Landmarks of Three Bridges: Summer Bridge

 Sitting as it does over three branches of the River Tarr, the town of Three Bridges is divided into thirds. The northeastern third, now referred to as the Whispering District, or more commonly Ghasthame, was ruined in the Ghoul War and remains uninhabited. Connecting the still-occupied northwestern third to Ghasthame is the Summer Bridge, oldest and most storied of the town's bridges.

Whereas the town's other bridges were designed entirely to be functional, Summer Bridge is a marvel of Sinian engineering from the old empire's golden years. Easily fifty feet wide it crosses a point at which the riverway opens into a hollow in the ground which spans some hundreds of feet. Designed to be more than a mere road, the bridge is lined with buildings on both sides - dwellings and commercial - and ornately decorated. It was to all intents and purposes its own district of the town, whose residents were moderately wealthy folk such as successful merchants, famous entertainers and high-calibre tradesmen. In its glory days the bridge sported elaborate hanging gardens on either side of the street and grand planters which hung over the sides of the bridge. On summer evenings the bridge was closed to wheeled traffic and became a social gathering point, hence the name. The couple of taverns which sat on the bridge were allowed to open up into the street and residents of the town could enjoy long, warm nights under the gentle stars and the fragrance of jasmine and honeysuckle.

Were times less grim, the townsfolk would no doubt take pains to explain that despite its name the bridge was not just a place of merriment in summer. Winter saw the hanging gardens replaced with hundreds of lanterns - thanks to the combined skill of the local Metallurgists Guild members and the perfumiers of nearby Ghantorstin, these burned with a myriad of colours and delightful scents.

Regrettably, those days have passed and the bridge and its buildings now sit abandoned. During the Ghoul War, the town was evacuated for a short period before being reclaimed but in order to secure the surviving parts of the town against further incursion the bridge had to be sealed off at either end and a quarantine zone enforced on the inhabited side of the river. As a result of damage sustained during the war the bridge has begun its slide into dilapidation with buildings starting to collapse and the gardens at one and the same time being overgrown and withered.

While it was long known that Summer Bridge was the oldest part of the town, the original reasons for the bridge's construction were a mystery. Recently, however, the famed playboy scholar and treasure-seeker Zarathustra d'Jons discovered, whilst researching for a prospective venture, a forgotten Sinian scroll which described the bridge's origins. Presenting his discovery to the prestigious and influential Knowledgeable and Inquisitive Society of the Encyclopaedic Freethinksmen, he wrote:

 "It would appear that the curiosity known locally as 'Summer Bridge' was built on the ruins of a far older dwarfish structure. While the scroll's author remains maddeningly ambiguous about a great many details, it seems that the dwarfs discovered a route to the Underland beneath the river which led to a great seam of gems, through which ran strands of a unique metal, light, strong and possessed of an unearthly emerald glow. With the mind-boggling ingenuity which only ever strikes a dwarf when there are riches just out of reach, they temporarily drained the river (via a cunning yet colossal mechanical device which I am led to believe still sits in the hills upriver of the town, although by now calcified into the very rock itself) and constructed a watertight tower over the entrance so that when the river was returned to its natural course the seam would still be accessible.

However - and the scroll's author is ignorant of the finer details here - it was not only surface dwarfs who were drawn to the strange metal and some terrible calamity befell the luckless miners, causing them to seal up the tower and abandon the area. Some time later, with the tower little more than an eroded stalagmite, human settlers decided to use its remains as the foundation for an overwater settlement - a decision which has proven to be wise since the town is reputed to have become a minor jewel in the Sinian crown, at least until the tragic events of the war."

News of d'Jons' discovery has reached the town and generated more than a little interest. The fact that someone of fame and repute has taken an interest in their town has caused an upswell in civic pride and, regardless of the fact that there are no records of him having ever visited Three Bridges, has caused d'Jons to become something of a cult hero. Tales of his swashbuckling and romantic exploits are currently very popular, although the claim that his motto is Vidi, Vici, Veni is probably just a local urban legend.

Recently a group calling themselves The First Bridge Privateers has presented to Meister v'Embersburg an ambitious plan to reclaim and reopen the bridge. 

Locations of the Tallowlands: Three Bridges

Formerly a southern town in the Sinian Empire, Three Bridges is now one of the northernmost settlements within the Tolerance of Crows. Its strategically useful position on a junction in the river Tarr meant that it has always been a significant trading post; with the coming of the Ghoul War it became a key bastion of resistance, and in the years subsequent it has begun to have use as a stable entry point to the Charred Lands for adventurers and treasure-seekers. While historically a human settlement, in common with all places of commerce the people of Three Bridges are used to seeing, and tolerant of, many other races.

Three Bridges has for the most part had a peaceful existence. Prior to the Ghoul War its only significant time of strife was a brief period of apostasy precipitated by Hanvard the Confectioner releasing the Everlasting Godstoppers from his gingerbread laboratory. All known copies of the recipe are believed to have been destroyed in the subsequent purge.

During the Ghoul War, Three Bridges was briefly overrun and abandoned before being reclaimed by an allied force of humans from the surrounding regions and dwarfs from further west. Thanks to the foresight of the then-Meister Turnagain Harrowfoot, the town's population had been evacuated to safety and many of the original inhabitants were able to return and repopulate the town.

The town sits across all three branches of the river - hence the name Three Bridges - and as a consequence connects the lands on all sides of the river. The northeastern third of the town was sacked during the war and remains mostly ruined, while the northwestern and southern thirds are effectively fully habitable. 

One outcome of the Ghoul War was that the Sinian Empire's southmost provinces - which today border the Tolerance - became either assimilated into existing foreign kingdoms or were claimed by refugees and petty warlords as independent realms. The lands of three such factions reach as far as Three Bridges, namely House Makazor, the Orderly Brotherhood of the Reclamation, and the Unbegotten Conclave. Were times more secure it is certain that lordship over Three Bridges would be the subject of extensive and probably violent dispute between these three factions. However, the precariousness of the entire region has forced all three into a compromise accord, whereby commitments have been given from all parties to not attack the town, which is left to operate independently. The Meister of the town is expected to provide a militia for the town's security - incursions by horrors from the north are a regular feature of life so close to the Charred Lands - and is bound by strict agreements to show no favour to any one of the town's neighbours. Truly equal treatment is in reality an impossible task and while it is unlikely that any of the bordering regions will overtly attempt to take over the town, there is a constant shadow war for influence. The current Meister is Reijard v'Embersburg.

The town is located near a major entrance to the Underland. Sitting high up in the Eagle's Claw Mountains (which become the Greyspire Mountains in the east), this entry point used to be controlled by goblin tribes. However, the Ghoul War devastated underlands and overlands alike and the goblins were driven out of the area. In recent times, along with wandering terrors, Skaven have started to infiltrate the locality and have found their way south to the town. The local branch of the Ratcatcher's Guild, as always closely aligned with the town's sewer engineers and a small group of dwarf miners who have remained in the town as part of a treaty, has to date been very successful in preventing the Skaven from being any more than a nuisance. It is, though, a matter of growing concern that Skaven activity appears to be increasing. Latterly, the underground workers have reported hearing strange sounds from deep below the sewers, though rumours that goblins - vastly preferable to the Skaven - have returned to the area are as yet unsubstantiated.

Closer still to the town is the Bleakwood, a dense forest which has always been a source of local fear and legend. In the days of the Sinian Empire it was merely a geographical bogeyman, mostly left alone by the townspeople and used as a source of tales to encourage small children to behave. Since the Ghoul War, adventurers who have escaped alive from the Charred Lands as well as townspeople who have had reason to travel within sight of the forest have brought back stories of disturbing creatures seen moving within the trees. It has not gone unnoticed that the forest was not killed off by the dark forces which powered the war and this fact has discouraged many from venturing near the place.

Another nearby place of note is Steepacre, which has for many years been something of a competitor to Three Bridges as it sits on the only truly reliable pass through the Eagle's Claw Mountains. Whilst its location high in the mountains undoubtedly saved Steepacre from the worst of the war's ravages, it seems that the surrounding desolation has hurt the town even more than it did Three Bridges.

Next to Steepacre is Hollow Mountain, home to the Ghoul King. There has been some confusion over whether the Ghoul King was responsible for the Ghoul War, but most reputable scholars agree that he had no involvement and was just as threatened by the tide of destruction has anyone else. However, bizarre and unnatural occurrences have been noted around Hollow Mountain of late, and one must inevitably conclude that the King has once again risen. His motivations are currently unknown. 

North of the Eagle's Claw Mountains lie the ruins of Borhalphiston, formerly a regional capital within the Sinian Empire. Known for its vast library and its graveyard district (the Valley of Inverse Pyramids), it is a magnet for adventurers although virtually none who venture there have ever returned.

Just beyond the Bleakwood, on a plateau in the mountains, sits Castell Davarill. Its origins are now unknown, as is the reason for it having been built in such a fiendishly inaccessible location - there is no indication of any adjacent settlement ever having been present - but stories remain of it possessing an enchanted rose garden of unearthly beauty. The castle was abandoned for many centuries, but it is known that at an unspecified point a secretive community of elves has taken up residency there. Their nature and purposes can only be guessed at. The fact that the castle itself is certainly not of elvish origin while elves as a rule do not care for other races' dwellings only adds to the mystery.

A number of notable groups or individuals have passed the town's orbit within living memory. These include:

- King Ormisruin and his knights from the fallen nation of Hilgoth passed the town in their search for a new home. Having made camp in fields to the town's south, the sad sight of the worn and faded banners moved many townsfolk to donate food and other supplies to the king's followers before they departed. The townspeoples' unexpected kindness is unlikely to have been forgotten by the sons of Ormisruin.

- Nathaniel Hultz has been sighted multiple times. It is believed that his plans to establish a colony within the Charred Lands may have come to fruition, although murmurs have begun to emerge that he has returned to the area seeking to recover an artefact which he was previously forced to abandon. 

- Father Torpal is known to be active in the area seeking converts to the worship of Rorralarach. 

Getting the band together

The band made history when they became the first non-Orcs to perform at the Waaaghken festival

It is all but guaranteed that any civilised settlement will possess within its boundaries at least one tavern, hostel or other such communal centre. These are places for locals and travellers to gather, drink and, of course, sing.

Many inns will allow - encourage, even - skilled bards and minstrels to entertain the patrons. Happy customers spend more freely and if the musician is even halfway competent then the least they can expect in return is food and lodgings for the night.

Of course, in an age in which news travels swiftly only for those with coin to tempt it, most folk rely on the accumulated knowledge of history to guide their decisions and give them hope in lean times. The "oral tradition" scholars call it, but this diminishes the spiritual depth of joining one's voice to a choir which stretches back generations and keeps fresh the wisdom earned by those who are long since departed.

On occasion, talented individuals will group together in performing troupes, roaming the lands seeking fame and, more than this, fortune.

Such a band emerged from the foothills of Jeldenburg and has since proven worthy of a mention in the chronicles of the Tallowlands...

 Founding members

Anbeth Willowbrook

A daughter of the Oakleafen, Willowbrook is an accompanist par excellence. Had she been born to human or dwarfen parents her talents would almost certainly have been lauded and nurtured. However, the wood elves are a more self-centred folk and respect only the virtuoso and the soloist. Therefore her sympathetic and collective approach was sneered at and considered somewhat inferior.

After a time, Willowbrook came to realise that she would never find musical fulfillment within the boughs of Oakhall and undertook to depart the forest, never to return until her music was considered fit for the halls of lords and nobles.

This happened within a week.

After leaving Oakhall, she travelled west towards Jeldenburg. On her first night in human lands she arrived at the town of Yuldpass where, purely by chance, she met Horst vander Jeld, royal minstrel to the Demiprince Arnhuus. He invited her to join him in performing at the tavern that evening; after the opening, unrehearsed song he insisted that she perform with his troupe at the palace the following evening.

Despite being a little suspicious she agreed and was stunned to discover how highly humans valued her skill at weaving rhythms for the other musicians to work with. She remained in residence at the palace for a number of weeks - unsure of whether she could really return return to Oakhall so soon, or if she even wanted to - until one day she met Helen Highwater and chose to join her in the wandering life.

It is unclear whether Anbeth is her true name or a pseudonym to help her avoid the stigma of association with the belligerent Oakleafen when in human lands.

 

Helen Highwater

A gnome from the near East, Highwater travelled the Jeldenburg circuit for some time before her meeting with Anbeth Willowbrook. Despite her stature she has a strong and charming voice which, coupled with her easy humour and excellent sense of timing, makes her an ideal frontwoman for the band.

She is not the most capable lyrist, but in truth she plays it only to help her stay in tune when the crowd gets rowdy.

 Tomlin Picc

Picc was only supposed to be passing through Jeldenburg when he heard that Willowbrook and Highwater were looking for musicians to join their group. He had seen Highwater performing two nights previously and been impressed, so sought them out.

 

His playstyle is heavier than the classical tradition would dictate, partly as a result of spending considerable time playing with a dwarfen troupe from the hold of Kanderbad - in order to keep up with the horns he learned to modulate his own volume and use the echoes inherent in dwarfhall acoustics to boost his sound when playing melody.

 

It is a point of some interest that he is one of the few humans to have had his playing recorded. Recording music, as everyone knows, requires vast magical resources (not only for the recording, but also the listening) and in practice is available only to a few extremely wealthy dwarfs.  During his time in Kanderbad he worked on a few sessions for the legendary Pol Makka when he was recording the groundbreaking Band on the Rune.

 

 

 

 

 Rei Barleysheaf

Last of the founding members to join, Barleysheaf was heard by Willowbrook playing flute while she waited for a stagecoach out of town. Her ethereal manner of playing provides a new dimension for the band and allows them to explore some less boisterous musical avenues.

Joining the band represented a significant upturn in her professional fortunes - the stagecoach she was waiting for was to take her home, having run out of money. This was partly due to her having adopted the stage name Rei Gunne, which left audiences and critics baffled. Since joining the band, however, she has flourished and her distinctive manner of playing is now recognisable across the lands.

Inexplicably popular with male crowds.

 

Later members

 

Rhuston Va

An ex-rogue, his thieving days came to an abrupt halt when he was struck by a runaway cart while crossing the road ("I used to be an adventurer, but then I took a barrow to the knee"). In need of alternative work, he discovered that dextrous fingers were well employed in playing the mandolin.

Confident by nature, he is an excellent sidekick to the egregious Helen Highwater and a well-matched foil for the more understated Anbeth Willowbrook.

His signature style is to play using the neck of a glass bottle or an appropriately-sized bone from a vanquished foe (or, more likely, last night's chicken dinner). This is a technique he first encountered during the band's brief but eventful stay with Clan Morris.

As an aside, this model was an early attempt at using the grisaille method of painting.

Profile: Alaster of Meici’s Trail

The fall of the Sinian Empire saw many denizens of the southern reaches escape across the border into the Southern Fiefdoms. Most fled only when the tides of catastrophe broke on their doorsteps, hurriedly leaving their homes behind, carrying the few possessions they could snatch up in haste.

A lucky few left sooner, either through canny foresight or pure coincidence. Among their number was Alaster. A professional lockpick by trade, by sheer fortune he was abroad working on behalf of the Locksmiths' Guild when his homeland was laid to waste. As news of the unfolding disaster reached the Southern Fiefdoms it became clear that he had no hope of returning. Like many others at that time he joined Meici's Trail, the vast refugee caravan which wound through the towns and villages between the dark fief of Wallovia and the sea.

Leaving the Trail after a dispute, Alaster determined to rebuild his life. He travelled west towards Narya in the hopes of resuming his association with the Guild. En route he encountered an old contact who hired him - along with an eclectic band of rogues and wanderers - to perform a dangerous but lucrative job.

Discovering that his skills were well suited to the adventuring life, Alaster soon warmed to life on the road with his new companions. As well as being a lockpick by trade - and an extremely good one at that - he quickly learned to shoot with some aptitude and became integral to his group's successes.

In the course of his roaming Alaster has reacquainted himself with the Guild, who are themselves very keen to retain him as an affiliated professional.

Most recently, he has been seen putting to sea with an elf, a dwarf and a...nother elf. It is rumoured that they are hunting a kraken, although their possible reasons for wishing to do so are, to most people, entirely unfathomable.

 Heroes of the Goretide

Now, a blood cult of mighty warriors wouldn't really be complete without at least a few... mighty warriors, would it?

A barbarian horde wouldn't really be a compelte without adequate representation of the whole community. After all, history is full of badass warrior women, and as "Khorne cares not from where the blood flows", I'm sure theres no care given as to the gender of whomever shed it either. Unfortunately the range of Bloodbound warriors is a little short of female representation. 

Happily the Stormcast range is ripe for pilfering. Thanks to my local Warhammer store having a birthday, and the manager being a jolly decent chap, I managed to get my hands on just the right model... and heavily converted it to suit my purposes. 

meet Annie Kuhlsdaughter, Exalted Deathbringer of the Goretide

A mighty warrior maiden of the Tallowlands Goiretide, Annie such a ferocious and formiddable opponent that she is rumoured to be the daughter of the legendary hero Korghos Khul. This is a possibility, Korghos Khul was in the Tallowlands the season that Roralarach shared the sky with Lady Lisu turning the sky pink as The Lady's protection countered The Rage of Roralarach. On this rare occurrence it is possible for those who were under the thrall of the goretide to be subverted by Shala, the goddess of fertility, not for nothing is the rare event known as The moons of Lust. No one has been able to varify Annie's parentage, but the title has stuck and she seems to be doing a good job of living up to it.   
 

 modelling notes: Yet again I dug into the citadel skulls set for basing details, as you've no doubt noticed I've done with most of my heroes, after making a nice flat topped slate rock out of milliput. I then removed the cloak, loincloth, spaulders, and stomcast details from Larissa Shadowstalker, and replaced her spear tip with the most appropriate daemon blade from the fantastic selection in the wrathmonger/skullreaper set, and replaced her stormcast back symbol with a nice rack of skulls, again from the skullreaper set. All that was left was some greenstuff detailing on the armour plates to bring it into line with the other bloodbound heroes. 

I decided that painting her with a bare midriff, rather than a full torso sculpted breastpalte, would not only give her a badass set of abs that the most elite crossfitter would be jealous of, but, it'd be much more in keeping with the barbarian feel of the other semi-naked bloodbound heroes. 

Her Impaling Spear is magnetised at the wrist, because it'd have such a minimal chance of surviving a trip...anywhere... if that flimsy piece of plastic was glued at such a tangental angle to the rest of the model. it also means that it just pops off if it gets caught on anything, rather than breaking.   

 Heroes of the Goretide

You have a flag to follow, you have a spiritual leader to excite your devotees and rouse them into a frenzy, so how do you control and guide these frothing loonies if they start running in the wrong direction?

With a multi chorded whip of course!

enter Flengnir the Herdsman, Bloodstoker of the Goretide. 

This one is just a great model. He's fat and he's nasty, briutal and mutillated, there to flog your own  troops as much as the enemy, the fantasy equivalent of a Commissar... with a really sadistic twist. 

I love this model, and following suggestions to fully embrace the dabbled with Norse theme, I went with the bright blond hair, which was quite enjoyable to do. 

I've not yet fielded this chap in Age of Sigmar, because I'm still working on a Skulltake Battalion for him to lead, but the other bloodstoker I painted (who ended up pale and ginger) was a lot of fun to play in both Silver Tower and Gorechosen. 

 Heroes of the Goretide

What does any community, or cult, need? 

A spiritual leader, A mighty priest. 

Father Torpal, Slaughterpriest, Spiritual leader of the Goretide.

Having painted both slaughterpriest variants for my Gorechosen set, I decided that I wanted a slight variation, to enhance the model with a feel of more wizdom, more menace, more power... I also had a spare head from the aspiring deathbringer with impaling spear, and I've always been a fan of Rob Zombie I figured that the Hellbilly leading my rampaging horde of frothing maniacs down from the hills would be a fitting tribute. it just took a bit of trimming and a few whisps of greenstuff hair and the work was done. 

In painting this I was, again, playing with the skin technique and vibrant red effects. It needed a bit of a contrast and I felt the grey hair would add a touch of authority and wisdom to the model. The eyes are deliberately white (again as a tribute to the Hellbilly Deluxe cover) because they give the impression of a trance or ritual as he communes with his god offering up the sacrifice he's just made, with his blood drenched wrath hammer, in the hopes of a boon.

 Heroes of the Goretide.

Where to start when chronicling the mighty heroes leading the Goretide accross the Plains of Skulldonia whenever the red moon shines?

With the strongest?

With the most notorious?

With the most visible?

With a Flag! Everyone loves a good flag, and you need a flag to follow into battle!

Thus I present Sigurd the Totoem Bearer Bloodsecrator of the Goretide. 

A fun model to paint, this one was a trial of a skin technique recommended by Apologist (of course I did my own variation on the suggestion, which is why I got quite different results), I like it and have stuck with this style on the heroes I've done so far. I was also playing around with the reds, attempting to get a shiny blood droplet effect on the totem its self, to contrast with the white bone surround. 

Sigurd was instrumental in combatting the machinations of Nathaniel Hultz and his minions of the Changer, the mighty totem of Roralarach proving to be the bane of wizards, whilst whipping the reavers of the Goretide into a fighting frenzy. 

Profile: ‘Ardnog Squigtamer

 

"An DIS little squiggy goes RARRGNASHCHOMPBLARRRRG all da way 'ome."

Hailing from the Grotonnian satellite township of Gnashville, Squigtamer is a rare example of a genuine goblin success story. He made his fortune as a highly successful squig trainer, with some dozens of champion gnasher squigs emerging from his stables. Having amassed significant wealth on the face-eating circuit* he came to the attention of the king of Grotonnia and now oversees the royal stable on those occasions when the king does not like, trust or remember the name of the official Royal Squig-herd.

His days as an active trainer are largely behind him and the majority of his time is now dedicated to his popular Gnashcar team.

A point of some interest to scholars of Grotonnian lore - all two of them - is that the word 'Nog' is in fact dwarfish and has no roots in any branch of the goblin language. Such nomenclature is highly unusual in goblin society and considering the historic animosity between goblins and dwarfs is normally intended as an insult. In this instance it is unclear which party is expected to take the most offence.

*The famed Orc face-eating contests require a constant supply of squigs. Enterprising goblin hustlers will sometimes challenge Orcs to eat their squigs, on the basis that if the squig wins then the goblin gets to keep all the deceased Orc's possessions. Such goblins have an extremely short life expectancy, but those who survive invariably become exceptionally rich.

The Celestial Navigation of the Tallowlands

In common with many pocket planes, the Tallowlands are not bound to a particular realm. Occupying, as it does, a fold in realmspace, the world drifts on the ether-currents in the vast sky-ocean between the realms.

It is unknown how the world came to exist detached from the Great Spheres, but travellers through the realmgates occasionally bring rumours of other such worlds floating in their own autonomous pouch of existence.

Scholars have devoted years - lifetimes, even - of study to codifying the exact nature of the world's relationship with the surrounding cosmos. The most widely-accepted theory was first proposed by the great cosmochronologician von Marrison in his seminal treatise Astralle Weekes:

"That the realms are mighty cannot be questioned. But none sits so far above the rest that it can capture this world of ours for its own. Instead we travel an infinite circuit between the realms, sharing in the powers of each as we pass near.

Seasons hinge on our proximity and facing; indeed, as one side of the world turns away from a realm, another side shows itself to the sphere. Thus, as we face, say, Ghyran, do our forests bloom and our orchards blossom. Then, as our attention turns to Hysh we find our days stretch on in unbroken hours."

In short, it appears that the world's position between the realms directly causes its seasons and climates. This idea was expanded by the lizardman philosopher Tinkenhat in his sandstone carvings - now fully eroded but quoted at length by de Robilant in his Histories: 

"To us they seem so near as to be moons yet to them we are but a distant speck, a tiny fly in a barrel of ointment*"

The notion that the moons of the Tallowlands are in fact other realms is intriguing and explains why the normally-inert realmgates thrum with vitality when particular moons are in the ascendency and the magical forces fluctuate with the lunar tides.

As a side note, a small handful of goblin tribes are known to chase the various moons across the Tallowlands in the belief that, were they to catch one of them, they would achieve immeasurable power. This theory does suggest that these excessively insane greenskins are, rather disconcertingly, right.

*This last metaphor is likely de Robilant's own addition - flies in Tinkenhat's home jungle are rarely less than fist-sized, and lizardmen have no known concept of ointment.

Painting progress: Hilgoth

 A new faction, sort of!

I have always wanted to paint Bretonnians, although obviously Bretonnia doesn't exist in the Tallowlands and never has done. The faction background will be posted at a later date, i.e. when I have written it.

  

 I have started with the glorious mid-2000's Questing Knights because why not start with the best? First three knights painted. Bases to follow - I will be using milliput for these, which is a new experience for me and I want to practice on some lesser knights first...

  

                            Four symbols for the musician. Bonus points if you can spot the fifth.

 

 

 

The two unpainted shields will be done in the colours of the musician and the (as yet unpainted) other non-champion model. The champion can make his own arrangements.

 

A little advertising for the PCRC.

Hope you like them.

Painting progress: Grotonnia

 WAAAAAAAAAAGH!

Faction: House Oakleaf

Lady Amberjill

An old noble house from the south-western reaches of Acheall*, whose groves encircle the largest frith-geard in all the Elven lands. Despite the harmony of their homeland, the Aclēafen are highly militarised and more aggressive than many of their neighbours. While long-established trade routes with human settlements (most notably Jeldenburg and Mirrorkeep) have maintained the House’s coffers even when other elves saw their resources dwindle, the Aclēafen have little fondness for humans, dwarves, or even many other elves, and have historically been swift to capitalise on any weakness shown by peoples whose lands border their own.

When the Felltide struck Acheall, the Aclēafen were the first House to send assistance to the northern boughs. Although they remain disliked by many of the wood-elf nations, it has never been denied that their unflinching defence was most likely what saved Acheall from being entirely destroyed before outside aid belatedly arrived.

Magic permeates much of the Aclēafen land (although this is not unusual around Acheall) and many faerie-dells and feysprings can be found in their territory. Whilst technically outside of the elven military structure, and strictly speaking not subjects of the Lord or Lady of the House, the spellweavers of the land are bound closely to the House through ancient pacts of protection and will not hesitate to fight alongside the House’s soldiers to protect their lands.

The current highborn is Lady Amberjill Vala Aclēafen.

*Which many of the peasant races know as "Oakhall".

Faction: Heralds of the New Dawn

 

Checkers, chestplates and...some sort of chocobo.

The Heralds of the New Dawn are a minor sect of Primaris Bretonnians who believe that the best way to gather followers for their god is through highly visible acts of valour and public exhortations of the faithful. Whilst lacking somewhat in subtlety, their willingness to deliver actual practical aid to those in need has made them - and by extension their patron - extremely popular in the area around their stronghold of Szarno.

The fall of Wallovia

The tale I tell is one of woe, of blackest deeds and divine retribution. Long ago, the kingdom of Wallovia waxed mightily, its armies strong of arm, its forges burning night and day. Wallovia’s people were industrious, hardy, dour and serious folk. Jesters, clowns and travelling players learned to avoid the kingdom, given the Wallovians’ lack of interest in frivolity. Its ruling class kept to themselves and while outwardly they appeared noble and possessed of martial virtues in abundance, over generations of courtly intrigue family trees became dense and tangled, with cousin marrying cousin. This bred into the royal line a terrible temper that when provoked could rage like a burning fire and leave only ashes in its wake. 

Despite its wealth and power, Wallovia was at a crossroads for the new king, formerly Prince Valentine of the Western Marches, had spent much of his life abroad, travelling the realms and learning of the new ways, until his father’s untimely death forced him to return and assume the crown. His attempts to reform the kingdom sat ill with much of his subjects, for many and old were the traditions that they clung to. 

All too often, the young King would propose a grand new project only to be told by the priests and priestesses of Mortaine — the God of Death — that the ancestor-spirits advised against it. Always they gave sage council, for in truth Valentine knew little of his kingdom. He knew even less of the floods and storms that struck once every 10-score years or so and had made a ruin of many a promising architect. To the spirits of the long departed and by extension the priesthood, such events could be recalled at a whim. Over time Valentine grew obstinate and sour, made worse by his queen Katherina’s insinuation that the priesthood were the true rulers of the kingdom, not he. 

Matters came to a head when in one council meeting the priesthood had dismissed Valentine’s plans for new grain silos on grounds that his proposed site was too close to the marshes, so the grain would rot. The next item on the agenda, his decision to grant a trading delegation of the Khardron Overlords the right to build a sky port on land that had once been mined for tin again met with dismay bordering on derision. Surely, said Father Dou’gall – the oldest and wisest of the priests, the young king must see that such a heavy structure would quickly fall victim to sink holes and subsidence if built upon such ground? Finally, the priesthood dared to argue that Valentine’s proposed annexation of the nearby (and much weaker) kingdom of Ostvanland would quickly become bogged down due to the rains that frequently turned the roads between the two nations into seas of stinking mud. Father Dou’gall took great pains to explain that such had been the fate of an army led by Valentine’s great-great-grandfather over two hundred years ago and even summoned the shade of the young king’s ancestor to tell the tale. 

After the meeting had concluded, four of the king’s most loyal — and unscrupulous — knights overheard their liege lord mutter “who will rid me of these troublesome priests?”. Keen to serve his will, the knights rode out and put every last one of the priests to the sword and spilled Father Dou’gall’s brains across his own altar. 

Valentine appeared to be shocked to hear of his bondsmen’s deeds but was secretly pleased to be free of the priesthood’s prattling. As two of the knights were relatives of his queen he could not punish them to the fullest extent of the law, instead settling for posting them to guard the most remote corners of the kingdom. 

Despite a grim sense of foreboding among many, at first all was well and the people seemed blessed rather than cursed, their elders seemingly endowed with long life. It wasn’t until a series of bizarre instances began that the Wallovians understood what Mortaine had in store for them.

It began with a simple case of bad luck. Gregor, a young clumsy squire, was riding his horse in a practise joust when it fell and crushed his leg. Despite the best efforts of the healers, it became infected and while they immediately amputated the now useless limb gangrene had spread to his body. Despite untold agony, Gregor simply wouldn’t die. It wasn’t until he bit off his own tongue that his screaming stopped. Gregor was the first for whom the sweet mercy of death would prove elusive, but he was by no means the last.

At first there were a few cases, then before long everyone in the kingdom who simply wouldn’t die. Elders that would have died due to natural causes became crippled, unable to move and slowly going mad with thirst, hunger and pain unless someone was there to look after their every need. Some of the afflicted’s loved ones resorted to desperate measures, yet even after their screaming kin had been smothered and no longer breathed, still they screamed. Some piled their living dead with strong spirits and attempted to set them alight, reasoning that a brief period of bright agony would be better than years of the same, but each time they tried to start the pyres, a chill mist would appear from nowhere and smother the flames. Mortaine even spurred those that were beheaded, with their fellows forced to sew up the heads’ mouths to stop the endless screaming. 

To make matters worse, this curse coincided with Valentine’s long-delayed invasion of Ostvanland. While fatalities were inexplicably light in the opening battles and the Wallovians won many great victories, the number of incapacitated and walking wounded began to spiral out of control and the constant screams of those whose wounds had gone septic or had gut wounds that would drive them insane with agony started to make sleep impossible and shattered morale. Then the rains came and the choking mud plains that had once been roads made it almost impossible to keep the army provisioned. Men began to desert, first in ones and twos, then in a steady stream. 

Valentine found himself shaking his fist at the walls of Ostheim, Ostvanland’s capital, before he had to ride home with too few men left to commit to a siege. That night, a raid by Ostvanland skirmishers managed to sneak past Valentine’s exhausted guards and stabbed him to what they assumed was death. His last coherent words were to curse the knights that had brought this doom upon him and to beg Mortaine for a mercy that would never come. 

Back in Wallovia, things had gone from bad to worse, the harvest had failed and there were simply too many mouths to feed. In desperation, some sacrificed their last morsels of food on makeshift altars to Mortaine but their prayers for forgiveness fell on deaf ears, with a rare few — those known to have a smattering of witchery in their veins — swore blind that for a moment they heard hollow laughter in response to their pleads. 

Years passed and Wallovia fell into ruin. Mercy of a kind came in the form of the Ghouls of the Hollow Mountain as while men, women and children all had to endure the agony of being eaten alive, it meant that their bodily suffering was at last at an end. By that point, however, the entire kingdom had been driven irreconcilably insane. Once the ghouls had feasted, they returned to the Hollow Mountain, leaving a blighted and haunted ruin. 

It wasn’t until the Necroquake – that time when Nagash’s great design caused waves of death magic to spill across the mortal realms — that Mortaine’s vengeance was fully unveiled. From every tomb and corpse rose the spirits of the tormented dead. Filled with hatred of the living, they descended upon nearby settlements and towns, their rampage only checked when a full host of the Emerald Wardens’ Sacrosanct Chamber brought them to battle on the outskirts of Steepacre. Defeated by the might of Sigmar’s Stormcast Eternals, the Nighthaunt of Wallovia returned to their home and are to this day a malignant blight upon the Tallowlands. 

 

Profile: The Great Skritt

 

 

Believed to have arrived in the Tallowlands from another realm, the rat-scientist known as the Great Skritt has long harboured plans to dominate the Underland. Having manipulated, bullied or outright murdered a sufficiently impressive number of lesser engineers, he formed the notorious Skryrenet in order to harvest resources and influence warlords across the realm. This culminated in the Skaven Dread Council putting military decisions into the claws of Skryrenet, whereupon Skritt instigated a series of simultaneous civil wars designed to eliminate all power structures across the Skaven-held Underland and deliver full control to him.

His plan was close to succeeding when, desperate, the Skaven of the Dar'Koath caverns forged an alliance with the surface clans. An army of overland warriors led by Yan of the Connaghi entered the Underland and eventually destroyed Skryrnet's defence grid, causing Skritt to flee.

An unintended consequence of this was that the Underland goblins, previously weakened by their own infighting, saw opportunities to expand and a significant amount of territory was lost to goblin factions. Yan Connaghi remains in the Underland to this day, aiding the Skaven clans in battle against the goblins.

The Great Skritt disappeared for a period of time but has recently reemerged and seeks to rebuild Skryrnet. He seeks caches of warp-emerald, a potent energy source which will allow him to power a time-travel device he has built. Once he has enough warp-emerald to generate thirteen kilo-ratts of power* he will send the being known as the Verminator back in time to prevent Yan Connaghi from being born.

He believes that the fall of the Sinian Empire has left vast troves of warp-emerald free for looting. In particular, it seems that areas home to many Undead beings ("Gribblians", as they are known in the Skaven tongue) are rich in warp-emerald. Indeed, he has identified a Gribblian Terrorgheist whose hoard is likely to contain all the warp-emerald he needs.

Skritt is always accompanied by his pet, a well-trained rat called Morty McFlea. He intends to use McFlea to conduct the test run of his device.

It has been rumoured that, while on the run from the Connaghi, Skritt stole an item of value from the Underland goblins. The nature of this item is as yet unknown.

*Author's note: this is the power required to propel the device at a speed of eighty-eight miles per hour.

***CREDITS***

The Great Skritt was sculpted by none other than our very own Lord Blood the Hungry.

Profile: Da Green Night Gobbo

                                                 

Nominally second in command to the Questin' Grot, the Green Night Gobbo is something of a loose cannon even by Grotonnian standards. Rarely expected - or even wanted - within the halls of Grotonnia's king, he wanders the surrounding region looking for easy plunder and unsuspecting victims.

Although he is at best an occasional presence in the armies of Grotonnia, he has an almost supernatural ability to arrive on the battlefield, unlooked-for and unheralded, a hero emerging from the mist, just as the fight is going really well. This unearthly sense of timing has earned him many descriptions in the tongue of the Underland - "myffic"*, "effeereul"**, and "annanigma"*** to list but three.

He has a nose for loot and on many occasion the Questin' Grot - sick of having his boots stolen or his codpiece pilfered - will convince the king to feed him to the squigs, only for the Green Night Gobbo to show up at that very moment bearing a new shiny bauble as a gift and weasel his way back into royal favour. Such an uncanny talent for self-preservation means he is most often known as "git"****.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*tr: "Git"

**tr: "Git"

***tr: "Git" 

****tr: "One of questionable personal and moral qualities"