Greetings! Somewhat new to the forums. I was formerly a menite, but for some reason I found I was actually more into trollbloods than the fanatics Timely that my friend was getting rid of his Trollbloods warpack, and I took it as a sign.
Me and my gaming buddies in our area decided to put a few twists in our WM/H games but using our own setting. It was still in the IK, still Hordes/WM, but rather it's more focused on our homebrew characters etc. we know it ain't exactly official, but it kept games more interesting as our own fluff grew after each game
anyhow, enough with the long intro. Here's part one of my take on our campaign, detailing the fate of Madrak's emissaries further to the North and deeper into Khadoran territory. Forgive and fluff contradictions whatsoever, I didn't have any Force/Rulebooks with me at the time of writing
The Living Night, pt. 1
One of the oldest of Khardic folk legends speaks of a dark force that roams the dreaded peaks of the frozen North. It is said that there lurks beasts of unspeakable cruelty and strength that none had ever dared to dwell into such dangerous territory. Those foolish enough to tempt the wrath of the crags? infinite night have suffered fates far worse than death, and survivors of such encounters were relatively unheard of. Some claim these tales to be true, while most dismiss them as nothing but a tavern drunk?s ramblings.
At the mouth of the vale, that stretch of rock and snow shrouded by eternal darkness, the Khadoran patrol group cornered what remained of the Trollkin force. The pursuit had gone for a full tenday, but now it seemed the Khadorans could finally lay the story to rest. A score of pikemen, around ten in number, and backed by fifteen more winter guardsmen, closed in on the stragglers. A champion, bringing both weapons to bear, swung defiantly and ripped apart two guardsmen foolish enough to get within striking range. A few feet away from the struggling champion was a horribly beaten long rider, his shaggy mount bleeding from several wounds on its side, and the rider himself clutching a grievous slice across the chest. Covering the longrider?s retreat was a slugger who was down to his last ammo belt, firing away with abandon and felling three guardsmen in the process. Accompanying the heavy gunner was the last remaining fennblade of the entire group, keeping the pikemen at bay. If they were to die now, they might as well die with honor.
One Iron Fang managed to duck under the berserk champion?s swipe and land a solid hit. The troll?s plate mail deflected most of the blow, thank Dhunia. But the polearm was designed to rip through thick warjack steel with their explosive tips, and thus sent the champion flying a good ten feet away and against the cold mountain face. The troll crumbled into a motionless heap as his companions rushed to his side. The Khadorans saw this as the perfect moment to press the advantage.
The fennblade let out a roar and raised his heavy sword, cleaving one of the pikemen in twain before he himself was taken down and overwhelmed by winter guardsmen, drowned in a flurry of boots and hilts. The slugger took aim and pulled the trigger, but that click, the dreaded sound of an empty chamber, sent unholy shivers down his spine. The gunner let out a curse and threw the cumbersome weapon aside. The trollkin drew his axe and braced for the coming rush. He dodged the first pike that lunged at him and grabbed hold of the polearm, pulling the wielder forward. He clutched the man by the throat and slapped the Iron Fang?s shield aside, hacking away at the man?s midsection and spilling shards of metal and innards all over the blanket of frost. Throwing the listless corpse aside he ran towards a new victim, but immediately found himself skewered through the shoulder and the belly.
The long rider?s mount had succumbed to blood loss and lay on the snow on the verge of death, leaving the rider to fight on foot. His garish cut sapped him of strength, leaving him a much less-effective fighter. A trio of winter guard rushed him with axes bared. The dragoon raised his shield to block the strike of the first guardsmen and swung his axe to intercept the blade of the second. Realizing that the third could easily come and finish him off, he surged forward and threw the Kahdorans off their feet. He stomped at the trooper lying before him, crushing ribs beneath his boot. The guardsman let out a scream, a muted gurgle of blood, thrashing and hopelessly punching at the troll?s armored leg before going still. Making quick work of his first opponent, he immediately swung his axe at the next guardsman, cutting the man?s nape open just as he was about to get up. The guard fell on his face, groaning. The trollkin knight, continuing his rampage, set off to finish the last of the trio when he felt a great searing pain on his side and slumped to the ground. The winter guardsman had managed to draw his blunderbuss before the trollblood could go in for the kill.
They should have just let us die with honor, the champion thought with pure hate. In a matter of minutes, the trollkin, who were gravely injured but nonetheless alive, were rounded up and forced to their knees. One Iron Fang, a few winters older than the rest, stepped forward and knelt to meet the champion?s hateful glare. This one?s the leader of the pack, the trollkin assumed. And the aged warrior meant to question us.
?Why are you blue-skinned toads trespassing into Khadoran territory?? the man started with the long rider.
The creature gasped as his wounds throbbed. The long rider afforded a cough laced with blood, but not an answer. The Iron Fang veteran struck the hurting trollkin across the head with the shaft of his pike before moving on to interrogate his next prisoner.
?Answer me or I will have you gutted and quartered right here, filth.? the man snarled at the slugger.
?Keep your mouth shut before I do the same to you.? The heavy gunner growled. The man was old, no doubt about it, but still had the vigor of youth. He kicked the slugger full in the face and sent the trollkin crashing to the ground.
?I tire of this.? The Iron Fang called one his subordinates. ?Gather these dogs. You men,? he pointed at the Winter Guard to his right. ?I want a firing line here in one minute. Make sure you aim well. These animals do not deserve the generosity of our rounds.?
The trollkin seethed and shrank with fear and disgrace at the same time. The champion looked to his friends. ?We have failed or chieftain.? He whispered, shaking his scarred head. The four of them stared off into the shadows of the crags, a part of them wondering?and hoping?that the salvation Madrak Ironhide had been seeking in the gods-forsaken North had not been for naught.
The men lined up and raised their cannons, each soldier aiming for the head. The aged pikeman glanced his captives a wolfish grin as he started his countdown. The trollkin could do nothing more but to accept the cruel hand fate had dealt them. But the human?s mirth died before he could even finish uttering the last number. The earth suddenly began to tremble, and the from the pitch black of the mountain?s void a hundred blue orbs flared like torches. It was as if the night had seemingly come to life.
more to come ^_^ thanks!