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Rise of the Warlords

Spudweiser

New Member
Feb 5, 2019
8
8
18
Beat you last time.

Who is weakest - The weak? Or the...weaker ones who are weak against them. The weak, that is.

Shut up Spud.
Well said my friend.

Our tie breaker shall reveal all!!! A glorious victory for the imperium for sure.

Though according to lore I did not lose and I have already won huzzah!!!
 
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Spudweiser

New Member
Feb 5, 2019
8
8
18
That's what I love about these games. The dice make your characters do different things, so you have to adapt. I had it.in my head that Beorl was a wise but fierce old warrior. Turns out he's a prideful headstrong lunatic, who's now under a death sentence!
Me too, fun to see where things lead you and develop the narrative naturally and gives your dudes personality.

I shall be working on some for my own and see what I can come up with and share with you.
 
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Spudweiser

New Member
Feb 5, 2019
8
8
18
Far from it. I've found the Wolves tougher than some Chaos Types.
Me too but I like the banter lol. Bjorn is amazingly good and a lot of units I find are stubborn trying to remove especially with the attacks they throw out combined with strategies. @Stubram but I will win next time I’ve decided.
 
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Domino

Ganger
Jul 16, 2014
249
432
83
Wyke Road, Weymouth, Dorset
Narrative: Game 1

Winds buffeted the wastes and derelict buildings in this monument to Mon-Kiegh folly as Cabaer Morgath directed his volunteers to his planned approach for what should be a quick, clean strike against the the Astartes.
His hope was that they could relieve the Priest of his stolen relic, a fragment of life giving starlight hidden in an ancient skull. The foolish Priest knew not what he carried. The skull was from Altansar, Maugan Ra's Craft World, and possession of it may encourage the Reapers to join the cause. They needed their fire-power to assist them if they were to successfully reactivate the primary gate.
One of his Rangers approached. 'The Seers are concerned,' he reported. 'They say that this storm is reflected and magnified in the Aether and its affecting their ability to divine the available paths.'
'Request that they do their best, this is important.'
The Ranger signalled understanding and left. Calbaer continued to monitor his comms until the signal stating all was set.
He sent out a thought. One word, 'Go'.

With the winds hampering them, the Aeldari force manoeuvred with the support of the Seers, whose ability was strained by the maelstrom in the immaterium leading to ineffectual fire from the Rangers. It was the same for their foe, yet their armour which was generally stronger though cruder offered better protection.
The priest hadn't revealed himself as yet, but the Rangers started to whittle down the enemies pets, meaning they would have to rely on their own prowess for the remainder of the confrontation.
On the right flank the Warp Spiders lured the Astartes units away from where the seers reported their target was hiding. Stranding those units in no-mans land, most of the Aeldari force swept to the left whilst the Spiders continued to harass the foe in order to slow them down.

Calbaer's force was suffering heavy casualties as punishing bolter shots ripped through armour and flesh with the ease of a knife through butter.
He gave the order and his reserves revealed themselves, adding to the confusion as the Banshees charged forward, Psychosonic Amplifiers buffeting the foe with screams and wails designed to debilitate them before they were cut down by the sword. At the same time, the Scorpions struck the same target from behind, masks spitting plasma death into the hapless Blood Claws to be finished by blade and pistol.
And there he was. The Priest revealed himself...

The Fire Dragons were unable to cope with the fire-power of the Dreadnought as it quickly cut them down and proceeded to pursue the Dire Avengers.
The battle was going against them as more Aeldari forces fell with almost no impact on these power aemoured Mon-Kiegh.
'Kill the Priest now,' he sent the command even as swift machines and the enemy commander fell upon him and the Seers, forcing them to fight for their lives as the remnants of their support dwindled away. He felled the Astartes Warlord as the code came through telling him that the Banshee Exarch had succeeded.
Sending the withdraw code, he prepared to fade into the shadows and leave. Fate had other ideas though as a swift strike from a biker took him from behind...

The Banshee Exarch used all her skill to leave the field with the prize. She could feel the power of it, an affinity with death and life released from the corrupting taint and influence of the blundering Astartes.
They knew not what they had and misused it.
Now it would be cleansed in the Court by the Seers and Exarchs to ready it for purpose.
 

Stubram

Gang Hero
Jul 9, 2016
686
1,005
108
Dorset
Holy biscuit. Great write up. Love how we’ve taken a fairly minor point in the game (my priest being a bit useless and your exarch killing him and then failing her morale test. Neither of which had anything to do with the official mission) and making a whole plot out of it.

Looking forward to the next one
 

Domino

Ganger
Jul 16, 2014
249
432
83
Wyke Road, Weymouth, Dorset
Thanks.
It was a bit rushed and last minute as I have had little time on my hands to review and write up a report.
Once I get properly into the swing of the campaign, the reports and narrative will improve.
 

Domino

Ganger
Jul 16, 2014
249
432
83
Wyke Road, Weymouth, Dorset
Post battle Narrative Game 1


Calbaer had awoken on the battlefield after the Astartes had left him for dead.
He was notoriously difficult to kill and the Mon-Kiegh bikers hadn't bothered to check their handy work. As a result he checked his wounds and then scoured the battlefield for the fallen, collecting the way stones of the dead for the infinity circuit.
Others on the field that survived he assisted as best he could before leading them back to the web way. The cost had been too high, but now they knew what they were truly facing.
They would have to be cleansed.
The ground they held wrested from them by sword and shuriken fire.
They would pay in blood...


The Exarchs with guidance from the Seers performed the ritual of cleansing upon the skull, driving the taint left by the priests bungling. As the ritual progressed the sockets lit with the bright light of an ancient sun, blinding in its intensity.
The Exarch of the reaper shrine, Harvest of the Purple Heart, took the skull and appeared to pass his hand through the artefact and draw out a bright red gem that flickered with flame that had no heat.
Holding both the skull and flaming gem, the exarch silently moved to a Spiritseer and presented the gem which was ritually accepted. He then turned, holding the skull facing the direction he was heading, the Reapers falling ritually into step behind as they headed for thier Shrine...


Calbaer and his rag tag band of survivors were being tended by the healers, wounds closing and bones setting as the Psychic song manipulated their very cells into renewing themselves.
He felt vital and energetic as the pulse of khaine's heart was felt throbbing through the infinity circuit, raising the battle lust in the Craftworlds residents.
As soon as he was ready, he was going back with his strike force.
And this time he was going to destroy them...
 

Stubram

Gang Hero
Jul 9, 2016
686
1,005
108
Dorset
Battle 2 - 1000pts Space Wolves VS Aeldari

After the humiliating loss of a treasured relic, Beorl threw himself into unlocking the secrets of the alien artifact, though it disgusted him to do so. With the help of the Iron Priests, he was able to reverse engineer certain components and use them to enhance the firing mechanism and cycle rate of his stormbolter, greatly reducing the weight while increasing the accuracy and volume of fire.

This would be his penance - to use xenos tech to win back the the relic and regain his honour. After the task was complete, despite its impressive capabilities, Beorl intended to destroy the alien-infected stormbolter entirely.

Holstering his weapon; his mark of shame, he walked to where his leader was standing, deep in conversation with the captain of the hearthguard, Garret 'Storms Eye'. They stopped when he approached, their unease at being around his taint was evident. Beorl bit down his anger, knowing their aversion to him to be appropriate and proper. This too, was his penance.

'Battle Leader'. Beorl kept his greeting perfunctory. 'I have finished treating the wounded, and we will be combat ready and able to move within the hour, thought the dreadnought was badly damaged and will be out of action for some time'

'No matter. Despite our losses, the foe came off far worse. We cannot let them regroup - now is the time to push forwards. We will hound them off this rock, secure are objective, and regain that which was lost'.

Beorl nodded, parting from the two Astartes, as they split to assume their prepared positions. Marching forward join the main battle line, he noted that Garret and his pack stayed close by - another unsubtle reminder that his leader's trust in him had to be re-earned. He cared not; the foe was to the fore and he would redeem himself in blood.

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Presently, the throaty roar of bike engines could be heard. Rather then sending them forward, the scout bikers were kept back with the main advance, in order to add their weight to the assault in one decisive hammer blow against a scattered and demoralised enemy.

This oversight would prove costly.

************************

Ensconced in the Razorback, the first to suffer for the Wolves hubris was Aelfwine himself and his accompanying Blood Claws. Tank-killing Aeldari appeared from the rubble, firing short ranged melta-like weapons. The Razorback’s armour ran like water, then gave way altogether. A spear of killing heat struck the occupants of the vehicle, instantly killing the crew and two ‘Claws. Skewing to a halt, the survivors scrabbled to get clear and find cover. Too late, the fuel cells caught, and the ensuing inferno brought low three more of the hapless young bloods, leaving only their leader, Daegal Crows Feast, to stand with his lord.

Roaring forward, the bikers leapt to engage the foe, only to be blasted by deadly accurate missile fire from a nearby bunker. Enemies came from all sides, in far greater force than their recent near-annihilation should have allowed.

With a terse order, Beorl gave command to his wolves, who leapt to corral further Aeldari reinforcements at the cost to their lives. They were buying time, nothing more.

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Aelfwine and Daegal were fighting on, but they were heavily outnumbered. Aelfwine was struck heavily and fell to one knee. Daegal surged forward, trying to protect his Lord as Beorl finally caught up and grabbed the wounded Jarl.

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‘We’ve been out manoeuvred! Back! Back and regroup!’

Under covering fire of the Fangs and Intercessors, the remaining Harour withdrew, a painful lesson learned.
 
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Stubram

Gang Hero
Jul 9, 2016
686
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Dorset
Battle 2 – Wolves VS Aeldari – Post Battle Narrative

In the dark of the command tent, Aelfwine brooded. Twice now, the aliens had outmanoeuvred him. Twice, since landing on this accursed rock, had the Harour Stjornandi warband suffered the ignominy of defeat.

He rolled a shimmering crystal in his fingers. The Rune Casters claimed that it resonated with psychic echo, and that the xenos believed it was some kind of spiritual lodestone. Aelfwine’s lip curled in contempt, exposing the extended canines that were the legacy of his people. Such weak-willed religious nonsense sickened him. He was minded to destroy each one he plucked from the body of a slain enemy, but the Speakers Of the Dead had insisted they be harvested; the importance the Aeldari placed on these trinkets created some kind of psychic resonation, they said. A spoor which the Gifted amongst the Harour could lock on to and track.

Whilst the idea of magicks and the otherworld repulsed him, Aelfwine was a hunter; the preeminent tracker of his race, and understood at least the principle of locating an enemy through their scent, even if, as in this case, the scent was warp-touched. And so all such crystals had been torn from the bodies of the slain enemy and handed to the Rune Priests.

All, except the one Aelfwine now held in his hand. Aelfwine had kept it for himself as wergild; blood price. It was from the xenos that had struck him low, that had snuck past his defences as its cowardly brethren battered him with their biting blades and death-spitting masks.

Down to one knee and bleeding from that deceitful thrust, with his battered storm shield held above his head fending off blow after blow, Aelfwine had expected to die then. It was the priest, Beorl, atoning for his own loss of honour, who had saved him. He had dragged Aelfwine up, pulling him back.

With a last desperate backswing of his ancient axe, the wounded battle leader had slain the Aeldari who had injured him, who had shamed him. In a battle-rage, he had surged forward one last time into those biting blades, ripping the shimmering stone from the chest of his foe even as he fell. A final revenge.

It cast a strange light in the gloom of the tent, offering Aelfwine’s sharp features a sickly cast. It seemed to pulse, almost aware. The veteran wolf could at least acknowledge why a backwards alien culture would believe this bauble held the souls of the departed, primitive nonsense though it may be.

Holding it close to his eye, Aelfwine wished for a moment that the myth was true, that there was a sentience in the crystal, and that it knew its killer held it within his hands. It would have offered the battle leader some small satisfaction as he crushed the stone in his fist.
 
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