An Estalian Summer

The mists recede and bodies sink into the swamps. The Fimir overlords are forced to retreat as the forces of Andros fight them to a standstill in the bloodiest conflict the Estalian wars have seen to date. The Dwarves, driven back from the swamps they sought to use to buffer their mountain strongholds are forced fight through the undead hordes, but can only achieve a pyrrhic victory. King Egillson is forced from the field and his Hearthguard is scattered, while the Iron Brotherhood is forced to abandon their Iron Standard in the murk.

But it is at the Templo Diabalico where the pivotal battle is fought. The Bretonnian forces are able to catch the Malefactor and the Hunter wrong footed and drive the Dark Elves away, scattering their support with Duke LaFontaine driving home a well timed charge, exploiting an opening created by Liliane's mercenary light cavalry.

With a pause to lick their wounds, forces across the torn nation of Estalia reassemble, and as the spring rains pass, throw themselves into the fight once more.

Current standings:

Territories
Fimir- 5
Vampire Counts- 7
Bretonnia- 7
Warriors- 8
Dwarves- 8
Dark Elves- 8

Relics
Fimir- 3
Vampire Counts- 3
Warriors- 5
Dark Elves- 6
Dwaves- 8
Bretonnians- 11

Edit: Neglected to capture a Fimir tile with Adam's VC.

Henceforth let it be known that the entirety of King Egillson's hearthguard have taken the slayer oath for fleeing the battle in the face of the enemy. Their lives and names became forfeit when they surrendered their honor.

King Egillson himself has vowed to fight alone (though his longstanding grudge against walking still holds- to the dismay of his shieldbearers). This vow holds until he strikes down his chosen foe, and his grudge is settled with the fiend known as The Crimson Lady.

Any army led by King Egillson must include slayers and may not include hammerers. Furthermore, King Egillson may not join units until he defeats The Crimson Lady in combat (preferably a challenge!).

As he drifted off to sleep Sir Morikhi whispered a prayer of thanks to his lady, content that things were as they should be: The armies of brettonia had far more relics than the heathens inhabiting this realm; peaceful dealings with the dwarves of the area had secured one of the realms borders; and most importanty fresh reinforcements seeking glory in battle arrived daily.

He awoke, lucidly, fully clad in his war regalia. "A battle dream. My favorite," he thought.
However, unlike the usual landscape of his homeland's fertile plains, he found himself in a realm of engulfing darkness. Morikhi instinctually drew his blade and from it radiated a holy beacon, creating a sphere five paces in all direction. A dozen misshapen denizens of the darkness were caught off guard and combusted in light. A sneer of irony melted to hatred as his presence attracted tens, then hundreds, then thousands of multilensed eyes reflecting light from just beyond his barrier. Thier incessant blinking, coordinated by an ancient mind which had devoted eons to the corruption of men, began to erode his concentration and with it his blades light wavered. Vertigo from standing on nothingness, nausea from the stench of the dredges of the pit, and fatigue from the omnipresent weight of the crushing darkness further diminished the holy barrier. So came the demons. Encroaching slowly, most were careful to stay just outside of the holy barrier, but the viscious few continually risked burning mutilation to claw from the darkness.

A meter-long beak, with crocodile teeth and a snakes tongue materialized within Morikhi's vision, 'SssSss I'm disssapointed to find your light ssso easssily dissspersssed, Morikhi.' The mindbending properties of the beak's voice rippled in frequencies devoted to the subconsious, dropping Morikhi to a knee as he dry heaved inside his helm.
'We arnt ssso different, you and I... I am but a ssshadowy reflection of you, and it would take but a nudge to bring you into the darknessssss,' The voice continued it's mental assault, and Morikhi felt gutteral emotions suppressed for generations welling inside him: desperation, fear, and self-pity. A cold sweat and cramping muscles caused his blade to slip slightly within his metal gauntlets, under the compounding weight of the darkness it's tip lowered, dimming it's protective light as it did.
Morikhi could feel the Beak's proximity as it hovered just above his crumpled form and he weakly muttered something between sickly heaves, "yfrgrtnthng."
'What wasss that?' The beak questioned as it floated before Morikhi, lording it's strength in front of the Knight's fraility.
Morikhi's voices rang loud as his quickly rose to his feet, "You forgot one thing, Skrillix," the utterance of the demon's true name binding it to the speaker's realm. As the demon's bulbos body materialized it began to smoke and sizzle in the building brightness of Morikhi's blade. With a sneer of holy contempt Morikhi charged the demon shouting, "I Am HONOR!" Skrillix exploded into a cloud of embers at the touch of Morikhi's holy blade, and hundreds of lesser demons, unable to escape the evergrowing light, flashboiled into nothingness as Morikhi's holy flame roared through the darkness.

Morikhi awoke, quickly donned his attire, and began to pray at his bedside shrine to The Lady. Somewhere deep in his id the seed of a voice had been planted. A tiny growth that whispered "perhapsss."

Emilie walks into camp, to meet with the Dwarves after his victory over the Dark Ones. Right in the middle of camp stands a decent host of really, really angry looking Dwarves. Emilie takes off his helmet, the Gromil Great Helm and looks over the Dwarves. The youngest of the host (the one with the smallest beard) steps foward, holding a piece of paper.

"Since my elders will not lower themselves to speak your foul language, I shall translate the message from our king." the young Dwarf annouces in his best Bretonnian. He holds the paper forward and starts to read from it. "Dear Knight... You have.."

Suddenly an enragaed, white bearded elder pushes the young one aside and starts screaming at Emilie in Dwarven.

"Your women are the filthiest of whores! You are a vile, honorless dog! I will personally kill you, you father, your mother, all your relatives, and every member of your piss-drinking clan if you do not return what your people have stolen from us!!"

The young dwarf gets up, sighs and continues reading "It appears you might have an item which belongs to our people..."

Emilie interrupts... "You mean this helmet? You're right, it doesn't belong to me." Emilie tosses the helmet to the young Dwarf. "Take it back, put it to better use." The jaw of the young Dwarf drops to the ground. The elder just keeps on ranting.

"I will not rest until you return the Gromil Great Helm to our people! You grandmother, your grandfather, your uncle, all dogs!"

"My Lord... we have the helmet"

Wack! Elder Dwarf knocks the young one away... the young one drops the great helm and it rolls on the ground.

"All of you will die like puny goblins! LIKE GOBLINS!!!"

"Look Down Master Dwarf." Emilie says... as the Gromil Great Helm touches the toe of the White Bearded Elder... The elder looks down and sees the out cold young Dwarf and Gromil Great Helm at his feet. The elder, in true Dwaven fashion totally ignores the young one and grabs the helmet and lovingly caresses it, going over it's runes.

Emilie helps the young Dwarf up while the rest of the host hovers over the helmet. "I assume this is what you came for."

"It is human... it is..." The dwarf rubs his head.

"I hope this may patch some things up between our people..."

"It may... You know you have a Red Dragon vomiting up Elf parts in the back of your camp?"

"What about it?"

"Right... we should get going."

UPDATE: Emilie loses the Gromil Great Helm to be replaced by another magic item (one earned in game) and something else ;).

VENGEANCE

The mists of this pissant island will not hide my true goal my true power forever. Luck will not accord the short lived or the short nay not tiss even the dead. All will fall and in the end darkness shall engulf it all. So shall it be written so shall it be said so shall it be DONE!!!!!

VENGEANCE

Hey Guys,

Just to let you know, I won't be able to make it this Tuesday. I will be able to come in any other day later in the week to play any games I have. I am usually done with work at 3 so I could
make it to Dragon's Lair around 3:15 or 3:30. Davy, could you send me a picture or something of the map and I can give you my moves and post-turn actions. If I am in a game with anyone, please contact me about when you are available. My phone is (330) 687-8796. My email is [email protected]. Let me know if you need anything else. I will also send this in an email. Thanks.

A snapshot of the board:

http://images.dakkadakka.com/gallery...20Turn%201.jpg

Not the prettiest, but I think it gets the point across.

Pending the results of the Junior Engineer Sven Svennson's showdown with the Malefactor, here are the standings:

Current standings:

Territories
Fimir- 5
Vampire Counts- 7
Bretonnia- 8
Dwarves- 8
Dark Elves- 8
Warriors- 10

Relics
Fimir- 3
Vampire Counts- 3
Warriors- 6
Dark Elves- 6
Dwaves- 8
Bretonnians- 11

Picture to follow- map currently still under construction/repair.

Current standings:

Territories
Bretonnians- 7
Vampire Counts- 7
Fimir- 8
Warriors- 8
Dark Elves- 8
Dwarfs- 9

Relics
Fimir- 3
Vampire Counts- 5
Dark Elves- 6
Warriors- 7
Dwarfs- 8
Bretonnians- 11

Hroddr coughed from the everpresent smoke that shrouded the Grateful Dead Marshes, and took a moment to survey the miserable surroundings.

Willow tree branches hanging low with rotton fruit which the avian inhabitants seemed to take great pleasure in getting drunk off.

Razor sharp briarpatches concealing unspoiled fruit of every variety.

Exotic flowers that vibrantly shimmer in the omnipresent fog and cause mortals to momentarily enter the realm of chaos with a whiff of their fragrance.

And always, Always, the low melodic dronings of a jam band echoing through the sickly sweet smell of smoke off the distant pipeweed bonfires.

Coughing slightly, Zaki loosened his beard clamps, "I can see why the warriors covet this place. To claim it unjustly seems *cough* rude."

"You Two," he stated indescriminatly as his bodyguard looked puzzled amongst themselves. "Get that ale recipe from those birds, and see if we can't start constructing a... You know... One of those beermaking things with a little birdhouse on top."

"The rest of you bring me my thinking ale... I have a feeling this will be a Very insightful night."

Alcazar del Pielago has long been the impregnable bastion and home to the feared Estalian Armada. But as war rages across the state and beleaguered citizens are caught in the crossfire, the fleet is nowhere to be seen and El Alcazar's guns lay silent. As bloodied armies raise their gaze from the sweltering summer battlefields, a dark cloud begins to swirl around the parapets of the sea fortress. Like moths to the flame, armies are drawn out to the coast. Tenuous alliances have formed, but will they hold in the face of this new mystery?

Plan to meet at the same time on Tuesday- (6 pm). We'll finish the post-battle sequences and then play the end-of-Summer scenario. You should bring:

A 1250 point army to combine with your ally (Brets & Dwarfs, Warriors & VC, Fimir & DE). You may bring any regiments of renown or heroes of legend, but they must fit in your army legally. Your army should be a legal stand-alone army, and you should be prepared to play in a 3-way battle-royale. Alliances and rules will be per main rulebook's extra scenario section.

Individual briefs to flow privately over the next 24 hours...