Kharadrons sweep into Carmin

In the 6th year of the Kharadron expedition to the Realm of Permenia, Admiral Gromrik Aetherstrider finally made moves to begin the expansion of the sphere of influence of his fleet. Endorsed by the Council of New Quemara, Gromrik’s sky patrols began scouting out the broad valleys of Carmin, cataloguing resources and making contact where possible with roving nomadic human tribes. Many of these were converted to the cause of the emerging nation of Quemara, and behind the duardin came caravans of men from Vinduhr, eager to settle and civilise these new lands.

It was on one of these scouting patrols that Gromrik faced his second test of arms, as one afternoon as the small fleet made camp for the night, scouting forces detected that just over the hills to the north, a herd of beasts had Also made their camp, and were preparing to attack the assembled dwarfs. 

Gromrik assembled his men around the camp, while keeping his frigate in the sky with fresh troops, the gunhauler moved forward to snipe what it could. Unfortunately the sailors on board got a little too close, and the ensuing Bullgor charge, led by a mighty doom bull, put an end to the duardin sky vessel. Worse still, a horde of Bestigors suddenly appeared from the woods, charging the Kharadron camp and wiping out the defenders. 

Now Gromrik was in trouble. He had intended to use his remaining force to eliminate the beast camp, but quickly he redeployed to defend his camp. Landing his arkanauts and endrinriggers close to the charging beasts, their combined gunfire obliterated the bestigors. The few survivors fleeing rapidly. But Gromrik still needed to deal with a very angry doom bull and his retinue. 

Gromrik’s endrinriggers stood their ground as the leader of the bray herd charged, while a second throng of bestigors, certain of victory, stopped short of the camp to cheer on their mighty leader.  However the doom bull’s attacks miraculously glanced off the metal armour worn by the riggers as they dodged and weaved, landing telling blows in response. Dumbfounded at this turn of events the rest of the beastmen were even more shocked as Gromrik’s second company of arkanauts emerged from the bushes. With a deafening noise the entire Kharadron army opened fire on them, wiping them and their accompanying spawn from the battlefield, as the endrinriggers finished off a very perplexed doom bull.

A cheer went up as the beasts were driven from the field. Gromrik had secured dominance over the plains of Carmin, and the tale of how his army had won against overwhelming odds grew with each retelling, eventually establishing itself as a victory of a mere handful of duardin over an entire army of beastmen. In reality the battle had been relatively small, and Gromrik had been incredibly fortunate. In any case, the victory secured Carmin for New Quemara, and boosted the prestige and morale of the new alliance. 

Blood Coast Alliance clear Aglia

The armies of the northern savage lands, belonging to the skaven - grot alliance known as “Doom and Gloom”, continued their ongoing skirmishes with the Blood Coast Alliance in the lowlands of Aglia. Having dealt with the rat men I. Set piece battles in the west, the Alliance sent Idoneth and Sylvaneth hosts to seek out and get rid of the goblin forces known to be roaming the coastal plain. 

The Idoneth encountered the diminutive greenskins first, during a heavy rainstorm while the grots were hunting for relics of the ancient civilisations thought to date back to the Age of Myth. The goblins stood off as the Idoneth advanced, wary of being flanked by Namarti thralls. Their caution was warranted, as a less than observant shaman found himself alone against them. He was swiftly avenged however, as angry and hungry squigs quickly counter attacked and removed the thrall threat. 

More Idoneth moved up however, but every time the Deepkin forces moved up to assault the grots, the greenskins cut them down. As the rain lashed down and the plains became more akin to the ocean, the Idoneth were forced to concede defeat. 

Weeks later, the grots were assaulted once more by the Alliance, this time in the mists and fog of the coastal regions. Alarielle herself was determined to remove the forces of destruction from Aglia, a region she had already marked out for settlement by her tree kin. The immortal goddess of life transported herself behind the goblin lines and despite their savage defence, Alarielle easily dealt with them. As the rest of the grot forces tried to march through the mists, a horde of angry dryads cut them down. Decimated, the goblins withdrew to the north, leaning Aglia in the hands of the elven kin. 

Grot-skaven alliance struggles with the Blood Coast Alliance

The Battle of Alra’Sekh

The sun rose above the desolate ruins of the ancient city of Alra’Sekh in the forgotten desert in the southern lands of Permenia. The ruins of the city had long been left untouched. It was once a great city of an ancient race, before it fell foul to treachery or war. Countless treasures remained to be unearthed, guarded by curses and tomb labyrinthine structures. The city was truly lifeless, but this quickly changed. 

The Sylvaneth of Alarielle had arrived to the city, ordered by the Goddess herself to explore the ruins and find any magical artefacts that could be of use to them. All was going well, but the Sylvaneth weren’t the only ones who had been drawn to the ruins. Giant treelords and dryads were heaving stone away from the entrance to a crypt when the ground started to shake. The earth began to collapse in a few different spots, forming sinkholes that glowed green and crackled with fell energy. From these holes emerged Skaven drill teams followed by hordes of chittering ratmen and towering warp lightning war machines. The ratmen had not expected company but had clearly prepared for the worst. Last out of the gnawholes was the infamous arch warlock himself, Skreek the Deranged. The arch warlock was joined by his cohort of warlock engineers, who gave him worried looks clearly brought about by the host of Sylvaneth that stood before them.

‘Tree-things your crazy-mad excellency…’ One of the warlocks relayed to Skreek. Concern laced his voice. Skreek slapped the warlock with his heavy claw, dazing his minion and causing them to whimper backwards. Skreek strode to his stricken underling.

‘Tree-things?! TREE-THINGS?! Nothing will stop me taking my shinies from this old-ancient place. NOTHING.’ Skreek quickly composed himself. He was often prone to wild mood swings and his poor minions would often bear the brunt of it. ‘See to it that the tree-things are burned. Tell the lightning-shock artillery. NOW!’

Y-yes your malevolence.’ The minion quickly fled from Skeek to relay the information to the weapon teams. They had already began setting up the cannons when he arrived to tell them. The Sylvaneth horde was still a distance away but had clearly noticed their presence. The treelords dropped the stones they were carrying and stomped over to the frontline that had formed. The branch wraiths quickly sprang into action. They whispered their life-giving spells, weaving the energies together into their useful forms. Suddenly decrepit, gnarly trees shot up out of the ground and grew rapidly towards the sky, forming a barrier between the Skaven and the Sylvaneth. This barrier would not be enough to hold a certain being of legend however. Drycha herself had been tasked by Allarielle to oversee the excavation. Chaos in any form was enough to fill Drycha with an unquenchable, uncontrollable rage. She stormed through the barrier, striding effortlessly through the twisted branches of the trees that had been grown moments earlier. She then broke through the braken and faced down the line of ratmen before her. Unfortunately however she had not foreseen that the warp-lightning cannons of the mad arch warlock had fully powered up. The cannon crews, noticing her break out of the barrier quickly brought the cannons to bear onto Drycha. For a moment there was silence. And then, Skreek lowered his halberd and shouted at the top of his small lungs, ‘FIRE!’

The air was filled with the sound of the cannons powering up, reaching an ear-splitting level before they erupted into a colossal bolt of pure warp energy, soaring through the air with incredible speed. Drycha did not have time to react as the bolts of energy smashed right into her, searing great holes into her body and flinging her backwards with incredible force. A group of Kurnoth hunters quickly arrived to find Drycha crumpled into a flaming heap on the ground. Only Alarielle was powerful enough to heal such grievous wounds. The Kurnoth hunters picked up the smouldering remains of Drycha and returned to the front line. Once the remains of Drycha had been carried through, all hell broke loose. The site of such a prominent figure being carried through in her condition caused the anger of the Sylvaneth to boil over. The Skaven would have to pay dearly for what they did. Dryads, Kurnoth hunters and treelord ancients burst forth from the barrier with incredible speed, charging straight at the Skaven frontline. Skreek picked up his trusty monocular to assess the situation. He was met with the sight of countless tree-folk thundering towards them. The natural cowardice in Skreek came out at such a sight. It was clearly time to leave.

‘We must hurry-go now. Leave the rat-filth to their fate.’ Said Skreek with a snarl of anger. They had come so close to obtaining magical artefacts, ones which could aid them in their fights to come. The council then scrambled back into the gnawhole from whence they came. This venture had given Skreek the opportunity to come face to face with the enemy. From his observations he concluded that the Sylvaneth would prove to be a foe to avoid where possible. At least for now.

 

Gromrik’s Sky Fleet hold the Forces of Death

In the 5th year since the Sky Port of Barak Haraz sent its expedition to the Corexis isles, the Admiral of the Fleet, Gromrik Aetherson faced his most difficult challenge to date. Work on the kingdom of New Quemara (or Nouveau Quemara in the tongue of the free peoples) had been proceeding as planned, with work on the new coastal city of Côte d'Albret nearing completion thanks to the imported technology from the Duardin. Then, the forces of death began increasing activity in the valley of Lointaine to the north of the Collines du Nord. This was an area the Quemarans were keen to expand their influence into, and the free peoples had already sent an army to defend the settlers of the region from the undead, but the army had returned battered and leaderless from beyond the hills. 

Admiral Aetherson decided to send a scouting force across the highlands to see for himself the extent of the problem. In the badlands to the immediate north of the Collines the Kharadrons encountered a force known as the Sanguine Whirlwind. The malign vampires appeared at the head of a host of shambling corpses, some on skeletal steeds. 

The Kharadrons showed no fear, using their frigate and gunhauler to drop a force behind the enemy lines, and sniping one of the vampires in the throng of his force of horrific infantry. The battle swirled back and forth in the barren lands, but neither side seemed to be close to victory. Suddenly a rockfall interrupted the battle, as if the gods themselves were interfering in the clash. Both sides withdrew, and the forces of death remained unbowed. However the Kharadrons had held their own and proved their loyalty to the cause in defending the men over the hills. 

The host of Marrowcraw ravages north Nuevo Quemara

Maréchal Jean Le Maingre, commander of the Northern Expeditionary Forces of the Liberation du Quemara, was tasked with rooting out and destroying the nests that harboured the roving bands of ghouls that had, over the course of recent months, been terrorising the frontier settlers of the northern marches in Nuevo Quermara.

***

Prince Drágos Drázkhary, Voivode of the Marrowcraw Court, had turned his crusade south from the Tatterspine Hills. In his efforts to locate the Skaven incursions that had thus far eluded him during the quests in the north, Prince Drágos had dispatched rangers to scour the countryside. But far from finding the Skaven trespassers, the patrols encountered hitherto unknown border settlements of the upstart kingdom that called itself the “Liberation du Quemara”.

***

Leading the winding column of Liberation soldiers north-east across the Carmin plain, Le Maingre’s progress was blocked south of the River Sallowash as the packs of ghouls, until now having merely skirmished with the outriders of his army, began to coalesce into a massed host of the malign creatures. Le Maingre drew his columns in battle order, intent on a concerted attack to dislodge the ghouls from their foothold in the woodlands and so drive them back across the river and thus establish a defensible frontier.

***

Astride Hotspur, his loyal and trusted steed of many campaigns, Prince Drágos took to the air to survey the army arrayed against him. Alongside him flew his cousin, Yvan the Gaunt, Duke of the Splintervale, mounted upon the gloried fire-drake Warspite, called the Gilded Flame. On seeing the host assembled before them, the pair separated in wide, diverging arcs, seeking to press the attack against the cavalry squadrons that were screening either flank of the opposing army, and so isolate and encircle the main host of infantry in the centre.

***

Capitaine du Chevaliers, Charles d’Albret, on seeing the airborne monstrosities bearing down on his cavalry troops, knew that he must surely act quickly. Ordering the cavalry to advance, d’Albret – having determined the enemy centre to be but lightly defended - took it upon himself to charge headlong into the fray, driving his mighty war-griffin mount forward in all haste.

***

None could gainsay the dragon’s wrath. As Warpsite fell upon the enemy cavalry, man and mount were all swept aside by her rending talons and gouts of coruscating golden flame. Duke Yvan spurred her on into the massed enemy infantry beyond, even as regiments of militiamen in the livery of the Harrowcrag surged down the hill slopes to join the battle in ambush upon the enemy rear-guard. Across the field the valiant Hotspur had carried Prince Drágos straight into the fight against the heavy cavalry on the right flank.

***

“FIRE!! BRING IT DOWN!!” Shafts and quarrels darkened the sky as the Liberation’s contingents of archers and crossbowmen let fly once more at the cadaverous leviathan. With a final shudder the skeletal dragon crashed to the earth amidst the carnage it had wrought, and a cheer went up from the Liberation soldiers still holding the centre ground. But their relief was short lived. A second colossal, ragged shadow passed low overhead, letting forth a harrowing, ululating wail from beyond the grave. The last vestiges of hope left the hearts of all those still fighting – another beast was upon them!

***

Hotspur whinnied and chirruped excitedly as Prince Drágos brought him down low upon the ragged remnants of the enemy infantry. The noble steed had never shied from the fight. Today, as ever, had Hotspur shown his mettle in battle. Giving his mount free reign to enjoy his sport, Prince Drágos swelled with pride to see the marshalled discipline of the soldiers of the Harrowcrag as they marched upon the enemy rear to close the jaws of the trap. “Victory!” went up the cry as the foe was put to flight, “Drázkhary! Victory!”

 

***

“RETREAT! FALL BACK!” Maréchal Le Maingre gave the order, but feared he may already have been too late. Far in the distance he glimpsed d’Albret and his war-griffin still raking across the clusters of ghouls hunkering down in the scrub along the river bank. But the battle was lost. The hideous, blood-spattered monster rampaged unchecked along the lines, intent on devouring all in its path, whilst swarming ghouls moved to cut off the beleaguered Liberation soldiers.

Few would escape the slaughter of that day, at the place that would come to be known as the Charnel Fords.

Seraphon score victory against Doom and Gloom

In the 4th year of the Permenia Calendar the rat men and goblin kin of the northern reaches of the Corexis isles once again threatened the borders of Nuevo Quemara. The main armies of the realm were busy dealing with the forces of death, and it looked likely that the free peoples of Carmin, north of the hills that formed the border of the emerging empire of mankind and duardin in the south. 

Unwilling to let the forces of order succumb to the ravages of the alliance known as “Doom and Gloom”, the Seraphon once again received their orders from the Slaan who had been watching the growth of the fledgling kingdom in the south. They knew the cost may be high, but recognised the danger of allowing the forces of destruction to overwhelm the Quemarans. Summoning a war host of Seraphon, the greenskin menace was thrown out of the Lointaine valley, at least for the time being, and the Quemarans were able to halt the undead north of their borders. Satisfied, the Slaan returned to watching and guiding their new allies.

Forces of Death defeat Sylvaneth

CFD vs. BCA - win to CFD @2000

The Second Disagreement

The border between the two halves of Blightport was being patrolled by a group of heavily armoured squig riders. The mischievous gitz knew exactly what they were up to; looking for trouble. The loud clanging and slobbering roars of the beasts they were riding scared most of the surrounding ratmen away. However, the clamour did not escape the notice of a certain individual. Unfortunately for the grots, they had unknowingly stumbled across the territory of a warlock bombardier and he was not alone. 

The grots were alerted to the presence of the threat after hearing high pitched cackling laughter before being assailed by a storm of warpstone bullets. The grot on the biggest squig screamed and flailed his crude sword in the direction of the now detected enemies. In response, the squig riders began rampaging towards the skaven foes at full speed. 

Unfortunately for the lackey, he was immediately spotted by one of the grots as he scurried for cover. However, the lackey was crushed under the weight of the squig before being able to properly hide. The rat ogre proceeded to sprint towards and body slam the squig rider, instantly killing the rider and the squig under the sheer mass of muscle and warpstone augmentations. 

Meanwhile the stormfiend was still laying down suppressive fire, managing to kill a squig rider before being assailed by two other riders. The initial charge mortally wounded the stormfiend, but it managed to mow down one more assailant before being felled. The warlock readied his doomrocket and fired it at one of the riders. He laughed and squeaked excitedly before realising that it had completely missed its target.  

Amongst all the action, the leader of the grot patrol had a devious plan. Cackling to himself, he somehow managed to bend the limitations of space and time, allowing him to teleport behind the warlock bombardier. In shock, the warlock turned around only to be eaten whole by a giant squig. The last words he heard were “nothin’ personal kid ehehehehe”. Despite the skaven now being leaderless and broken, the rat ogre was still going at it. It violently ripped apart two more riders, leaving behind a trail of red mist and entrails. However, it was quickly surrounded and stabbed to death by the remaining squig riders which outnumbered him.

Marrowcraw defeated by the ratmen

“Vermin!” The hoarse, rasping voice spat the word as a curse that echoed across the clammy stone walls.

Grikk and the dozen or so remaining members of his claw-pack were thrust forward to the foot of the dais by their captors. Held in the iron grasp by a hulking, ogre-ish brute, Grikk fought, squirmed and even gnawed the creature’s fingers – but the rancid taste of its flesh was repulsive, and the wounds knit back together mere moments later.

“Indeed, Majesty” the brute prostrated itself in the shadow of the towering throne, ignoring Grikk’s desperate thrashing. “Caught raiding in the northern marches. We lost many soldiers on the field. The vermin attacked in great numbers.”

The pale figure perched atop throne snarled in displeasure. Grikk scented a number of the claw-pack letting free the musk of fear. Gathered about the dank recesses of the cavernous chamber were scores of hunched ghoul-fiends, the courtiers of the Ghoul king’s macabre household. They eyed the Skaven prisoners intently, malign whispers passing back and forth.

The gaunt King-creature drummed it taloned fingers impatiently upon one of the many skulls that adorned the throne. “What news of our royal cousin? Where is Prince Janos?”

 

“No word as yet, sire.” The brute bowed its head reverentially, averting its eyes from the glowering King-creature. “His Grace was last seen riding in pursuit of the fleeing vermin, flying Proudclaw north beyond the Splintervale.”

Grikk shuddered and lashed his tail anxiously. The dead-bat-beast that the creatures called “Proudclaw” was nothing short of a hulking colossus of tattered flesh and snapping jaws. Grikk had seen it rampage through Skreeq’s claw-pack before finally being brought down by the eldritch warp lightning of the Clan Skryre war-engines. Though, he could take little comfort in having seen the beast slain – even the lowest Clanrat knew that when the winds of Shyish blew strong the dead didn’t stay down for very long. The raids had yielded a mighty haul of warpstone but the ghoul-fiends had ambushed them as they carried off their prize. It had taken the full force of the assembled Skaven claw-packs – and cost the lives of hundreds of clanrats - to deliver the warpstone safely back to the gnaw-tunnels.

A hush fell amongst the assembled ghoul-fiends as their monarch alighted the throne to stand at the front of the dais. The captive clanrats shrank back further as the King began to rave, “We shall not suffer the vermin to plunder our lands!” Summon our Knights! Send out the heralds to every corner of the land – We declare a crusade!”

The court erupted in cheers of approval as baying sycophants sought to be the first and loudest to pledge their support to their liege’s decree. The King raised his hand in mimicry of flamboyant and courtly gesture, “Tonight, we shall feast! For tomorrow, we ride north to to avenge ourselves upon the verminous horde!”

Grikk’s blood ran cold; at the utterance of the word “feast” the ghoul-fiends fell silent, and the atavistic gaze of a hundred hungry eyes fell upon the clanrat prisoners huddled in the centre of the throne room. 

The silence broke with a hiss: “Feassst!” 

It quickly became a crescendo, ringing out through the cavernous hall, “Feast, feast!”

The clamorous, roaring chant was taken up by the courtiers. Grasping hands reached out to seize the screaming captives.“FEAST, FEAST, FEAST...!"

Beastmen of the Savage Lands encounter goblin mushroom farmers

The bray shaman clambered to the crest if the mound to survey the scene below. His war party had found the grave site just after dawn and had eagerly set to excavating and consuming the long forgotten corpses. The work had been hard going as they had to clear the brightly coloured fungus that seemed to thrive in the local area.

With the sun setting, the shaman had tasked the ungor with collecting fire wood so they might build a pyre to praise the gods for the feast that their visions had guided him to. As the last light faded a commotion to the west caught his attention. A teeming mass of what appeared to be bouncing mouths was bounding towards them. The dragon ogors were the first first of his warriors to respond to this new threat, pushing to the north to confront the nearest enemy group. The initial engagement was brief as a herd of bestigor encircled the enemy battling the dragon ogors.

Then the main battle lines clashed. Bullgors held the centre and met the bulk of the enemy horde with support from more bestigor and a towering ghorgon. The battle seemed to be going well until a raving grot riding a pair of chained-together bouncing beasts. The bounding mass smashed through the bullgor lines before swinging to the north and breaking the dragon ogors, all the while the rider jabbering incessantly about mushrooms.

As grot heavy cavalry barrelled into the remaining beasts of his herd the shaman fled under covering fire from the newly returned ungor. He had to worn the Carrion Lord of this new threat to the Barrowgorge Fray's dominance in the region.

Seraphon defeat the followers of Tzeentch

To the honoured council of Barak Haraz,

It is my greatest pleasure as your expedition commander to bring news to you from the Corexis Isles. Since landing at this place some three years ago, we have as yet been unable to engage in any great exploration of the realm, as most of our party have been engaged in construction of our main base. Since arriving, our alliance with the humans and Seraphon has been in the main beneficial for our purposes. The humans seem a little obsessed with the "liberation" of a place they used to call home - Kemara I think they said, but other than that they have in the main stuck to creating a home for themselves in the south west of these islands.

Riches predicted by our initial investigation have not yet borne fruit, and I must admit to becoming frustrated at the tardiness of those under my command with regard to beginning the exploration by our sky fleets. Too slow I say, and I hope to remedy this matter in the near future.

The islands themselves are not uninhabited. To the east the so-called "Blood Coast Alliance", which seems to include the Sylvaneth and their Idoneth kin, have settled the Ahil region, founding Aontroim. Further north things are more barbaric. There is a realm which harbours the worst of the forces of death - nighthaunt and flesh-eaters have been reported, while even further north lies a realm of beasts, ratmen, grots and other uncivilised beings. Whether the latter is one realm, two, or just a land of warring tribes is unknown, as is whether there are orderly folk or men to potentially trade with. This is what we seek! That and of course Aether Gold seams, which seem lacking thus far.

A further complication is the forces of the thrice accursed Master of Fates... The forces of chaos just recently laid waste to the northern settlements of our newly settled realm, but were thrown back by an impressive display by the aforementioned Seraphon. 

I shall continue to make preparations for the further exploration of this Realm, in order to expand our riches, find new skyways and hopefully in time find a way to increase our influence in the city state of Iris, that hub of commerce which links the Realms.  

Yours,

Gromrik Aetherson

Admiral of the Arkanaut Fleet of Barak Haraz

Permenia Trade Expedition

Idoneth Deepkin Ambush the coach of Lorvren

Seeking to bolster the might of her forces Alarielle had secured the support of the Carpathian Republic. Unlike others of their kind this enclave of Idoneth Deepkin were unusually open and outward looking and could be persuaded to take an interest in her problems... for a price. The Carpathians cared little for the Everqueen's aims, only for the potency of her realmstone and the quantity of the souls they could harvest. Whilst the phalanx's of Carpathia's Hollow Legions could be bought, the might of its Akhelian Knights could merely be rented for a time.

As the bulk of Carpathia's expeditionary forces set up their base camp in the shallow waters off Permenia's Blood Coast mobile formations rode the billowing currents of the ethersea inland, scouting the lay of the land and seeking to locate any rivals that would challenge Alarielle for dominance. One such raiding force under the choleric Prince Deimos pushed deep into the Tatterspine Hills at the centre of the island and located a host of spectres escorting a dark coach at speed through the rocky and winding passes leading into the mountainous island interior.

Believing his own host more than a match Prince Deimos set an ambush for the undead column. Namarti Thralls leapt from their magical concealment as the coach swung wide of its escort at a sharp bend in the pass and Carpathia's knights rode the surging ethersea currents into the heart of the ghostly legion. The coach was utterly destroyed, its ectoplasmic form broken and scattered, but the prince had acted rashly and was unprepared for the fury of the undead's retaliation.

As the Idoneth fought for their lives Deimos was torn down from his mount and badly wounded, only saved from death by the bravery of his knights and the unthinking loyalty of his thralls who had been indoctrinated from birth to serve without question or regret until their inevitable death. The Carpathian's martial prowess barely won out and the surviving spectres withdrew, allowing the Akhelian's to bear their prince's wounded body back to the blood coast and report their encounter to Alarielle.

Goblins defeated by Forces of Death

Doom and Gloom vs. CFD @2000 - 6-4 to CFD

It all happened so fast.

The forest was dark and damp – ideal conditions for the party of gitz delving into its heart. Lunar visions had guided Grottskrag to this place of power, though all he had seen of the promised Seraphon ruins were a few scattered blocks of granite and pale marble littering the otherwise verdant foliage.

The monstrous mangler squig snarled as a flock of birds shot up to the sky. They were expecting trouble, guards perhaps or maybe some of those infamous Seraphon traps which apparently populated their ancient temples. As such, the military arm of their little expedition was substantial.

As they soon realised, not substantial enough. 

Out from the bushes, with neither sound nor warning burst forth a gathering of spectres, more and more entering the field of vision as they glided closer. Behind them, another throng of dead, veiled women then, to the left, a mess of robes – visibly wet – thrashing about with longswords in their grasp.

Da Squig Whisperar bounded up as a swarm of Spirit Hosts lunged at him, their claws repelled by his cloak. A blessing from Ulgu, the shifting garment met and matched every strike of the ghosts, parrying blows where it could and changing the silhouette of the goblin in such a way that none of the blows connected with his body. Despite his tenacity, wails resounded around the battlefield – at first those of the veiled women but soon goblin voices joined the shrieking cacophony as they were butchered where they stood, souls rent from their diminutive bodies.

The loonboss was doing all he could, slashing at ghosts left and right. A sudden help, a mighty Arachnarok spider burst into reality and joined the fray. The Gobbapalooza tore at some of the drenched ghasts, with Grottskrag delivering the finishing blows – ethereal burst of energy marking the departure of another spectre. More and more of the dead fell, they almost had it, they had almost won!

The thunder of hooves and screech of iron wheels snuffed out the glimmer of hope forming in the gitz eyes. 

A dark, heavy coach shot past the lines of ghosts. It was galloping straight for the loonboss. Spikes lined its wheels and sides and as it crashed into the mangler squig the beast roared in pain. The gleaming scythe of the grim driver started twirling and limbs and blood splattered the forest floor. Da Squig Whisperar screeched one last, pitiful cry then he too was no more. Picking up speed again, the infernal casket rode down a gathering of gitz, a shaman and then…then it was over. 

The gitz fled, their morale broken, scampering away from the frightful apparitions.

A wounded Grottskrag swore bitter vengeance before he passed out, his last sight of the abyss in the eyes of the coach driver watching him, calling out.

Blood Coast Alliance face Death

Refreshed from her endeavours during the crumbling of Quemara, Alarielle was set to reconfirm her position as the ultimate leader in the fight against evil. Using all of  her Ghyrani might, aided by hosts of treelord ancients and branchwraiths, she created a steadfast root upon the realm of Permenia from which she's could set about the reconstruction on her living empire. 

It was not long before the expanding palisades of flora caught the attention of the legions of nighthaunt. Their ectoplasmic forms drew an unsettling veil over the now lush plains, their deathly energy bringing a swift halt to the growth of any oaken forts or briarholds. The trees now echoed with the spirit song. A call for aid, a warcry, none would take this blessed land.

The most ancient of the branchwraiths, Alarielle's seneschal, the Lady of Vines brought forth an arcane artifact that could undoubtedly change the course of this battle. The acorn of the ages. Followed by secret prayers and incantations from the age of myth, it was planted in the centre of the battlefield before the undead legions could predict its immense power. Almost instantly the ground began to quake with the force of a thousand horsemen. The broad roots of eldertrees began to burst from the earth and formed a dense thicket around the gnarled sorceress and her hosts of dryads, creating a barrier between the spectral forces and the thriving groves. What the sylvaneth lacked in brute force they made up for in vigour.

The forces of death seemed to fade into the mist, however, the nighthaunt are not so easily broken. Their general was setting up the ultimate ambush. Hordes of spirit hosts, black coaches and chainrasps materialized behind the wall of trees and hit the sylvaneth where it would make the most impact, the everqueen herself. Not expecting the attack, Alarielle became overwhelmed and fled back to the safety of the coast, injured and afraid leaving her forest folk to deal with the undead. Yet, these were no ordinary wood nymphs, they were winterleaf dryads. Hardened by harsh winters, their bark tough and numbers immense. The phantoms could not move such forces, their legs becoming one with the earth and even more blessed by the presence of a frostheart please, an omen of good will and victory from the phoenix temple. The battle was won, no force could shift the sylvaneth from their new home.

The First Disagreement

Treek was livid. Livid at the prospect of the great clan stooping so low as to side with the small green man-things. The master arch warlock of the Clan Soulburner had made this pitiful deal on the premise of ultimate corruption and more importantly to him the crystals he so desired.

‘Stupid-fool that warlock is. Treek should lead the clan to greatness yes-yes’. Treek muttered under his breath. He still had his own loyal cohort at least. Well, as loyal as any average Skaven can be. He had no doubt many of his underlings were plotting to stab him in the back, but all that mattered now was that there was at least a cohort of ratmen that lumbered forward in front of him. He would test the green man-things. By attacking them and ultimately beating them, he’d show his dominance to the filthy mushroom covered cave goblins. And this display would be his first step of many to overthrow the fool that lead the clan. His scouts had told him of a group of goblins and their squigs that were raiding an abandoned village. There he would catch them by surprise.

The grots were coming out of the ruined houses, the occupants having gone long ago, carrying sacks filled with all and any items they could find. Metal scrap, trinkets, potions. Anything that looked to have inherent value when the squigs became alert at something. A whisper of a sound at first, which quickly grew into a clatter of steel. Lining the entrance to the canyon that the village was contained in, a wall of clanrats appeared. An armour clad ratman then clambered onto a rock, surveying the battle before drawing his battle-scarred shortsword and levelling it at the grots.

‘Rat filth, charge them! Run them down, take their shines yes-yes!’ And at that command the wall of ratmen charged. Swords pointed forward, maces swinging recklessly and shields raised. The squigs were first to react to this threat, charging headlong in bounding leaps towards the assailants. The air was filled with the sound of chittering rats and the barking and gnashing jaws of the squigs as the two sides met outside the ruined village. The squigs easily tore through the ranks of the clanrats unfortunate enough to be standing at the front, only to be met with many more blades and bludgeons from the clanrats behind them. The squigs kept coming but so did the tide of rats. The situation was a clear stalemate. Even as grots started to fall victim to the treachery of Treek, the clanrats were dying in droves. This didn’t anger Treek. Instead, Treek felt bored more than anything. He wanted to show his supremacy and lack of disregard for the agreement made between Grot and Rat, and this had now been achieved. Not wanting to stay any longer for risk of stray squig bounding over and trying to eat him, Treek quickly took his leave. He abandoned his underlings to their fate. This did not matter to him though, as there are always more rats for him to trick or bully into joining him. There are always more.

Welcome to the Permenia AoS Campaign

Welcome to the Sheffield University AoS campaign blog! This campaign is brand new and is primarily a narrative campaign that anyone can get involved in.

The Campaign is a "turn up and play" campaign, although from time to time there are Campaign Days and other games as part of the fun,

Any questions - find Iwo at Wargames on Saturdays in the union!