The Plain of Crows Pt. 1: Background

Lord Thorirr Maull scowled darkly and shook his head, his long beard wagging in the gloom.  "Now that's a sorry damned report to have to send to the King." he growled.  "Tomorrow I must lead his warriors into battle with Dwarves!"  

 The rumor of the approach of a well armed band of Dwarves down the old north road days before had stirred great interest in the halls of Thunder Mount.  Three days previous, the King had dispatched Lord Thorirr, Chieftain of the Upper Hall, to meet them on the road and see what they wanted.  The assumption had been  that the newcomers might be refugees from the Goblin wars still raging in the North, or perhaps a reconnaissance from some new hold recently established somewhere north of the Thunder Mountain range.  Perhaps they needed assistance or guidance.  Surely they should be welcomed and aided.  But when Thorirr's heralds arrived in the strangers' camp and were ushered into the presence of their commander  they heard not words of greeting and friendship, but rather, what seemed, to them at least, to be the ravings of a madman.   "Tell me, once more, what he said, this...Uniter?"  muttered Thorirr wearily...
 

"He claims he wants an alliance,  replied the herald,  but the words "surrender and submission to his person" were used.  Our King is to bow to him, it seems, and all our halls to pay him tribute, which he claims he needs to continue the war against the Greenskins in the North."

"How he got through Big Blackie's Orcs and Gobbos is a tale I'd like to hear." said Thorirr, rubbing his bristly chin.

"Fought their way through, by the looks of them."  said Hamm.  The old Wizard had accompanied the herald.  "Their gear had seen recent use.  I suspect they hid their wounded from us, but some of them still looked none too spry."

"Well, that's something, anyway."  grunted Thorirr, wryly.  "Got themselves cut down to size, coming here, and no doubt took care of a few of Big Blackie's boys along the way!"

"But it's madness!"  spat Floi Haybeard, shifting his great sword, Icicle, onto his armored knees as he sat down heavily on his camp chair.  "This fool could have alliance with us, if he but asked for it, to the benefit of us all!"

"He'll not accept such terms."  Hamm said quickly.  "To him alliance means unification under his authority."

  "Not acceptable.  said Borrin, Captain of the Red Dragons.  Our forefathers came here to escape the chaos of the northern wars.  They wouldn't want to see us dragged back into them, especially not on the whim of a madman."


Thorirr had not come expecting a fight.  He had brought his 1st Company with him as an escort, and the King had sent his guard of Axemen to fly his banner.  At the last moment Borrin had volunteered to come with his company, just in case, and he had brought with him a bolt thrower, carried on the backs of a pair of sturdy mules.  But altogether the force was more of an honor guard than an army.  Thorirr had no crossbowmen, no skirmishers, no flank guards...

"We could withdraw to the Maiden's Peak, said Hamm, as if he had read Thorirr's mind, (and who knows?  Maybe he had.)...and hold them at the narrow way."

"Or retire to Thunder Mountain."  said Floi stroking his thick blonde beard.  "They do not have nearly enough warriors to face the full King's Muster.  They may change their minds about us when they see our full strength."

"No, said Thorirr, his voice low but carrying the stony edge of absolute certainty.  The battle in that case may be simply delayed.  He could always come back with more warriors.  When we report to the King, Let's report that we've solved a problem for him, not that we have brought him a problem that he needs to solve.  We'll teach this madman some respect tomorrow, I think.  We'll see how he feels after a few knocks on the head."

He turned to the herald.  "Go back and tell this "Uniter,"  as he calls himself, that we'll meet him tomorrow on the Plain of Crows.  Tell him we will offer him quarter if he accepts it."

The herald nodded, made a quick bow, and ducked out of the firelight.

"Make ready to march."  said Thorirr.  The gloom he had felt was passing with his uncertainty, and he began to feel the light of battle lust dawning, warm and rosy, in his breast and all through his limbs.

"Let's set a good table for the Crows tomorrow."

***

A week or so ago, Private Weird pitched me the idea of trying a game of WFB 3rd Edition played over the net...My Old School Dwarves against his.  Naturally I jumped at the chance.  An interesting experiment that may pave  the way for great things in future.  The armies will be 1400 pts, assembled from the list in Warhammer Armies.

In the interests of Simplicity, I'm proposing a very basic board 4' x 4'  The top left and bottom right corners could be wooded to a depth of about 2 feet and a width of 1 foot.   Sort of boring, but I figure that since we can't see the board the other guy is using, less might well turn out to be more in this case.  Still more than happy to add more terrain if P.W. likes.  I'll be using some of my unpainted Dwarves and halflings to represent P.W.'s army on my table.

(sorry for the crummy lighting and composition here, but I was in a hurry.  The actual photos of the game in progress will look much nicer.  But this gives you the idea of what the Plain of Crows will look like.


To be continued...

1st Company of the Muster of The Upper Hall 'Skull Poppers'

The Upper Hall lies nearest to the top of Thunder mountain, and the Dwarves who choose to live in these high halls are those most fond of the air and light of the above ground world.  There are many of windows and balconies cut high in the sheer stone cliffs which rise to the great heights of the summit of Thunder mountain, and look eastward, back over the purple hills of the border Princes toward the Old world and the rising sun..  Standing still and cold at the foot of these cliffs are deep clear lakes fed by the aquifers that underlie the roots of the mountains and by the spring snow melt.  In the summers, many of the Dwarves of the Upper Hall dwell in cabins above ground and graze their herds of goats and sheep on the grassy slopes of the mountains. In the winter, they retreat into the fire-lit shelter of their high, stone eyries.

 The Lord of the Upper Hall at this time is Thorirr Maull, a Dwarf renowned for his toughness, aggressiveness and no-nonsense manner. (And his flamboyant battle dress). The Dwarves of the upper hall are not as numerous as the Dwarves of the Great Hall, nor are they as wealthy, or as generally well equipped, but they field a number of famous battle-companies well known both to the friendly men of the Black River country, and to the Dwarves' dire enemies, the Orcs and Goblins of Big Blackie's Greenskin Horde.

  One of the best known are the 1st Company, the "Skull Poppers", named for the very distinctive sound a Goblin's head makes when giving way under a blow from one of their terrible Battle-hammers.

Despite his rather dramatic and intimidating appearance on the battlefield, Lord Thorirr Maull is actually an unassuming and Down-to-Earth Chieftain, and does not retain a bodyguard.  When he goes to battle, he usually personally leads the Clansmen of the First Company, lending his considerable animal magnetism and the terrifying power of his magical Thunder Hammer to the fight.

 Lord Thorirr Maull is depicted here in his full and fearsome battle kit, wearing his Mithril plate armor and carrying his terrible Thunder Hammer and Dragon Shield.  When going to battle, Thorirr often wears the pelt of a Beastman chieftain late of the horde of Buzzgobb Phesterlick. Thorirr is famously known to have dispatched this foul mutant in the Battle of Scorpion Point and to have worn the tattered remnant of the beast as a head warmer eve since.  A (mostly) friendly rivalry exists between Lord Thorirr and The King's General, Sveinn Donnerkind, whom Lord Thorirr sometimes playfully accuses of affecting his personal style.

                  "RAAAARRRGHHHHH!!!!  POP THEIR SKULLS!!  POP EM!  POP EM!!!!!!!"

"Cummere, Gobbo!  I got somethin' for ye..."

The Mad Monks of Saint Passionario's

 Some centuries ago, so the Mad Monks of Saint Passionario say, a strange young man came to the Warhammer world.  He had come from far away, having journeyed thousands of miles through mountain and marsh, over plain and sea.  He was a seemingly wise young man, quite kind and gentle and more than a little sad.  When he spoke to people in the strange new land he had come to, the land of the Warhammer, he came invariably around to one thing:  Was it really necessary, all this war business?  Wouldn't it be something if people just started being nice to each other for a change?  The young man had no name, but as he crossed the land, preaching his curious doctrine of kindness and nonviolence, he began to attract attention, and became known amoung the common folk as 'El Passionario'.  Many people flocked to hear him speak, and a following began to grow up around him in northern Estalia and southern Bretonnia.

 Alas, amoung the people who came to listen to him one day was a certain Lord Framaggio, the Duc of Daxx, and his crew of less than reputable knights and retainers.  The Duc thought El Passionario was delightfully entertaining.  He thought El Passionario's ideas about compassion and brotherly love were so inspiringly hilarious, that he had him nailed to a tree and left for dead, which, sadly, he was.  Thus passed the 'Very Strange Enchanted Boy," of legend,  El Passionario.  Yet, his story does not end there.  One of El Passionario's most devoted disciples, Stefano de Aragones, recovered El Passionario's body and arranged to have it transported to an island off the wild coast of Tilea, where, he hoped, a small cult might be able to revere the memory of their gentle Saint in relative peace and quiet.  Stefano de Aragones' ship was captured by Araby pirates a few miles from her destination and Stefano was tortured to death by the Arabyans for the crime of trying to infect them with his heretical views.  But the ship bearing El Passionario's remains slipped by the pirates and a handful of devotees managed to establish a reliquary and monastery in the name of their beloved Saint on the tiny island.

Sadly, and, we should think, perhaps predictably, the monastery was no sooner completed than the little island was invaded and swept from end to end by the fire and steel of the armies of the incalculably awful chaos warlord Gundagorr Hogswaggle, Champion of Nurgle.  A handful of priests managed to escape the flaming ruins of the monastery and cast themselves adrift on the ocean with a tiny bejewelled box containing a few bits of their beloved Saint.  The monks cast up in northwestern Tilea, where they were quickly swept up in the events of the 17th war of the Borgian Succession, an experience apparently so horrible that the histories of the order neglect to describe it in any detail.

One thing about that period of the order's history is certain.  By the time the war was over, the doctrine of the order of El Passionario had undergone certain fundamental changes.  Much of the change was undoubtedly due to the influence of the young Tilean Noccoli Macchio, who joined the order about this time.  Macchio beleived that the order was in great need of reform.  Macchio taught that although the doctrine of brotherly love that El Passionario had taught was wonderfully nice and sweet and good, it was, as a survival strategy, completely unsuited to the sanguine realities of the Warhammer world.  Something was going to have to change.

There had already been at least one attempt at fundamental change.  It has now been learned through other sources that the monk Raspardan, a shadowy figure apparently of Kislevite origin, had risen to high rank in the order during this period, and had preached that the violent of the world would never listen to reason, would never come to peace of their own accord, and that they must, therefore, be beaten into submission by the disciples of the Son of Peace, El Passionario.  All of them.  Every last mother's son of them.  Raspardan utterly rejected the theory that the order should shelter in quiet corners of the world hoping to be left alone.  Rather, he preached a doctrine of war upon the violent and warlike.
It is said that Raspardan's radical theories were not well received by many members of the order, and that, in order to preserve El Passionario's legacy of peace and brotherly love, numerous attempts were made on Raspardan's life.  Amazingly, Raspardan seems to have survived at least forty-six assassination attempts before finally succumbing to the blades of the violent in a nameless battle between Tilean and Imperial forces fought during this time.  Raspardan led the Order of El Passionario down upon the battle attacking the heretically violent and warlike on both sides, without favoritism, and was naturally set upon by both Tileans and the sons of Sigmar, and cut into small pieces. 

Enter Niccolo Macchio.  Macchio's teachings utterly transformed the order of El Passionario by introducing an element of realpolitik, heretofore unknown amoung this highly idealistic sect.  Macchio taught that the warlike forces of law in the world were, in fact the agents of peace, peace being a goal which could only be gained through the aquisition and the application of strength.  Rather than attack all the violent indiscriminately, as Raspardan had done, Macchio taught that the order should henceforth align itself with those violent and warlike agencies which were lawful and constant enough to establish and maintain law and order, and attack instead those who attempted to resist them.  Only by doing so could El Passionario's disciples hope to help achieve their Patron Saint's vision of a peaceful world.  Thereafter, the order entered a new phase.  Day and night, the brothers trained for war, busying themselves in learning the ways of weapons and clever stratagems for overcoming the enemies of their chosen allies and agents.  The ringing of hammers at the forges of war began to rise and mingle with the choruses of the priests intoning the hymns of peace.  Thenceforce the sons of El Passionario rushed into battle, bellowing their war cries of "Kill for Peace!" 
 and  "Death to the Warlike!" etc.

In the fourth year of the settlement of the Black River Country, a band of monks of the order of El Passionario crossed the border princes and came into the Black River country, asking the Baron von Refn for permission to establish a monastery there.  Though skeptical at first, the Baron eventually gave them leave to settle in his realm.  In the succeeding years, the Baron has become convinced of two things about the Monks of Saint Passionairo, as their monastery is called;

One:  They are all clearly insane and are bad company at parties. 

Two: They are incredibly loyal and energetic supporters of his attempt to found a colony in the Black River country.  Their work with the poor and suffering folk in the Baron's realm has been of considerable assistance, as are the small but welcome contingents of fanatical fighters which the Monks often send to fight alongside the Baron's armies.

1st Company of the Muster of the Great Hall 'King's Axes'

 "...In that grim moment, the King's Axes arrived, with some other Dwarf warriors, and great was the joy and relief of our exhausted people, hemmed in on nearly every side as they were by the green-skinned horde, at the site of the Mountain folks' dark faces and bright axes coming swiftly up the western road!  It is perhaps well that I should take a moment here to speak somewhat of these famous warriors... 

I have often heard this regiment referred to as the "King's Guard"  by our own people, but this is not strictly correct.  The Dwarf King's Bodyguards are in fact called his"Door Wards", and our people here in the River Lands have seldom seen them, for they remain always with the King, and would not travel in our Country unless the King himself was marching to war.  The "King's Axes" are a company of the finest warriors in the Thunder Mountain community, the only standing army the Dwarves maintain.  All Dwarf males (and some females) make time to forge weapons and to train in the arts of war, but the "King's Axes" are the only company paid with the King's own coin to train continually as warriors and to stand by to march at any hour, in the furtherance of any bloody goal the King should have in mind.  Rare indeed is the expeditionary force sent from Thunder Mount which does not have this gallant company as it's core.

 ...The Grim standard of this famous company, fashioned in part from the carcasses of slaughtered Goblin champions, is happily a common and a welcome sight in our country, its familiarity an earnest of the bond between the people of the Thunder Mountain and the Black River.

...The Company is always led by one of the King's mightiest champions, clad in the finest mithril armour, and wielding the dreaded Frost Blade, Icicle...


 - Olorrin, The Black River Chronicles

"AXES OF THE DWARVES!!"

                                                       "THE DWARVES ARE UPON YOU!"

Sir Johann Treuehardt's men-at-arms

 The Baron Von Refn has many resources to call upon when his realm is threatened.  His militia companies stand ready to defend their districts, and the volunteer levies will answer the call to arms when the situation is desperate.  The Rangers and Sheriffs stand watch on the borders and along the roads, and are invaluable assets in battle.  Then there are the monks and knights of the Holy orders, brave men who fly as fanatics to the defense of the realm.  And there are the men of the Baron's own household; some fifty strong...yet there could no hope for the survival of the Black River colonies, were it not for the Baron's knights and the men at their command. 

 One of the most important and respected of these knights is Sir Johann Treuehardt, whose family has served the Von Refns for three generations.  Each Knight of the Realm is required to maintain a 'Marching Order' of three mounted or ten men-at-arms on foot, whom he can bring to the Baron's standard in time of strife.

 Sir Johann, however, proudly maintains a full company of thirty halberdiers and billmen, well paid and loyal fighters always ready to move to a fight at a moment's notice.  Cynics will say that the wealthy Sir Johann needs the extra men-at-arms to watch and guard his extensive lands in the Mittel March anyway, but this does not diminish his high standing with the Baron...



                                                                             ***

I copied the green and white color scheme for this regiment from a unit of Bretonnian men at arms featured in a Rogue Trader era issue of White Dwarf.  (Around #140, I think)  Alas, once  I had painted everybody's shirt and trousers in some combination of green and white, I came to the conclusion that the color scheme I had chosen was actually, unfortunately, really kind of boring.

 The half-finished unit sat around gathering dust for a while, until I decided that a red heart taken from a bunch of 40k Eldar transfers might add a spot of color which might make the unit more interesting...so now you can all have a good laugh at my "Imperial Halberdiers of Biel-Tan".

The Halberdiers can't use thier shields in close combat, but they can be of use in protecting the troops from missile fire as they advance upon the enemy...so I have a lot of the boys with their shields slung on their backs, or shifting off their fore-arms onto their shoulders, as if they are closing with the enemy...

"Come on, Boys!  This is what the Baron pays us for!"

 "Give 'em the Baron's steel!"

 

 

Jenni Troll Spitter

 Named 'Jenni' for the sweetheart of the dwarf who built it, and 'Troll Spitter' for a spectacular shot which bisected the wind-pipe of the troll chief Mugwump Worm-Belly at the thirteenth battle of the Maiden's Peak, this Bolt Thrower is a fine example of the several heavy crossbows in use by the Dwarves of the Thunder Mount.

 Although not as effective as cannon or stone throwers, these weapons are easy to break down and can be transported on the backs of a pair of mules, making them deployable at short notice and even in the most rugged terrain.  Best employed in batteries of 3 or so machines, they can be an effective counter to large monsters or flying creatures, and highly useful as defenses of fixed fortifications.

The Dwarfs are, for the most part, not one of my favorite GW figure lines.  The GW Dwarf models have always been a little too roly-poly and Disney-esque for my taste. Although some of Games Workshop's Dwarf figures from the early 80's, particularly their Norse Dwarfs, are quite pleasing to me, I generally prefer a more dignified, Tolkien-esque look for my Dwarves.  In recent years Citadel has begun to use an altogether comical look for the Dwarfs, a sort of 'beards with feet' look, which I REALLY don't like.  This means I look to other manufacturers for most of my needs. (they're cheaper, anyway).  There aren't a lot of Dwarf Bolt Throwers on the market, however, and this one, which at least has the advantage of being nice and eighties, will do for my collection.

It's been a heck of a busy last few weeks, but I'm glad I had enough time to get this little set finished.  It came with a small bull dog model, which I intended to use to represent my fourth crewman, but he has disappeared...I think my wife, chronic dog lover that she is, took a liking to him and made off with him.

"Oh, he's a big, fat green bastard, he is, boys!  Nice and juicy! Steady now! Ready...Aim..."

Whelps of the Warp

 "In the Autumn of that year, the Mad Hunt came for the first time.  In the nights leading up to All Hallows Eve, men heard unearthly howls and wailings drifting across the Black river...sounds that chilled them to their very marrow.  The Sheriffs and militia stood double watches through the night.  On the night of Sam Hain, the Mad Hunt swam the river just to the north of the point where the Snake River flows into the Black, and swept howling up through the hilly country north of the Snake.  Directly in their path lay the little hamlet in Frog Hollow.  Frog Hollow had been founded in the summer of that year by a little group of newly arrived immigrants, many of them Tileans, and some of the houses of the little settlement were as yet but half-builded.

 Despite the Baron Von Refn's explicit instructions to all settlers to build Palisade walls before all other considerations, the settlers had neglected to fortify their new homes. The reason later given was that the colonists had arrived late in the year, and considered the certain impending assault of winter to be a more immediate threat than the possibility of attack by monsters.  Thus when the shrieks and bellows of hideous chaos hounds shook them from their beds, they were quite unshielded.  The little town's militia were outmatched by the horrid beasts of chaos, and they were soon scattered with great loss into small bands fighting desperately in isolated houses.  For a time it seemed that there might be hope, for the stout, barred doors of the houses kept the hounds at bay, but then a troop of evil men with hair dyed the color of blood arrived bearing bows and fire, and shot burning arrows and into the shingle and thatch of the roofs.  The poor folk huddled inside were thus left with a choice between burning alive in their homes, or being torn apart in the open by the fanged terrors of the hunt...

 ...Some thirty innocents died in the disaster, but many others fled up the road to the bridge at Plum Creek, their retreat shielded by the gallant stands of a few brave militiamen.  The Hunt put the whole Hamlet of Frog Hollow to the torch, and, after taking time to torture and devour a few captives, made their way up the river toward Plum Creek.  Here, they were halted by a valiant defense of Plum Creek's militia spearmen on the bridge itself, supported by archers firing from the riverbanks behind them.  A number of beasts were wounded, yet things might have gone poorly had not the Rangers and Sheriffs of the North Mark appeared suddenly on the far bank and attacked the Hunt in the flank.  There was wild fighting and some loss there on both sides before the Hunt at last withdrew...stopping briefly to gloat and offer prayers to their filthy God in the blazing ruin of Frog Hollow, they passed back down to the Black River, hurled themselves into it's dark waters and vanished into the night.

 The Rangers tracked the Hunt to the Banks of the Black River.  Here they found a hound and a huntsman who, too sorely wounded by Rangers' arrows to cross, had been left behind, and these they put to the sword.  Thus they Children of the Dark Gods did not escape without paying a price, though the losses our dear and innocent folk were by far the more grievous.

 Many of the Frog Hollow settlers wished to leave the Black River country following the disaster, but the Baron convinced them to stay.  He bade them build their houses close together on high ground, and sent men to help the survivors enclose their community within a wall of stout logs, strengthened with towers, and lent some of his own men to serve there as a garrison...
                                                                                    - Olorrin, The Black River Chronicles

This nasty bunch are the first wave of  my chaos hounds for the Mad Hunt.  3 more groups are sitting around on my desk, waiting for me to sling paint on 'em...Great old figures....the handler is one of the greatest Chaos warrior figures GW ever produced, I think...although, if you look at the army list entry, animal handlers are supposed to be Beastmen, not Chaos warriors...oh, well...