Author Topic: A Tilean Campaign (Warhammer Fantasy Battle)  (Read 9565 times)

padre

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Re: A Tilean Campaign (Warhammer Fantasy Battle)
« Reply #120 on: July 03, 2017, 11:20:59 PM »
I'm working on a website.

padre

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Re: A Tilean Campaign (Warhammer Fantasy Battle)
« Reply #121 on: July 11, 2017, 07:36:26 PM »
Some amazing magic has been done to this thread on the Oldhammer forum, and they have replaced all the pictures. You can see the fully repaired thread at http://forum.oldhammer.org.uk/viewtopic.php?f=15&t=2889.

If, however, you want to read the slowly re-growing, 'improved' version of the campaign (in which I am editing all the posts for grammar, spelling etc) then take a look at www.bigsmallworlds.com.

This campaign will not die!

padre

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Re: A Tilean Campaign (Warhammer Fantasy Battle)
« Reply #122 on: July 13, 2017, 04:04:27 PM »
The Church of Nagash

Near Viadaza, northern Tilea, Spring 2403

The graveyards were empty, the tombs bereft of bones. Viadaza had been harvested of all that could be made undead many months before, upon Lord Adolfo’s command. Yet once again the city swarmed with the vampires’ servants, an army of animated warriors with or without rotting flesh, having this time marched upon the city rather than arisen within it. There had been no shortage of corpses after the battle at Ebino to swell the shambling horde, which meant Biagino, craving followers for his new Church of Nagash, had been generously provided for. He arrived at the city with quite a congregation – not only the select servants of La Fraternita di Morti Irrequieti, but also the wild mob of his Disciplinati di Nagash. He had also been gifted the famous Cattedrale di Morr Re, which sat in its extensive grounds a little way north-east of the city walls. All this he received with a degree of satisfaction, but he knew it was not enough. If his church was to thrive, if Nagash was to be fed by its prayers and so return his blessings, then there was one more, (quite literally) vital thing he needed. Hopefully, Viadaza would provide.

As he waited before the castle-like front of the Cattedrale, he was accompanied by a cluster of servants.



Several zombies staggered hither and thither about their labours, lifting or dragging the last pieces of debris away so that the grassy space was almost pristine. Biagino’s guards and attendants, however, were silent and, for the most part, motionless. Three red-robed brothers stood in prayerful contemplation. They possessed a serenity which sometimes concealed their deep wickedness and at other times gave it a sharper edge. For now, they merely waited.

The first of Biagino’s Disciplinati was also present, his head a battered mess of misshapen bone and torn flesh, his hands disfigured by their size, somehow both swollen and emaciated at one and the same time, the splayed fingers elongated beyond their natural length. He still wore the dedicant’s robes he had been captured in, bar the gloves, of course.



Biagino had intended to turn this man into one of his Fraternita thralls, as he had done with several of those who had been captured alive, but in a fitful moment of uncontrolled bloodlust during the enspelling he had gone a tad too far and accidentally killed the man. Not wanting to waste the corpse, he chose instead to re-animate it. When he saw what resulted he decided there and then to form his Disciplinati di Morr, a huge mob of crazed un-corpses who would serve, as they had in life, as bloodthirsty dedicants, footsoldiers for his church, while his Fraternita would be his priests, clerks and lieutenants.

Apart from the rustling of leaves in the breeze and the faint sound of grunting and groaning from the foul mob contained within the cattedrali’s cloistered quadrangle, all was quiet on the tree-lined green.



Biagino had been waiting for another of his servants, a captain of his skeletal body-guard, to arrive. While he did so, he gave his mind up to the powerful swirl of gleeful desires born of his vampiric lusts, suffusing him thoroughly, and conjoining with the winds of magic animating his frame. He felt a surge building and allowed it to pour outwards, feeding all those around him and amplifying the eerie sound issuing from within the walls behind him.



Then something bright caught his eye and he realised the captain was already present - sunlight reflecting from the curved blade of the captain’s ancient war scythe. 



“What news, captain?” Biagino demanded. “How many? And are they coming?”

The captain responded immediately, yet neither by movement nor sound. His answer was without words, for he knew not the modern tongue and had no tongue to speak it. It was contained in a thought, or rather the echo of a thought, which washed through Biagino’s mind with cruel clarity.

They are coming, but it will be some time yet. There are not many, less than a hundred.

“So few?”

The city is almost empty. All the rest have fled.

“Which means I get the slow, the foolish and the unlucky?”

They live.

“Yes,” said Biagino. “At least they are alive. And they must stay that way until they have yielded unto Nagash all that they can – every anguished prayer and fearful misery. I will turn their screams into hymns, their cries into plainsong. Their torment will be delicious as their suffering sates our lord’s hunger.”

He thought of the blood he would take from them in their last moments. It would be a meagre nourishment, like thin gruel, but in great quantity. This in turn stirred in him the ancient hunger, a distraction he refused to yield to.

“It seems we have time on our hands,” he said. “We shall put it to good use and further prepare this temple for its unholy purpose. I will have it made ready before the worshippers arrive.”

Biagino turned to the first of his Disciplinati.



“It is time for your brothers to begin the vapouring,” he declared. Then he looked upon the three Fraternita.



“Bring the tome,” he ordered. One of the red-robed thralls stepped forwards to proffer said book.



Biagino made a sign over the book and gave a short prayer in the classical Reman tongue: “In virtute Nagash, non somnus, non requiem.”

The thrall then opened the book to a page marked by a finger bone and turned it around to allow Biagino to read its ancient text. He did so, aloud, intoning the words with exaggerated expression, an almost mocking tone. Allowing the etheric breeze to penetrate him deeply, to coalesce and swirl through and about his mind, he summoned his Disciplinati.

For a few moments only his shrill voice could be heard, but then another sound joined it, not one but many voices. They were wordless, first groans and moans, then guttural cries and growls. Biagino turned to look at the trees to his left. The others did the same …



… and he cried out, “There! My bambini. See how they run!”

They poured from the catedrale, their pace frantic, their arms outstretched, still part-clothed in the ragged remains of their Morrite robes.



“Ha!” laughed Biagino. “Look at them! They have not forgotten, but now they dance for Nagash!”

The Disciplinati cavorted onwards, forming a long column. Some carried the weapons they had died with …



… while others ran empty handed.



Wild they ran, barely balanced, as if falling ever forwards, each step made just in time to prevent a tumble.



Some wore the red or grey hoods of Morrite flagellants, others were topped with matted, ragged hair, while many were bald and bloody.



As they emerged from behind the trees onto the open space, their course began to alter.



The crazed column began to curve across the front of the catedrale, to commence its circumnavigation of the grounds.



Just as they had done at Ebino, when they hurtled pell-mell around the holy carroccio, they now did the same here, so that their clamourous cavorting might sanctify the catedrale. This time, however, they served a different god.

The Church of Nagash was truly re-born!
................................
Remember, to see the whole campaign, with re-instated pictures, please go to http://forum.oldhammer.org.uk/viewtopic.php?f=15&t=2889, or to see the WIP (slowly being rebuilt) version, visit my website at www.bigsmallworlds.com.