Dimtree's Loot Part 2: (Da good part wot got all da fightin' and an' stuff!!!)

 Neel's lads bore to the left, moving up the muddy, slippery little slope toward the farmhouse.  As they crested the rise, they caught sight of the Space Pirates, suddenly much closer now.  Abruptly the clatter of an autogun rang out, and a handful of red laser bolts lanced toward them from out of the downpour, passing just over their heads and rather discomfiting Neel.  "Oh wow! he shouted, ducking and dancing about a little in his startled excitement...Oh, Wow, hey...!  Hey, Guys!  I think they're trying to kill us!  We should probably try to get to cover or somefing!!"  Neel's lads were a step ahead of him, which was typical, really.  They swept  to the rear of the farmhouse and threw their weapons up on the back garden wall, ready to engage the enemy.

Rikk and Vivyun's boys loped toward the little orchard, moving as swiftly as they might in the drenching downpour and clinging mud.  "Don't worry, Lads!  called Rikk, trying to make himself as small as possible behind his advancing boys, using their bodies for cover... I'm right behind you!"  Not particularly encouraged by their leader's example, the boys raced forward anyway, quickly passing through the orchard and closing in on the barn and stables.  Mykhul followed just behind them,  hoping, probably vainly, that he might be able to exert some control...

 ROUND ONE

See Private Weird's deployment here...

 The Young 'uns overall deployment...The very small stands of trees at top and bottom are not actual terrain, they just mark the table corners.  Rickk's Pyros are at top, near the table edge.  On their left are Vivyun's Eviscerators, with Mykhul following behind, trying to supervise the attack...they are trying to use the little orchard to cover their advance.   

 Near the lower table edge, Neel leads his knuckleheads towards the hard cover and treasure in the Farmhouse.  (maybe he's not so dumb after all...)

 Rikk and Vivyun's combined frontage about 12" ...

8"  between Vivyun's left and Neel's right...

 

The Young 'Uns run forward...having passed his stupidity test, Neel leads his boys to a firing position at the farmhouse wall.  Vivyun and Rikk are herded forward by Mykhul, Rikk's boys ending up near the edge of the little orchard, Vivyun's boys more or less out in the open, Mykhul trailing a little behind...

As he reached the Farmhouse wall, Neel could see that the Space Pirates weren't wasting any time.  They were coming straight on, and fast!  On the Pirates' flank, the great, horse-like creature was advancing at a terrifying speed.  Neel noticed that some of the little humies at the center of the Pirate line were halting near the big snappy bush...One of them hefted a great weapon onto his shoulder.  Neel saw him aim it straight at Vivyun's mob!

"Uh...hey!  HEY!  Neel called to the Stuntie.  Hey, Karma!  Karma, Man!  Think about it!  Do you really want to do that to yourself?"  

The Stuntie was so startled by the appearance of the long face behind the wall that his shot went wide and burst in a pillar of fruitless smoke and steam, a ways off to Vivyun's left.

Neel grinned happily and threw a peace sign the stuntie's way.  "Hey!  I'm proud of you, man!  Thank me later!"

The Stuntie glanced around at his comrades, as if in need of reassurance that he was not going mad...

See Private Weird's first turn here!

Round Two

The second round begins.  Neel almost passes his stupidity test.  Almost.  His boyz keep their wits about them, however, and fire boltguns and missile launcher at the rapidly approaching Zoat!  The boys turn out to be only marginally more competant than their leader, however.  Only one bolter-boy hits, and he rolls a fat 1 to wound.  The missile launcher misses completely, which is too bad, as I was keen to see the Zoat vanish in a spectacular fireball sort of thing.

 

Anyway, at the center of the line, Viv leads his eviscerators forward 4" and they let go with their boltguns at the pirates advancing between the Zoat and the Space Dwarves.  Rolling to hit, they score 2 hits and 1 wound.

Rikk's Pyros run their full movement toward the farm, cackling with unutterably fiendish intent.  

Mykhul runs forward 4 inches and bears left another 4 inches, ending up just behind Viv' left flank.

Final tally:  Private Weird needs to roll an armor save for 1 pirate...

See Private Weird's second turn here.

 Round Three

 Round three begins.  Neel doesn't even come close to passing his stupidity test.  He rolls a fat twelve.  Once again, his boys ignore his 'leadership', seize the initiative and vault over the farmhouse wall, dropping an inch of movement, they spread out through the yard and run forward, ending up about an inch or so from the back of the front wall.  Poor Neel is left behind.  "Hey!  Where's everybody going?"

Vivyun's boys hold steady despite two of their number having been cut down.  On his next roll, however, Vivyun is gripped by frenzy and runs straight toward Ulysses, roaring and bellowing incoherently.  His boys fail to pass their own check, frenzy, and follow him forward their full movement.

Boss Mychul moves forward four inches.  As he rounds the corner of the farmhouse, he catches sight of Bert the Zoat and blazes away with his bolt pistol!  He scores a direct hit, but his bolter shells burst harmlessly on the creatures tough hide!

 

 Rikk's pyros move straight forward 4 inches....As they close the range with Captain Ulysses, they begin to giggle uncontrollably then open up with their bolters!  Rikk and all three of his bolter boys hit, rolling to wound, they roll two 3's one 4 and one 5 on the Pirate Captain's band...4 wounds!

Round Four

Dimtree's Loot Part 1

They had been on Nepenthe for thirteen days.  For thirteen days, it had rained.  On the eighth day Boss Dimtree and thirty of the boys had been torn apart by a barrage of Plasma cannon fire as the mob had tried to storm a breach in the walls of the city of Nyx.  That had left Boss Mykhul as the biggest, cleverest and meanest of the lot.  Nobody was much the sorrier for the death of Dimtree.  He had not been an Ork of the Wailing Reach, but was a foreigner.  A tough, capable foreigner, but a foreigner, just the same.  Nobody had much liked his grey trench coat or his black bowler hat, or that eastern fringe accent of his.  But it was still a tough thing for Boss Mykhul to fill Dimtree's boots.  The boys that remained, the fifteen of them, were watching him carefully.  Watching to see if he had the makings of a boss.  Should they stay with him, or break up and let themselves be absorbed into the mobs of bigger, better bosses?  That is what they had been thinking, and Mykhul knew it.  So he'd led them out into the rain and the mud, away from the siege of Nyx, desperate to show them his mettle, for he still had a trick up his sodden sleeve...and it would be a while before anybody thought to get an account of the remnant of Dimtree's mob...

The rain...it beat mercilessly, unceasingly upon their heads, pounded the earth into gluey, sticky mud that sucked the boots right off their gnarled, stinking feet.  Many of them were barefoot, now...their feet had been soaked for so long that they had lost all feeling in them, and so were unaware that they had lost their boots until it was much too late to go back and find them.  Orkish tolerance for adverse environmental conditions is considerably greater than that of  Men or Eldar, but after thirteen days of ceaseless bombardment, the rain was definitely starting to get them all down.  At some point Neel, who, for reasons best known to himself, occasionally concerned himself with other peoples' problems, had come up with the idea of 'pottery boots'.  He had slathered and sculpted some particularly thick and viscous mud around the feet of  some of the unshod Orks and then tried to fire the 'clay' with Rikk's teams' heavy flamer.  'Pottery boots' had been a bad idea in that it had not worked, but it had also been a terrible idea in that it's attempted implementation had resulted in several casualties.  Morale had really gone downhill since then.



Boss Mykhul decided it was time for a little speech.  "Don't lose heart, chaps! he grunted, streams of rainwater cascading off of his fine, broad-brimmed hat.  "I'm sure we're very close, now!"

"That's what you've been saying for like, the last um...one...two...um...the last few days!  moaned Neel.

"And I'm hungry!"  snapped Rikk, in a high, clipped sort of tone that implied that he thought that everyone should think that that was the most important thing in the world right now.

"Me too,  moaned Neel.  The note of profound self-pity in his deep, bass voice might have been comical if it had made its appearance in less trying circumstances. As it was, it was just irritating.     "I wish we had some wentils.  Me auntie used to cook wentils for me all da time when I was a wittle runt..."  The rivers of rain water gushing down his long, craggy face made it impossible to tell if he was crying or not.

Rikk perched his gloved hands on his sharp hips and stuck his chin out defiantly at Neel.  "Actually, NEEL, I happen to know that your auntie NEVER cooked lentils for you!  Know how I know?  Hm?  Hm?  BECAUSE ORKS DON'T HAVE AUNTIES, NEEL, and we don't have mums neither!  And that makes YOU a liar!  And nobody likes a liar, do they, lads?"

Having delivered that sudden, devastating salvo, Rikk rocked back on his heels, crossed his gangly arms over his skinny chest and grinned smugly around at the others, apparently expecting a wave of validation and applause.  Everyone ignored him.  In fact, everyone had ignored pretty much everything Rikk had ever said in his whole entire life, but that didn't stop Rikk from imagining that he was constantly surrounded by adoring worshippers who hung on his every word in an awe-struck hush. 

Vivyun sat very still and silent on a large stone which he had found and had been carrying around to use as a stool for some time.  For whatever reason, Vivyun liked to think of himself as a cool and contemplative sort of Ork, and worked hard at holding his violent temper in check.  But an Ork is an Ork, as they say, and occasionally Viv's carefully penned frustrations exploded, transforming him instantaneously into a sort of green and crimson Catherine's Wheel of psychotic violence.  Boss Mykhul knew the signs of one of Viyun's fits coming on...a tightness around the mouth, a twitchiness in the skin around the eyes....Recently Mykhul had been watching Viv carefully.

The irredeemably piercing, pompous, phaggy tone in Rikk's voice set Mykhul's teeth on edge, but he clung grimly to the task at hand.  Leadership isn't always easy.  In fact, it rarely is.

"Look, boys, I know it's been tough, but I'm telling you, we must be very close, now!  There's only so many places the treasure can be.  We just have to keep looking."

Vivyun's red-rimmed eyes twitched again.  

The problem, of course, was that when the Dead Boys, as the Orks called the DEAD MEN, the local Space Marines chapter, had obliterated Big Boss Dimtree with a deluge of plasma fire, they had also burned up his treasure map.  Boss Mykhul had had a pretty good squint at that map, but he had had no chance to make a copy of it, and so for five days they had wandered in what Mykhul THOUGHT must be the vicinity of the old farm where the loot was buried.

How Dimtree had come into posession of that map was an interesting little story in itself.  On the way to Nepenthe, WarBoss  Ranzack the Black's fleet had overhauled and captured a small space schooner belonging to the humie pirates of a certain Captain Ulysses.  The Orks, with overwhelming numbers on their side, had been down with killing and eating the lot, but Ulysses had bought life and liberty for himself and his crew by handing over to Dimtree a map which he SWORE showed the location of a magnificent cache of ill gotten plunder.  Dimtree had been hopinging  to slip away from the siege of Nyx with a few good lads and find the treasure first chance he got, but Space Marines with Plasma cannons had cut short his plans.

"You keep saying dat, but I'm tired and I wanna get outtada rain..." groaned Neel.

Some five miles or so away, near the city, there was a sudden series of muted flashes.  Slowly the audible report of multiple artillery impacts came rolling over the muddy fields.  ...thudda...thudda... thudd...  The boys flinched.  The memory of cruel Space Marine faces peering at them down plasma cannon barrels in the final seconds before the holocaust was still sharp in their minds.

"'Ey, it could be a lot worse, said Mykhul, trying to sound cheerful.  You could be over there getting pounded to pieces with that lot..."

"At least THEY'VE got a roof over their heads."  sneered Rick.

"My feet hurt!"  moaned Neel.

Vivyun's eyes twitched. 

"Ey!  came a shout.  It was one of the boys.  A ranker.  A lookout.  "I fink I see sumfin'  It's...it's a building or sumfin!"

Everybody stood up quickly.  Everybody except Vivyun, who stayed rooted to his stone, red eyes stabbing at nothing, mouth drawn tight as a garrotte in use.  

The others scrambled through the puddles and muck over to where the lookout stood craning his neck and waving excitedly.

"Over dere!"

Some ways off they could see, through the grey, shifting curtain of the downpour, a cluster of little structures perched on a small rise.

"That's gotta be it, boys!"  crowed Mykhul.  Soon we'll have a roof over our heads AND the treasure!!  And when I've killed you all and taken the treasure  for myself...er...when we've divided the treasure equally, let me say that again...when we've divided the treasure equally...we'll be rich and never have to sleep in the bloody rain ever again!"  

Even Vivyun got up.  Cramped, cold, foot-sore but galvanized now, by the thought of wealth and a dry, comfortable place to hole up for a day or two, the boys crowded forward toward the humble farm buildings.  Happy thoughts of warm meat scorched on an open fire, dry floors on which to make cozy nests, and fabulous riches drove their tired limbs though the muck...and then they saw something.  Far off, beyond the farm buildings, they saw a little line of skinny people moving toward them, and something else...something that looked like a big horse...

"HUMIES!!"  shrieked Rikk.  Trying to help themselves to our houses and our loot!!!  Do something, Mykhul!"

The humies were indeed making for the farm....trying to reach the cover of the buildings before the Orks could.

Mykhul stared at them for a moment through his field glasses..."Woo-arghh!  Those ain't just any humies!"

"Oh no!  groaned Neel.  They aren't Dead Boys, are they, Myk?  Cause that would be like really, really heavy!"

"No, they're not Dead Boys, Neel!  snapped Mykhul.  Thems is Ulysses' space scum, that's who they is.  This means that the treasure's really there for sure, and they're trying to beat us to it, the backbitin' basturds!   Come on, Boys!  Get over there and kill 'em!  Er...I mean...follow me!"

At the very thought of filthy humies trying to make off with their treasure and shelter right under the boys' very noses, Vivyun's already unappealing face was appallingly transformed.  His lips screwed themselves up into a terrifying, rictus snarl.  His eyes bulged, and the veins in his forhead bulged out even farther....

"This...this, lads...this calls for a rare blend of tactical acumen...AND EXTREME VIOLENCE!"  he bellowed.  It was the first thing he had said all week.  Up the muddy slope he bounded, bolt pistol blazing, his gangly, spindly legs transporting him at an alarming speed...

"Awright, boys, barked Boss Mykhul, his chainsword blaring and farting blue-grey smoke.  "LET'S get STUCK IN...MUSIC!!!!"

While I'm working with this theme, I might as well nominate this particular performance of this song as my Oldhammer anthem for Ernie's Oldhammer soundtrack challenge...or one of them, anyway...

 

 Dimtree's Loot

The Players:  Mouse & Private Weird

The Rules:  Warhammer 40k Second Edition

The Armies:  Space Orks, Space Pirates
Game Length: 8 rounds (?)
The Objectives:  Capture the Farmhouse, under which the treasure is buried, Exterminate the other side, Have fun.
Terrain:  Farmhouse and Farmhouse stone walls:  provide hard cover.  Farmhouse is flammable.
                Stock shed, stock fences:  Provide soft cover.  Shed is flammable.
                Barn:  provides soft cover.  Barn is flammable.

Flammable just means that you can set the building on fire if you want to.  Despite the heavy rains, Nepenthians are very skilled at making their buildings waterproof.  A building can be set on fire using a flamer, a plasma grenade, melta-bomb, or other thermal weapons.  Use of such weapons inside a structure will cause it to burn on a 1-3 on a d6 whether you want it to burn or not.  Burning buildings must be vacated within 1 round of their being set on fire, and become impassable terrain for the rest of the game.

Will have to wait until tomorrow to get the board set up...just don't have the strength to do it tonight,and anyway, I still need to paint the barn...

  War Boss Mykhul's Yung 'uns...  (apologies for the dinged up and part painted figures..should have them fixed up by tomorrow night...)

Magnificent Myk:
Mykel:  Ork War Boss with mesh armor, frag grenades and melta bombs, chainsword and bolt pistol.
Mykel is a Cool Customer.  This means he can re-roll ONE failed leadership check during the game.

Rikk's Pyros:
 3 Ork boys flak armor, melta bombs, bolters.
1 Ork boy:  Flak Armour, flamer, melta bombs
Rikk:  Ork Nob with Flak armor, melta bombs, knife and bolt pistol.   
Rikk is an utterly despicable bastard and a complete coward.  He is subject to Cowardice.   On any round in which his team is fired upon or charged by an enemy, Rikk must make a leadership check or run his full movement toward the nearest table edge.  Rikk's boys are not necessarily as gutless as their leader is...if Rikk fails his leadership test, they may make their own test to see if they stay in the game. If he is within 9" of Big Boss Mykhul, Rikk (and his boys), may use Myk's leadership to make his test.

Neel's Lads:
3 Ork boys with flak armor, frag grenades, bolters
1 Ork boy with flak armor, frag grenades, missle launcher.
Neel:  Ork Nob with flak armor, frag grenades, knife and bolt pistol.  Neel is a rather decent sort, but unfortunately he is also quite stupid.  He is subject to Stupidity as per page 66 of the rulebook.  Neel's boys are not necessarily as stupid as he is.  If Neel fails his stupidity test, his boys may make a test on their own, to see if they can evade the baleful influence of their leader.  If within 9" of Myk, Neel and his boys may use Myk's leadership to make their test.

Vivyun's Eviscerators:
 3 Ork boys with flak armor, frag grenades, bolters
1 Ork boy with flak armor, frag grenades, heavy bolter
Vivyun:  Ork Nob with flak armor, frag grenades, chainsword and bolt pistol.  Vivyun is subject to Frenzy as per pg. 77 of the rulebook.  The rules above apply to him and his team as regards leadership checks.

A sort of how about this?  plan for the board...the rear, right corner of each 'complex' of structures is about 12" from the left/right side of the board, and the rear of the board.  The barn/livestock pen complex has more structures and better fields of fire given the positions of the windows, but only provides soft cover...

2x4 instead of 4x4?  Okay, that wasn't hard. Basically trimmed off the 12" of space the opposing forces would have been advancing through as they closed in on the farm area.  About 12 or 13" of space separate the nearest corners of the two structure complexes....

Shots of the final Board...

 I unfortunately don't have a  model suitable to represent to the cool wrecked car on your board, P.W. so I've laid down a hunk of lichen at that spot.

 The Farmhouse seen from the front...

 The Watch Plant at the front of the animal pen.  Watch Plants are commonly used by farmers on Nepenthe and other parts of the Wailing Reach to guard livestock.  This relatively small specimen has been fairly recently planted and is still too small to be (much of) a threat to man-sized creatures.  Until it reaches its full size, it can still be an effective deterrent to smaller predators.

The Ulysses Gang!

...Assembled in a hurry.

...On a budget...

Ok, really lame, I know !  Whadda ya want?  I had like 2 days!

Next...It's clobberin' time!

Clay Golem

When I felt the priest's withered hands draw me from the clinging earth, I knew that I had flesh.    When I heard his voice singing softly over me, then I knew that I had ears.  I watched the moon pass nine times across the black bed of the sky as he labored over me, and that was when I knew that I had eyes to see.    one day he bade me seize a young tree, and pull it up by the roots and break it in two, and I did, and then I knew I had the might and main to smite and to slay.  He cut a rune upon my brow, and the rune was as a door.  Through the door he blew a breath, and whispered long in a strange tounge, and his speaking drifted and curled like smoke inside the stuff of me, and there it changed to something bright and hard, that burns and is watchful in me still.  He said:  "You will guard the gate."

I guarded the gate.  Sometimes the priests would come to the temple, and I would let them pass, but no others.  Sometimes not-priests would try to trespass.  I would seize and break them, and leave them bleeding in the door for the priests to find.  And the priests would come and exclaim, and the old priest would look at me and say I had done well.

The moon passed many times through the sky.  So many times did she pass, that there came a day when I could no longer count her passings.  The old Priest stopped coming.  I wondered why.  One day I thought of the men I had broken in the doorway, how they stopped walking, talking, being, when I broke them. Men can break.  I cannot.

Still I guarded the gate.  One day an army came.  They smote the walls and gates of the great city with rams and guns, and spilled through the gaping breaches into the streets, women and dogs and dishonored soldiers of the city fleeing in panic before them.  Some came near the temple gate.  These I broke, and let them lie, but I did no more.  It was my task to guard the gate, that task and no other.  After a time, they let me alone.  The city burned, the towers tumbled.  The people were dragged away.  The soldiers left.  Dogs snuffled and wailed amoung the ruins.  In time, even they were gone.  I guarded the gate.

I watch the clouds roll and climb across the sky, and  the tree-roots that creep like searching fingers among the crumbling walls year by year. Where women in bright dresses once laughed among the market stalls, now monkeys swing and scream among emerald branches.  In the halls which once echoed with the footfalls and the chanting of the priests, there is now only the drip of water, and the mumblings of the wind.

I watch the sun and moon climb and descend, climb and descend.  The birds perch upon my head and shoulders and dishonor me with their droppings.  The rain washes me, the sun dries me again... 

...I guard the gate.

Swords Against Darkness: Old School Dungeon Party #1

Great were the realms of the Kings of Law in ancient days.  Far have they fallen.  Their empire has withered, their culture has decayed.  Their descendants have been pushed against the great western ocean and here, in a narrow and constricted realm, they cling to life and to the memory of their former glory.  The lands they still control are small, overpopulated, often swept by famine and disease, hemmed in on all sides by the forces of nascent Chaos.  The armies of the latter day Kings of Law are small and weak, pale shadows of the mighty legions which broke the power of Chaos a thousand years past.  These armies are largely provincial and immobile, barely enough to hold back the darkness of encroaching Chaos, quite unable to take the offensive.  Thus it seems that the Kings of Law must finally fall.  But there is a new cult growing in the dying realms of Law.  Each year a bold and seasoned few strike out in small bands into the territory of chaos, raiding and plundering it's strongholds, laying low it's beasts and champions, waging desperate war in dark places, and often with no-one to know. 

Some are crusaders, determined to rid the realms of the threats which press upon their borders.  Others are soldiers of fortune, desperate but ambitious men hoping to carve their own tiny kingdoms out of the wilderness.  Some are seekers, scouring the ruins of the ancients for traces of lost knowledge to bring home to their dying homelands. For such men and women, often raised in abysmal poverty and the absence of hope, the thought of an anonymous death in the dark is less a source of terror than the that of a life of fruitless toil, or of the final fall of the ragged remnants of their homelands.  Careless of hardship, contemptuous of death, It is men and women such as these who daily take the fight to the powers of chaos.  If there is any hope in the world for Law and light, it must surely lie with the emerging Adventurer class.  Indeed, some dare to hope that the Adventurers are the vanguard of a renaissance which will restore the Kingdoms of Law to their former glory.  A vain hope, perhaps....but men must find hope somewhere, if they are to have any chance at all...


  

Well, here are a few representatives of the Adventurer class. I have actually really been struggling with these old lead minis...It took a long time and a lot of strippings and re-starts to get a party together that looked passable.  I don't know if it's the quality of the metal, or the smaller scale, maybe some of the details have been distorted over the decades or the dark tint of the the old lead or what but it's been hard to get them to look as nice as I'd like...much more difficult than it tends to be with figures cast more recently...

  

Grenadier Fighter and Citadel Paladin....

Grenadier Halfling Female Thief...

Grenadier Dwarf Cleric...

Our Heroes clash with a brace of Shamblers...

Citadel Wizard...really disappointed with how the face came out but from a distance he looks okay, I guess...Anyway, lots more of these still in the lead mountain, so plenty of opportunities remain to get it right.  As my collection of painted monsters grows, I hope to start throwing these adventurer types into mini dungeon skirmish campaigns...

Huzzah!

Vincent Price's House of Horror #3

 Last year (or was it the year before?) Stefano Cardoselli of Azurek Studios honored me with an invitation to help write some issues of the Vincent Price series for Blue Water Comics, and it would seem that they are finally becoming available in print.  Stefano's artwork has appeared in dozens of independent comics over the last few years and also happens to grace  the cover of  the most recent issue of Heavy Metal. He has contributed stacks of gorgeous artwork to the Weird Fantasy comics Rat's Tooth, written by your humble host, and Iron Head, co-written by your humble host.  I hope to release these titles on my own label sometime before I die.  We also have a few other projects up our sleeves...

Press bit for VP's HH #3: 

If ever you should awaken from a troubled sleep, to find yourself in a barren place….If ever you should find yourself wondering who you are, where you came from, or how you came to be running for your very life through a labyrinth of shadows and murderous beasts…If ever you come to feel that your every footfall is guided by a power and a menace which drives you toward your destruction for the sake of its own hideous amusement…

Well…

It just could be that…you’re on Black Magic TV!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 If anybody's interested, you can find issues of the Vincent Price titles for sale here at Comic Flea Market...  They are filled to burstin' with great art (much of it by Stefano), and creepy stories...

Unpleasant Dreams...

Cookie's Chuck Wagon: Thunder Mountain Dwarves' Baggage Train Pt. 1

 Not a super-exciting post, just finished painting one baggage train section for my 2,000 point Dwarf army.  I've got another 2 wagons planned as the army grows beyond 2k points, including the obligatory beer wagon...

 ...the wagon itself is by Battle Forge...their models aren't cheap, but they are beautiful, I think...

 4 of the required 5 camp followers are old Citadel pieces, 1 an old Grenadier Dwarf Master Merchant...

 "Mmm!  I love me a roasted goat, yes I do...Oh da boys'll be so happy with this yummy roasted goat, oh, my, yes..."

 "Come on, hurry up, ya cranky ol' SOB!!"  

"Ey, you talkin' to me?"  

"No, shut up, ya old goat, I'm talkin' to the horse!"

"Aw, Man!  I don't think we're where we are supposed to be at all...  Look...it shows a fork in the road here at a place called Alba Kirke...I think we were supposed to turn left...anybody remember a sign that said Alba Kirke? Fuck!  We're never gonna catch up with the column now!"

Rogue Trader Amerigo Erickson and his Henchmen

 Little is known of the life of Colonel Amerigo Erickson before he joined the Imperial Guard.  Legend tells that the young Amerigo was the last surviving member of a Necromundan gang wiped out in an ambush.  Hunted by his enemies and entirely without friends, Amerigo sought refuge in the 'safest' place he could find, the local Imperial Guard recruiting office. 

It is said that our Emperor's galaxy is a place made for hard and bitter men and Colonel Erickson proves the old saying.  Cold, calculating, inured to difficulty and defeat, Erickson soon impressed his superiors with his tough-as-nails character and the gift for small-unit leadership common to so many Necromundan ex-gangers.  Erickson somehow remained alive amidst the slaughter of the Hrud infestation of Bacchus VI, the Web-Worm invasion of Parg, and several campaigns against the forces of the Arch-Arsonist of Charadon.  Promoted again and again for remaining alive and continuing to organize and fight long after his superiors and most of his peers were dead, Amerigo soon attained the rank of senior sergeant, and finally battlefield commission to Lieutenant.  Bullying and terrorizing his way through the Imperial officer academy, Erickson returned to the guard and, before his fortieth birthday, found himself in command of the 99th Necromunda regiment.  Erickson led the regiment to destruction and victory several times over before he retired, always achieving his objectives, though his regiment exceeded 100% casualties several times during his command.  True to his ganger culture, however, Erickson always took care of those closest to him, inspiring a sort of dog-like loyalty in those who walked in his shadow. 

After retiring under a heap of honors and medals from the Imperial Guard, Amerigo applied for and received a Rogue Trader's license and a loan with which to buy a ship and hire a crew. His personal influence with the Imperial authorities must have been considerable, for he was allowed to cream off much of the best man-power of his old regiment to make up the best part of his team.  This of course, infuriated the officer who succeeded Erickson in command of the 99th Necromunda, but what could he do?  "He who carries the Imperial license stands at the right hand of God." so old bureaucrats say.

Colonel Erickson's first, (and possibly last) expedition is to an tail of stars hanging off the very bottom of the galaxy, an area known as the Wailing Reach.  The Wailing Reach is a relatively lawless frontier region currently torn by heresy and civil war, but none of this is of much concern to the mighty Amerigo.  Of very peculiar interest to him is the recent dispersal of a warp storm called the Vermillion Gate.  The gate has writhed and swirled at the edge of human space for 10,000 years, since the time of the Horus heresy, watched over by the hungry guns of the Dead Men Space Marines chapter, but recently it has faded away, it's warp-radiation readings dwindling to nothing.  Legend tells of inhabited star-systems beyond the gate, Imperial worlds cut off from the rest of the Empire when the storm appeared in the days of Horus...what is left of those derelict societies?  What weird worlds and fantastic technologies lie beyond the Vermillion Gate?

Amerigo Erickson intends to find out, and to seize and plunder his way toward his life-goal.  Amerigo has a good bit of plunder from his army days cached here and there. This, together with his Army pension, would allow him to retire reasonably comfortably, if he were inclined to retire merely comfortably.  But such a fate  is not to Amerigo's taste. 

Amerigo's dream is to spend his twilight years in a secluded fortified mansion, garrisoned by a company of comely mistresses, drinking and whoring his way to the grave with his old cronies.  Can't do that on a little savings and an army pension.  Who dares, wins, Amerigo figures.  And you can understand where he's coming from...I mean...now that I think about it, my own youth seems...ill-invested by comparison.  But there you go.  Now you know Amerigo. 

Now meet his "staff"...

Major Tomzen "Major Tom" Bovey, an old cronie of Amerigo's and until recently, the Executive Officer of the 99th Necromunda Regiment.  He remains Amerigo's 'right hand' man, as ruthless and capable as his Commander.  "Major Tom" lost his left arm in one of his last campaigns against the hordes of the Arch Arsonist of Charadon.  Never able to understand why people needed two arms anyway, Tomzen had the lost limb replaced with something way more cool...a combi-weapon system incorporating a shot-gun, a double-barreled laz-gun, and a mini-missle launcher system which functions essentially as a grenade launcher.  He can thus personally engage enemies at close, medium, long, and (with his chain-sword) hand to hand range...and...with direct or indirect fire.  Pretty cool, huh?  the Major thinks so.  Annoy him at your peril.

 Major Willem Bonn, "Billy Bonehead" to his friends, insofar as he has any.  A formidable sanctioned psyker and former Master Psyker of the 99th Necromunda.  A man only too glad to leave Imperial service and strike out anew with his old boss, Amerigo.  Fortune and glory, baby.

Lieutenant Genovia "Genni" Starker.  Nobody has been able to find any actual evidence of her ever having received an Imperial Army or Navy Commission, but Amerigo insists that she is a Lieutenant and that seems good enough for everybody else.  Her official title in the 'Trader crew is Liaison (liason to whom?) and Communications Officer.  It is true that she is a very skilled Comms manager and general problem solver, but everybody also knows that she is Amerigo's main squeeze, and questions about her role in the crew tend to trail off at about that point.

The Imperial Assassin known only by his...nome de...nome de mort?   ...which is The Nightengale.  When the Administratum commissioned Amerigo as a  Rogue Trader, they assigned The Nightengale to him,  as a...guardian...somebody to...watch over... Amerigo on his expedition.  Amerigo assured the Administratum that he did not need an assassin monitoring him, but they insisted and sent The Nightengale anyway.  Wasn't that thoughtful of them?

Captain Phineas Phibes, called "Doc Badvibes" behind his back.  Not surprisingly, Captain Phibes was the commander of the medical platoon of the 99th Necromunda, and is now Amerigo's personal doctor, a position Captain Phibes relishes, as it leaves him plenty of time for 'research' and 'experimentation', especially when there is a crop of new prisoners to work on...Captain Phibes has a particular interest in hands...perhaps a function of his own bizarrely oversized appendages...

 Upward and onward...to fortune and glory, baby!

"My Galaxy, My Rules!"

-saying widely attributed to Amerigo Erickson