the actual plan.

It was easy enough, left some bombs at diplomats home for easy retrieval, scouted some locations. In all honesty the business with the Doctor was on my mind most of the time. I’m now at home hoping to catch up on some of the rest before the mission proper and still I am here. I know Mouse will do what he believes to be right and I trust him well enough to know he is a good man capable of making the right choice. I just wish I knew what it was. Maybe I’m not as good a man as I thought. I can not wait to put this behind us all, start developing and fostering trust among those that are actually worthy of trust… And yet will I be able to trust any that join us? I trusted Richard and he was a murderer. I trusted Magnus and she experiments on those she calls friend. I would trust Rose and Violet but how can I so soon when it seems my trust has been so misguided before? It’s only a matter of time before Mouse reveals he eats babies and Mr. Mole is secretly a Tory MP. In many ways Karl is the only trustworthy one and he is only trustworthy in way a gun is, only when you’re the one pulling the trigger. It’s no use writing about it. Only tomorrow will tell. I am not the most religious of men but I pray for us all.
Revolution / Re: All the news, that's fit to print...
« Last post by Captain Shortworth on February 19, 2019, 11:44:32 AM »
The Daily Telegraph

Monday, September 14th, 2105

More Deaths Linked to the Smedlington Ripper

The Metropolitan Police today come under extra scrutiny and a demand for results, as the death toll rises again.

Since the murder of Hortencia Smedlington, in her sleep, scant weeks in the past, various other slayings have been attributed to the same depraved soul. Although witness reports are so thin on the ground, as to be non-existent, the Met have been unable to do more than offer a reward for information that matches that of the The grieving parents'.

Over the weekend, a boy's boarding school was the latest to receive a visit from London's latest Ripper, and while a dormitory of twenty adolescents slept soundly, three young men were murdered in their beds.

Detective Inspectre Roderick Callworth refused to name the young victims until all the families were informed, and all witness statements were gathered, but this publication has it on good authority that no staff members or pupils had anything to report.

It is only the brutal & bloody nature of the attacks, with each victim reportedly slashed repeatedly with multiple sharp blades that sets them apart as the work of the same deranged individual.

Recently however, there has been grumbling from the benches of both houses that it seems this Ripper is happier targeting the families of the upper classes, and that the Yard should be doing more to protect the great and good of the city that fill their coffers.
Pages: [1] 2 3 ... 10