Charting the Nogthrong

Of Kazad Nogthrong, City-state of the Gorm Range Dawi 

Eorlcyng Nialon the Disapproving, and Snorri Spilaf, Thegn of Nog

Deep in the Gorm Ranges – known to the dwarfs as Migdahlgorm – sits the great city-state of Kazad Nogthrong. This is the ancestral seat of the Dawi Cyng Nog, to whom most of the western dwarfs of Rhô pay allegiance. 

The greatest, though not the highest, peak is threaded through with the Seat of First; a mighty fortress occupied by the first dwarfish settlers of the region long ago in the Age of Myth. The tale of the construction of the first keep – now the core of a sprawling fortified complex – is written, on an entire panel of the great Avenue of Stone that runs to the throneroom. 

Thereon is carved the Fourth Feat of Nog, a tale in which the Cyng-before-all managed to bribe the gods themselves to assist in constructing his fortress. Over the course of three moons, he used his great cunning and craftsmanship to sow seeds of jealousy amongst the gods; gifting first one, then the next with ever more wondrous dawi-made armaments, ornaments and trinkets. 

Through the demonstration of each, Nog tricked the gods into carving and shaping the mountain into a sky-scraping hold fit for the deities themselves – and then, once it was complete, used the last gift to shrink it to a size fit only for the dawi-folk. The rage and anger of the gods were unleashed upon the fortress, and the deities battered themselves against the impregnable fortress they themselves had created. At last, anger turned to exhaustion, then amusement, and at last respect for the cunning of Nog.

It is written that this is not myth, but history; and the dawi have sought the treasures of Nog ever since the elves displaced the gods. 

***

The Seat of First broods at the northern tip of the Great Scar, a massive canyon torn through the mountain range by some long-forgotten firce. The fortress stands tall, but its roots descend many fathoms, running down the whole depth of the Scar itself, and back into the mountains. The fortress is thus far taller than it is broad, and is home to many thousands of dawi-folk who make a living from mining the ore and precious minerals revealed by the scar.

Nogthrong is built along a great scar that runs through the Gorm Ranges.

Along the rest of the scar are dotted watchposts, thrall-villages and mountain towns, where dwarven merchants, craftsmen and farmers make their living. The outermost are open to other folk who come to trade or seek an audience with the Cyng. Over the centuries different Cyngs have stamped their identity on the region; some fond of visiting elven bards and human merchants, others jealously inward-looking who closed the whole kingdom to non-dawi. It remains to be seen how the recently crowned Cyng will treat his people, and those beyond. Those who have met him speak of a flint-eyed and hard-voiced dwarf, a Cyng like those of old.

***

Allies of Nogthrong

To the north of the Grom Ranges lie the Middle Kingdoms. This region was historically home to dwarfs, men, elves and other civilised peoples, though today the remaining towns and villages are fortified against the roaming hordes of greenskins, nomadic beastmen and similar villains.

Travelling further north will reveal the imposing silhouette of the Dar'Koath Highlands, a still harder and more bitter mountain range than the imposing Gorm Ranges. In this bleak region are warring barbaric tribes of orcs, humans, and stranger things besides. On the Easternmost peak stands Durak Undi, an outpost and remnant of a once-great dawi kingdom, long since fallen to ruin. None today remember the fall of the kingdom, but it was said by the wise and learned to have been a lesson sorely forgotten – for the fall of the dwarfs here proved to be a foretelling of the fate of the Sinian Empire.

Annotated map of the Dwarfs of Migdahlgorm and the surroundings

Eorlcyng Nialon, living in exile in Kazad Nogthrong, believes his line to be the last scions of the lost dawi kingdom. He has petitioned the new Cyng to lead an expedition to Durak Undi, there to discover whether dwarf-folk remain, and to resettle the lands of his ancestors. The distance is great, and a host of rare power must be drawn up to ensure such an expedition's success; so it remains to be seen whether the new Cyng of Nog will grant his request...

***

The peace and quiet of painting usually allows my mind to wander a bit, and I tend to find it a good time for developing a bit of back story for the figures I'm working on. I wanted to make sure that the Nogthrong (my army) had a place in the Tallowlands, but not to make it so isolated that there's not really any reason to fight battles. After all, Warhammer Fantasy Trade Negotiation doesn't have quite the same ring, nor need of chainmail-clad warriors.

With that in mind, I decided that Kazad Nogthrong would be my dwarf's 'main base'; a combination of surface stronghold, underground city and a surrounding area of farms, orchards and similar above-ground necessities. Located in the range of mountains between the cities of Jeldenburg and Eo, this is a fairly central location.

Dwarfs from the World That Was (the Old World of older editions of Warhammer) have a very fixed background. While that was wonderfully rich, I want to have some freedom to develop away from it. so the Nogthrong will – hopefully – have a mix of familiar and innovative concepts.

One of these is the concept of thrall settlements. Not all dwarfs in the Tallowlands live huddled in keeps or underground. Dwarf country includes thriving villages, towns and even cities that take care of things like growing barley for bread and beer, managing livestock and so forth. While some of these are wealthy enough to afford mercenaries to defend themselves, most owe allegiance to an eorlcyng – a sort of local independent chieftain that oversees an area of a few villages and a town or two. In turn, these eorlcyngs owe allegiance through a complex and ancient series of oaths to the Cyngs, the most powerful of all the dwarfs of the region.

Snorri Spilaf (right), is an example of a Thegn – an important rank in the court of Nog. He bears the Throng's banner.

In times of war, famine or plague, thrall settlements will look to the wealth and military strength of the eorlcyng; who in turn can turn to the Cyng himself to summon further aid. In return, the settlements pay a tithe to the eorlcyng, part of which is paid to the Cyng. Thus the dwarfs have a feudal system of mutual support.

Nialon (pictured above) is an example of one such Eorlcyng, who will be used as a Warden King in-game. This was one way I found to square the circle of having multiple Kings in an army – some are nominally independent (as suits a proud dwarf), but with a measure of subservience. Nialon doesn't have to support Cyng Nog, but he'll generally find he – or his descendants – benefit if he joins in.

***

So far, the Tallowlands only has one Cyng – that of Nogthrong, but I wanted to leave the concept open in case other Cyngs need to be created, or one of the PCRC decide they want to paint up some dwarfs. Might make for some nice mercenaries, for example – or even a whole new army. 

***

What the Knights Mortain won’t tell you

The Knights of Mortain ride out to do battle with the undead

"DOOMED, WE'RE ALL DOOMED!" the wild eyed thin haired priest of Mortain screamed at the top of his voice to a small crowd of fanatics and hecklers, "THE UNDEAD ROAM ONCE AGAIN, WE MUST DESTROY THEM! RISE UP CITIZENS, RISE! WHAT DOES YOUR LORD DO ABOUT THIS? NOTHING! RISE UP!".

Ordinarily, this crazy old man would have little effect on the population of this market town in this backwater province of the Sinian Empire, observed Leibach, this time however it was different, unrest was in the air. After the previous weeks theft of all the bodies in the local graveyard and the disappearance of old man Engel, (who was suspected of necromancy by the townsfolk), all that had changed. Now the mad preacher was taken seriously, donations to the temple of Mortain were up, knights were being trained and fanatics with no fear of death were being recruited and 'managed'. This normally busy, grubby agricultural town with its cautious unwelcoming population was rapidly becoming a hotbed of religious fanaticism and an armed uprising.

Leibach was used to people waiting for him, not the other way around and he hated his peasant farmer disguise. You were supposed to eat a pig, not smell like one. He was about to leave when he finally spotted his contact, a shifty looking halfling who beckoned him into the tradesman's entrance of a local tavern. He made his way into an upper room which looked over the square. It was a private room for his audience with the Duke and Lord of this town, a well dressed merchant type who was busy staring out the window, flanked by his half-ogre bodyguard. He was taller than Leibach, but then again most people were and that didn't bother him anymore.

"How can I serve his excellency this time?" grovelled the lord as he turned around knowing full well that Leibach had the power to recommend that he be removed from office and his lands taken from him.

"The Emperor is taking a keen interest in the events that are unfolding here", he stated, getting straight to the point, "religious fanatics, graveyard thefts, disappearances. Are you in control?"

"His majesty can be assured that everything is under control, I am aware of all that goes on in my town and soon his majesty can be assured of success here" whimpered the Lord of Ludamil.

There was a pause in the conversation as Leibach considered his next move. While he was thinking the sounds of a fight in the square started, and he could hear soldiers moving to quell a possible riot. He reached down abruptly into his tunic with his right hand.  The Lord tensed, expecting a weapon but instead was greeted with a large envelope, officially sealed from the royal court and handed it over. The envelope contained orders and a wax sealed credit slip redeemable for gold comets against the imperial treasury.

"Fortunately, the Emperor favours you for now, and you do seem capable of directing this rabble", he said, gesturing towards the window. "Have you taken steps to ensure none of this can be connected to the royal court?"

"Yes, of course!" he replied, "the men hired to remove the corpses from the graveyard were tragically ambushed by bandits, and old man Engels body will never be found. You can be assured that the Emperor will have his army under the banner of Mortain."

"And the people know nothing of the real threats? In Rasni? and further North in Nygorach?"

"Your excellency can be assured that only a few know of this and as for those of the army, the church of Mortain keeps its secrets well"

Leibach was satisfied and began to walk away slowly over the creaking floorboards and towards the wooden staircase that led out of this room. "Good, I will report what I have seen here today, but be assured, this is not the last of my visits, and failure is not an option for you, you have already had your second chance..."

Armies on PCRC-rade: 30th May

Drums roll, horns blare and pipes, er... pipe – the great challenge is set:

May 30th is PCRC armies on parade day.

It seems a long time away, but that's the date when we'll have our next meet up. That's a provisional date, of course – things are in the lap of the gods at the moment!

It's been a long time since we set out on campaign weekends, but I think we agree that having a deadline is a good motivator. With that in mind, that weekend seems like a great date to set to have our armies ready, whether we're able to meet up and game or not.

If we're able to meet up, the aim is to have:

• 1,000pts (or equivalent) of your army painted and based.
• A hard copy of the army list drawn up, and (ideally) a reference sheet of stats to make games as smooth as possible.
• Games!

Bonus stretch goals:

• Names for your dramatis personae, in preparation for them to write their legends...
• Have a piece of terrain themed around the Tallowlands built and painted.
• An additional 1,000pts (or equivalent) of your army painted and based, for two-on-one games.
• A one-off character from the Tallowlands. This can be from your own army, or a completely different one – just a fun excuse to explore the broader setting.

***

The dawi muster

Kazasturn bent low over the planning table, message slates and scrolls scattered across it. He tapped the last one thoughtfully. With that, all the indentured villages and settlements had, at last, answered. 

Few were those who had refused outright. Even the meanest had pledged promises of provender, if they could not send throngmen. Most chiefs, however, had pledged their warriors to the cyng; some handfuls, others reinforced regiments of experienced veterans. 

Kazasturn, Gesith of the Cyng

Word had come also from the encampments of the dispossessed men. Kazasturn smiled ruefully at the small, fragile-looking thumbprints in their crude wax-seals as his gaze passed over them; mentally tallying where the umgi could stand in the line. 

At last, his eyes came to rest once more on that troubling soft vellum scroll. Redolent with scent, he had unconsciously set it to one side of the table. It hinted that the Elgi would join Thegn Nurnanog's expedition – though how, and in what numbers, were hidden within the elves' typically cryptic blather. 

Straightening, he called for his plate. The throngmen, armed and armoured nodded and bowed out of the room. Kazasturn strode over to the skylight, looking up into the glow of the angled quartz that reflected light down into the hold. By the ancestors, he mused, this would be a gathering of might!

***

Ironbreaker

Plan

I haven't yet received my army book – I'll be using Cities of Sigmar – but my goal for the next couple of weeks is to finish off the following:

One of the Gesith's Bezek (personal guard)

• Thegn Nurnanog and his scyldbearers – Warden King and General (120pts) 
• [Completed]
• Thegn Ambrak – Warden King (120pts)
• [In progress]
• Tremblestave – Runelord (100pts)
• [Completed]
• The Wyrtling Cwichelm and the Scarlet Few – 20 Ironbreakers (280pts) 
• [10 completed, 10 in progress]
• Kazasturn, Gesith of the Cyng – 20 Ironbreakers (280pts) 
• [5 completed, 15 in progress].

That's effectively twenty-five to polish off, which seems eminently doable, as they're well on the way. After that, a nice break to paint Thegn Ambrak, and perhaps have some fun painting the banners.

If I can do that within the fortnight, I'll push on to another couple of blocks of infantry – perhaps the quarrelers and some longbeards. That'll get me within striking distance of the 1,000pts goal, ready for gaming (we hope) and certainly some nice pictures to share by May 30th.

I'll keep the blog updated with some painting recipes and techniques, and pictures as dwarfs come off the 'arming chamber'.

Looking forward to seeing what the rest of you come up with, and reading your plans.

The Adventures of Nathaniel Hultz: Prologue

A Mixed Start
"Stop running Frieg stop, You've got nowhere to run," Nathaniel yelled, as he levelled his crossbow at the old book seller huddled in the corner clutching a package wrapped in rags. "We know what you and the other are up to, we know what you've been trying to do in this city and the evil that you have been practicing, if you surrender now I will give you a quick death and commend your soul to Sigmar."

Dammit where was the rest of his party when he needed them? He could hear the distant sounds of battle, they were probably dealing with the other cultists.

"My Lord Jethelech foresaw this, he has a plan for you apprentice" the bookkeeper muttered, "now kill me!" he exclaimed and he sprung forward, unnaturally quickly and aggressively. Reflexively Nathaniel shot him. He crumpled up immediately and that was it, the book seller moved no more.

I've killed before, thought Nathaniel, but then why was he shaking so much? That bookkeeper had unnerved him, what had he muttered about him? What was he protecting that was worth dying for?

Nathaniel slowly picked up the package and started peeling the rags off. As the last layer fell off he stopped suddenly, and time itself seemed to slow down as he stared at the package. It was a book, a book that he had thought long lost when the veiled library of Eastpine Vale burned, a very ordinary looking book which in the common tongue was called "Doctrines of the Purple Hand". He had been thinking about this book for some time, this forbidden tome that promised a way to control rather than be controlled by dark magic. Up to now he had resisted all impulses to track it down, it was illegal, he had been warned against any contact with books of this nature.

What was he to do with it? He could hardly hand it in or he may be put on trial himself! He knew that this tome could change his life, within a short time he could become more powerful than his mentor, even more powerful than the great wizards of Mirror Keep, and yes he could control it, he would not succumb to the greedy ambitions that these cultists had fallen to, he would be different from them, more noble, he might even be able to use this power for good!

But no, it is chaos and he had been taught that all chaos power corrupts its user eventually, that your very soul is at stake, would he be able to protect his soul? Perhaps not. Oh what to do, and he had to decide quickly, the sound of battle had stopped and the others would be joining him shortly.

He made his decision.

His old alley instincts took over and he slipped the book under his cloak. He deferred. Maybe he would take a peak at the contents, after all just a small look wouldn't harm him and he could always get rid of it later…

His thoughts were quickly interrupted.

"Are you alive umgi?" cried Nathaniel's dwarf friend Holgar, covered in blood and grime screeching round the corner faster than any dwarf had any right to move, checking to see if he was intact, Nathaniel just stared back, he too was covered in the bookkeeper's blood. Holgar continued, "I think we got all of them, did you find what they were protecting?"

A brief pause, and then the answer from Nathaniel: 'No, No I didn't, maybe next time..."

***

Painting the Throng of Nog

Colours of the Throng

Ah, dwarfs. My inaugural game of Warhammer was 3rd edition, played with my freshly-built skeleton horde against my brother's orcs and goblins and our friend Andrew's dark elf and skaven army. We didn't use the psychology rules, because they were 'a bit complicated'.

Fast forward a few weeks and – in the spirit of bitter, defeated younger brothers everywhere – I shelved the unpromising undead and instead er... 'liberated' the models left over from the Warhammer Regiment set – namely the dwarfs...

I haven't really played Warhammer since 3rd edition, instead getting into various iterations of Epic with Andrew's own little brother, and 40k – my adventures in which you can read over at my personal blog +Death of a Rubricist+. The appeal of a dwarf army, however, has stuck with me. To my beard-rending shame, I literally binned my old lead army at the age of 14 or so. I built a new army, based on then-new plastics around 2005ish, though again that has been lost to time.

Spool onwards to recent years, and the PCRC have had various spurts of enthusiasm for Warhammer. I picked up the models here during one such surge, though again they've remained unpainted. Perhaps this, then, is the point at which the dawi say 'No more! Paint us, you ***** umgi.'

***

Painting the most recent sculpts of GW dwarves dwerin dwarfs appeals to me. They're small, and have an appealing combination of plate armour and naturalistic areas like beards and skin. I'd prefer a few more bare-headed sculpts, and I dislike the sculpted detail on the the shields – I'm at a stage where I enjoy, rather than dread, painting freehand – but overall, these are lovely models.

I primed one half of this regiment red and painted the metal bits black. This half was sprayed blacka and is having the red bits painted. I'm sure the end result will be a bit motley, but that's proving wonderfully freeing.

The whole army is second-hand – and that means that a substantial portion was already built; some undercoated. Trying to get a coherent effect would have meant stripping and re-priming the figures, a dull task that I didn't fancy. Instead, I thought I'd lean into it. These are, after all, pseudo-historical models. They're not – as, say, Space Marines are – served by armourers and chemists and craftsmen who strive to create as uniform an effect as possible. No, they're independent, subject to the vagaries of supply lines; and naturalistic. With the possible exception of elves and similar, Warhammer armies aren't as concerned with uniform as a modern audience would be. Getting it 'near enough' is all a petty warlord can hope for – unless he's willing to pay for the batch of fabric himself.

With that in mind, painting these figures is led by experimentation and play. While batch-painting has never appealed to me, being able to break things up and go with my instincts instead of sticking rigidly to a 'recipe' is proving to be a lot of fun.

Sprayed silver on receipt, these figures are being lavished with washes – like the purple over bronze here. I'm tempted to break out the oils and use them to experiment, too. The more variance on a basic scheme, the better!

That freedom is a big part of why Age of Sigmar appeals to me. Beyond painting, I remember 3rd edition Warhammer seeming like a huge exciting universe as a nipper. It combined all the best bits of different mythologies and pop culture – Jason and the Argonauts-style skeletons versus Tolkein's orcs, while a giant from Norse myth stomped across the field... That all seemed to get increasingly stratified and ordered as the editions went on and it all became familair to me. Even though I wasn't playing, I read in White Dwarf as all the bits of the map got filled in, all the weird details on sculpts got explained as a particular specific... everything got explained. I loved reading about it at the time, but looking back, a lot of the appealing mystery and distinctive strangeness somehow seemed to get lost.

With Age of Sigmar, a lot of the grand magic is back for me. Sure, the metaphysics of the Realms is explained, but it's got a mythic scope again. Somehow, GW have managed to satisfy both my desire for things not to be explained, and my hunger for detail. There's simultaneously space for Tolkein-style 'Dark Ages with a dragon or two' low fantasy and crazy mythic 'Teatime of the Gods' affairs.

Norse myth and Tolkein tropes have a lot to answer for.

Anyway, enough jabbering; these figures aren't going to paint themselves. I'll post updates as I go, and leave you with a work-in-progress banner bearer. As an example of the very loose approach I'm taking, I decided I'd just go straight to the bits I like best: skin and hair. I'll just have to be careful when painting around them.

Both skin and beard here are made up from combinations of Vallejo's Black Red 70.859, Off-white 70.820 and Citadel Flash Gitz Yellow.  I used touches of Citadel Leviathan Purple wash to add a little age to the eye-bags and to differentiate the nailbeds. Both of the pictures sculpts are Forgeworld pieces kindly picked up by Lucifer216 just prior to them going out-of-print – they therefore represent some of the few models in the army bought new.

The archeologist's commission

Dearest Zarathustra, 

I trust this finds you well? I realise that it has been sometime since I had need of your unique skills and for this I can only apologise. Thanks to Slaanesh’s boundless generosity my circumstances have changed. We both have heard rumours of a great empire that had fallen to barbarians after reaching commendable heights in terms of raw sensation and most remarkably of all without the inspiration that the servants of the Youngest God can provide, due to its remote and mysterious location. Until now all efforts to discover the ruins of this place have been stymied. I say until now because a map has come into my possession, a copy of which I have enclosed. It appears that the civilization in question is the Sinian Empire, which is located in the region now known as the Tallowlands.

You can only imagine my excitement, for while as you know I possess arguably the greatest library of erotic literature in the eight realms and our blessed Cathedral of the Endless Consummation boasts five wings each devoted to a different collection of God-pleasing artefacts, in truth I fear we are becoming lax in our devotions. While my beloved Mineko continues to recite the classics with the perfect diction I and my congregation require, I fear repetition is causing her words to fall upon deaf ears. In short, we require novel sensation and I am looking to you, my dearest Zarathustra, to procure it for us. 

Seek out the ruins of lost Sinia, spare no expense and return to us all the works that have survived. Know that in doing so, you do the God’s work. But beware, if word has reached me, then it has surely reached less devote ears and I shudder to think of the few delicate wonders that remain being trampled on by the ignorant and unworthy. 

There is one more thing, you may have heard rumours of the God’s imminent return — I believe them with all my heart to be true. Each night I see glimpses of his divine countenance and I wake with my cushions stained with bloody tears. He will return and when he does it is vital that we celebrate my Darling Lord’s return with excesses the like of which the realms have never seen. For he will be thirsty for all that he has missed since his imprisonment. Of course, this necessitates complete knowledge of the revelries and debaucheries of the past and while we will of course fall short of this goal, we are far more likely to be able to offer up new and pleasing sensations to our lord if we know of those experienced in lost Sinia. 

Your loving patron,

Cardinal Xel’liath  

_________________________________________________________________________________

Dearest Cardinal,

It gave me great joy to hear from you and I delight in renewing our correspondence. Rest assured that I will make all haste to the Tallowlands and will not return until I am certain that no more can be recovered from the remains of lost Sinia. I am pleased to hear that Mineko is still providing you with good service — I will remember her reading of The Essence of Wrong until my dying day. I attach my list of expenses — I realise that they are already considerable, but it was difficult to find a Kharadron Sky-Captain willing to travel so far from established trade-routes and I had to take additional measures to ensure his absolute discretion in this matter. 

I can only hope that the Sinian Empire was not as fond of snakes as the defenders of the Temple of Sanguinary Splendour. As you know, I can’t abide such creatures and all those who mirror their forms. Similarly, it would be pleasing if the food of the Tallowlands is more agreeable to my constitution than that of Aqshy — you may recall the time I was forced to terminate a duel through the judicious use of my pistol due to a particularly potent meal of desert rat marinated in fire-chilli sauce. 

On a more positive note, my initial research indicates that I can expect minimal Sigmarite interference and I will provide a complimentary summary of my findings regarding the Tallowlands and their suitability for conversion along with the items that you require (assuming of course that they have not already perished to time’s embrace). 

Yours in rapturous debasement, 

Zarathustra d’Jons

Regions of the Underland: Grotonnia

Oi! Ya git!

 
Little more than a patchwork of caves and tunnels, Grotonnia is a relatively insignificant corner of the Underland. Its one notable feature is a deep underground lake which has - at least as far as the Grotonnians are concerned - mystical properties. The nature of the lake is unknown, but the area produces a prodigious number of squigs, the bounciest of which are captured and trained to be used as steeds by the Knights of Grotonnia.

The Knights are led by the one known as Da Questin' Grot and his not-at-all-trusted 'left tenant' The Green Night Gobbo. The Knights regularly raid and pillage nearby settlements, although they have grander aims to conquer the entire world and usher in the Age of Squigmar.

Most Grotonnians keep a pet squig.

Alba Mesa

Alba Mesa - a force for good?

I was bitten by the Tallowlands bug a few months ago when it came into my head to create a Cities of Sigmar 'Tempest Eye' force in a steampunk style.  As yet I lack any models at all to show off given the fact that the models I want to base it on have not been released for the most part and my family commitments.  I really dig the background the PCRC are coming up with though for the Tallowlands so I thought I can at least contribute some of that.

The plan is to convert these guys into pistoleers and outriders:

And convert up a Hurricanum using the same horses:

I will likely convert up a General on a Griffon as well.

The following background intentionally has things in common with Tempest Eye.  I hope it isn't too close and I would encourage the PCRC to tell me if they think it is verging on unoriginal, I liked the original background and wanted some way of transferring aspects of it to the Tallowlands.  Tempest Eye forces contain up to one quarter Stormcasts and one quarter Kharadron Overlords as well as traditionally relying on celestial magic.  Combining all those forces as allies will always give the same feel to almost any 'counts as' Tempest Eye background.

^^

***

What is Alba Mesa?  It is more than just the cavalry, which aided the Sinian Emperors when called upon*.  It is more than just a place or indeed a marvel of ancient and modern engineering.  It is more than just the capital of the Celestial College**.  It is one of the few places where wizards and scientists, dwarfs and humans, stormcasts and mortals mix in peace.  

Nestled high up in the Dawn mountains lies a metropolis entrenched into the mountains, a city of two sides; the Western side, dominated by the Kharadron Overlords in Barak Mhorna and the Eastern side, Alba Mesa.  Atop the glittering peaks stands three magnificent buildings:

• The capital of the Celestial college, which has an observatory that you can see from many miles away.  Celestial magic in Rho is regulated here while the movements of the heavenly bodies and comets are monitored
• Crown Keep - a small keep which is home to the Stormcasts who are allied to the Celestial college
• The great lighthouse and aetherport of Salgrun

*Although significantly not its last Emperor
**Not to be confused with the celestial council despite their outsized influence on it

Extracts from the last publication of the Nobleman's guide to Rho, a publication that ceased when demand for its services fell with the Empire.

..of course it could all have been very different.  After the Age of Chaos, the Eastern side of the Dawn mountains was completely cut off from the rest of Roh (sic) both by the geography; the mountain ridges curve around to the East preventing any access of a peninsula of land trapped by the mountains, as well as the great storm which engulfed the mountain peaks for the first century or so of this age.  

The dwarfs colonised the western slopes while unbeknown to them, humans from a different land crashed into the rocks near the peninsula and settled it - for several generations that was their whole world.

When the tempest lifted there was conflict and war although eventually the pragmatism of the dwarfs in recognizing two entrenched defensive positions won out and an uneasy peace was reached...

...just speculation that the storm had been caused by an open realm gate on top of Salgrun peak and that closing it permanently has stopped the Tempest.  Although who or what had the desire or motivation to do this is unknown to me...

... by then the dwarfs had come to recognise that the humans of Alba Mesa were not going anywhere and made good trading partners.  Relations begun to thaw at that point... 

...that doesn't explain the interest that the humans had in technology.  That came from the Celestial college which was a mix of mystics and engineers like nothing I have seen before.  The mystics fully believed that it was the will of Sigmar to tame the mountains as a way of accessing the heavens.  Whether from self interest or prophecy they encouraged the development of mechanical beasts of burden, the forerunners to today's steam horse cavalry.  Given the unique climate and geography of course it would have been impossible to develop any cavalry without the aid of magic or mechanics...

...a golden age it would never again quite live up to with the treaty reached with Emperor Eldros II of the Sinian Empire which saw the forces and races of order fight together as one to expel...

...presented its own unique problems given the fall of the Empire although the solution they eventually reached preserved and protected Alba Mesa (and Barak Mhorna) at the cost of their effectiveness at projecting power.  Their forces remain on high alert given the frequent incursions from the charred lands to the North...

Extracts from the annals of the Kings of Roh (sic) and their bonds to the Sinian Emperors

***

^^Art by Dmitriy Semyroz

A Note on the Ghoul War

(Translated from de Robilant's Histories)

Truth is like a bubble. While rushing currents may carry it wherever they please, still it remains what it is; part of, and yet distinct from the river which bears it. A thing unto itself, visible, identifiable, but ever inseparably a part of the greater whole. And, like a bubble, once burst it can never be un-burst. Though the skin which gave it form must surely exist in fragments subsumed by the river, though the tiny breath of air which filled and gave it shape is still there, mingling in the wind, they will never be reassembled into that which was.

So it is, so it will ever be, and so it was with the great catastrophe which befell the Sinian Empire. History records that the ghastly realm of Nygorach drowned the Empire beneath a wave of dread beings and broke its monuments in a tide of ruin. And yet, seekers of the truth may still find those whose witness speaks a different tale. A tale in which an empire rotted from within rather than being slaughtered from without.

Indeed, the Sinians of the final age had not the noble spirit of their lofty ancestors. Where the first Emperors were mighty among men, the last were gods among rats. Where the first lords sought unity for the common good, the last sowed discord for their personal gain. Where the first princes were captains at the fore, the last were gluttons at the feast. So it was that the imperial corpus gorged until it was dripping with fat and crooked of spine. And from the hidden folds crept cults of flesh and blood and bone, worshippers of death and the dead, summoners of vile things. Orders of lust and orgies of violence emerged in palaces and swept down to the rookeries in ever-greater concentrations to slake the base thirst of men. Those of status beseeched the stars to grant them power to rule over their fellows, never thinking that power beyond their dreams would be power beyond their control.

And the power grew, and the thirst grew, and the discord grew, and the Empire swelled until it erupted into a thousand petty civil wars. So weakened, the attack from Nygorach - which would, in better times, have been repelled with ease - devastated what remained of the Sinian civilisation. The felltide swept through Sinian lands, devouring all until it had consumed even those whose invocations had made its triumph possible.

Like the truths it will no longer hold, the Sinian Empire is shattered and can never be re-made.

No Kingdom for Old Men

He used to love the moon. Once it lit the sky to a soft purple, made the ground run silver and gave the whole horizon a cold halo. That beautiful summer moon seen from the tops of strong stone turrets or out the doors of warm homesteads. Through the dead webs of winter branches, though, it was nothing but sinister; like a lantern under the sea's surface, remote, unreal; like a drowned boy's face.

It was not the only light around; the torches carried by his comrades broke through the night mist though it dulled them and stifled their warmth. Like these men, far from their old home, the fire's spirit was quenched. They trudged on through the dripping woods.

He wondered why the other men stayed. They had followed their ancestral lord, Dreyfast of Rhus, since the last tower of Hilgoth fell four years ago. Though at first many had loudly hoped that they might return to claim again their homelands, none now gave such thoughts credence. Dreyfast himself, once a fine and fierce liege, was now a hunched figure, stooped and silent in the saddle. Certainly there was no spark left in his soul.

Indeed, were it not for Dreyfast's sons, doubtless the company would have vanished long ago - either utterly defeated in some meaningless battle or eroded to a kernal as men slipped away to cling to a few more years of vain hope in the rotting towns and villages they passed through.

But persevere they did in the presence of the young heirs of Rhus - Gamnon, Hiliath and Tane. Truth be told, they had even begun to recruit a few men-at-arms from the dank, desparate settlements in these isolated lands. Mercenaries found much work in evil times and plenty of lads still had power in their arms and that grim desire not to die cowering before the onrushing darkness which might - just - be called courage.

He smiled a little - though the world was surely ending, there was perhaps still time for the flames to blaze bright once more.

Sigmar and Stormcast in the Tallowlands

Sigmar's warriors and the folk of Rhô

Half mythic heroes, half brooding threat – so are the Stormcast viewed by the peoples of Rhô.

Sigmar's chosen – the Stormcast – are not common in the civilised southern reaches of the Tallowlands, though marching columns and whole armies are certainly seen, most frequently on the Lonely Road. Where they are sighted, Stormcast are the cause of much rumour, hearsay – and often panic – amongst the local populace.

Where they are found in the southern fiefdoms, Stormcast tend to be found in handfuls on the move, roaming from place to place in search of the enemies of Sigmar. When they come to settlements, the inhabitants make the sign of the hammer, and silently bring provender to the warriors; or else offer lodgings in a politely distant quarter of the village; or else dim the lamps and keep a low profile – all  in the hope that they will move on swiftly.

This is not to suggest that the Tallowlands is an impious place, nor that the Stormcast are not respected and venerated. There are numerous temples to Sigmar within the larger market towns and cities, and most men and women recognise and respect Sigmarite priests. Sigmar-worship is relatively new to the region. He is worshipped in larger towns in his gold-armoured aspect as protective warrior-god, but in more parochial rural districts, his worship is often conflated with older deities, such as Artha, god of the high places, or Hain'Amur, the armoured God.

A long history of warfare and trouble have made many amongst the folk of the Southern Fiefs self-reliant and inward-looking – though wary rather than hostile or mistrustful. If the Stormcast are viewed warily, it is not through fear; but through the knowledge that they are far from invincible, as demonstrated by the events of the Fall of the Sinian Empire.

***

Heaven's Gate: Stormcast of the north

The events that led to the defeat and collapse of the Sinian Empire are hazy and uncertain even now, but today only one of the numerous great Stormkeeps that once dotted the Sinian Empire remains inviolate: Heaven's Gate. It lies in what was the capital city of the Old Empire, though now it is an embattled region under near-constant siege, a bastion of order against a sea of the monstrous denizens of Nygorach.

Heaven's Gate is semi-legendary amongst the people of Rhô. Its garrison of Stormcast have been battling valiantly for more than a century, their slowly-dwindling numbers periodically replenished and reinforced by questing warriors sent as honour-deputations – or seeking fame and glory – by numerous other Stormhosts. These groups range in number from massed ranks of gleaming Liberators sent by their masters to ensure a beacon of hope remains alight amongst the devastation, to mere handfuls of roving Vanguard-hunters seeking a safe haven after ranging through the Tolerance of Crows in search of the undead's ever-probing scouts.

The garrison of Heaven's Gate is thus colourful and varied, made up of veteran Stormcast from across dozens of Stormhosts, all fighting alongside one another. The Stormkeep is thus a symbol to all who value freedom and hope in the world, and to fight there is to stand as an alloy made stronger than its constituent parts.

While powerful, Stormcast are not inexhaustible. By decade-long tradition, they are therefore permitted to remain only until relieved. In practise, however many pay only lip service to this rule, or evenly openly flout it. Believing taking the war to the enemy to be the best way to defend the keep, Stormcast sally forth from Heaven's Gate, in groups both large and small, on those occasions when their strength makes it possible. Such deputations vary hugely. Some are as uniform as any other Stormcast force, while others are made up of allies and friendships made during their time at the keep, their heraldries as diverse and individual as any group of Southfief knights.

Such forces drive deep into the Charred Lands of the former Sinian Empire, in the thus-far vain hope of reclaiming the lost Stormkeeps of the former Sinian Empire; or of bringing ruin to the mad king-emperor of Nygorach and his ghoulish, benighted allies.

***

Stormkeeps of the Southern Fiefdoms

Today, two Stormkeeps are particularly well-known amongst the Southern Fiefdoms: the first is great Mirrorkeep. Primarily this is home to the mages of the Celestial Council, a collective of mages and wizards who are amongst the few in the Tallowlands with the requisite magical, financial and political wherewithal to warrant a permanent presence of Sigmar’s champions. Their Mirrowkeep has this long provided barracks for the visiting Stormhosts. The second is Barbet's River Fort, a humbler and more specifically military base that guards the strategically vital Barbet’s River, not far from the artisan's city of Zhi-Sun on the southern coast of Rhô. Nominally home to their own Stormhosts, these Stormkeeps are often garrisoned by troops en route to Heaven's Gate; the warriors of the Stormhosts themselves out on manouevres or otherwise preparing for the ongoing campaigns against the denizens of the Charred Lands, far to the north.

The Stormhosts of the Mirrorkeep and Barbet's River provide the bulk of the Southern Tallowlands' might in the fight to hold back the ever-present risk of invasion from Nygorach. They bring what aid they can to the unfortunate souls who remain ekeing a living in the Tolerance of Crows. Despite their efforts, however, the border is vast. For every force of greenskin, beastmen or skaven that is interdicted by their patrols and brought to battle, another slips past, to raid and pillage the lands of Rhô.

Such duties mean that seeing a large Stormhost abroad in the Southern Fiefdoms is rare – but not unknown. While the independent kingdoms and principalities and other regions of the Southern Fiefdoms exist in a state of uneasy truth with one another, skirmishes and open warfare are far from unknown. In such cases, appeals to Mirror Keep or Barbet's River Fort – or the smaller groups of Stormcast that range the southlands – can help a weaker lord sway victory away from an apparently stronger or more belligerent rival.

Nor is mankind alone in Rhô. The elder races are fewer than man, true, but far from rare. While the Stormhosts broadly enjoy an uneasy peace with the most powerful kingdoms of the dwarfs, elves and other nominally civilised races that exist across Rhô, such a peace is conditional – and there are dozens of independent groups that owe no fealty to either Stonekeep or Oakhold. Indeed, many are openly hostile, viewing humans with indifference, scorn or open repulsion. As a result, bitter battles have been fought by the Stormcast against dwarfen throngs and elven hosts across blasted mountain ranges and humid woodlands; to the benefit of none but greedy kings – and the gleeful beastmen and greenskins whose interests are only strengthened by the internecine warfare of the so-called civilised folk.

Thus it is that the infrequent appearance of Stormcast across the Tallowlands is received with mixed emotions by the inhabitants. They are at once fêted as heroes and protectors of the denizens of Rhô, and shunned as ill-omened harbingers of doom and despair. Nevertheless, they remain dutiful, heroes all – and if bitterness festers within them at their half-hearted reception by the sons and daughters of Rhô, they are careful to keep it to themselves...

***

Known Stormcast forces in the Tallowlands

The following Stormhosts have been recorded as operating in the Tallowlands within living memory:

[insert your Stormhost(s) here]

Brotherhood of Cynosure [apologist]

Also known as the Lodestar Warriors, the Brotherhood of Cynosure are dour, dutiful warriors; clad in bronze and stern in their duties. Never great in number, their warriors range the rain-chased hills of the Charred Lands, ever-vigilant for the creeping hands of the undead.






Heralds of the New Dawn [warmtamale]

A recently-founded Order who place great emphasis on proselytising and exhorting the not-fully-faithful. They consider example to be the best method of leadership, and so are often found at the forefront of battle or bringing aid to beleagured settlements. Sometimes called the Keepers of the Dawn Gate.

Of Lost Towns and Petty Kingdoms: Geography of the Tallowlands

Places of note in the Tallowlands

In order to flesh out the Tallowlands a bit we decided to create a bunch of places.  Or at least archive what we have so we have some idea of where or what stuff is.


The PCRC also decided to start doing some role playing within the Tallowlands using D&D 5e rules and it seems to be working quite well so far.  The brave (mostly) band of adventurers is busy adventuring in the deep south of Rhô near the port city of Narya, one of the islands (or continents?) of the Tallowlands. Cue lots of shenanigans with a party composed of an interesting combinations of Rogues, fighter classes and spellcasters with a mixture of elves, dwarfs, humans and even a comety* lizardman for POSTERity.

Here are the places we have fleshed out (literally in the case of the ghoulish Hollow mountain)

***

The Tolerance of Crows – borderline of the Charred Lands. The point past which even scavengers do not venture.

Narya – port city, famed for its ancient pillars which lead to the waterfront and some distance out to sea.

Charred Lands – seen by many as a ruined wasteland which was previously the Sinian Empire. Many of its fallen cities and withered hills are now haunted by monsters and fell beings from Nygorach, particularly towards the north.  Other parts of the Charred Lands have been rumoured to have been taken over by other forces hostile to order, particularly on the border, the tolerance of crows.  Rumours exist of several new kingdoms vying for dominance:
- A Vampire kingdom looking to expand out of the Charred Lands
- An Ork warlord extracting food tithes from peasants on land which has become fertile with volcanic material and a long period of fallow
- A decadent fromer state of the Sinian Empire whose Lords bargained with Slaanesh in exchange for continuing rulership of their state
- A hard to find and seemingly normal land governed by the Watchers of the Pact and led by a former celestial council mage who believes he is on top of a bargain made with Jethelech** to push back the borders of the Charred Lands away from his beloved former home in the Dawn Mountains.

- An area which has become overcome with deadly and carnivorous vegetation and equally deadly animal life which has evolved to resist it.  Some say Champions of Khorne and mighty Ork warbosses test themselves here before they launch their campaigns of blood or conquest.  Some say a particularly bloodthirsty tribe of lizardmen live here where it is warm all the time.

Who knows what evil could befall the rest of Rho is these kingdoms had the ambition to expand or the cunning to stop fighting each other or Nygorach?

Nygorach – a spiteful realm in the far North.

Mirrorkeep – a fortress-city in central Rhô. Home to the Mages’ Guild, and seat of the Celestial Council.

Heavens Gate- A Stormcast Peak in the abandoned Sinian Empire, besieged on all sides

Rhô – ancient name for the lands which now make up the Southern Fiefdoms.

Ludamil - A town in a backwater border province of the Sinian Empire.  Its fate is uncertain

Tirinsdale – a small town near Jerret’s Pass in the Greyspur Mountains.

Yeldenburg/Jeldenburg – largest city in the Southern Fiefdoms. Situated on a hill by the banks of Lake Peskha.

Dar’Koath Highlands

Eastpine Vale - A great battle took place here during the Sinian Empire Interregnum.  The result secured the external security of the Empire although it did not resolve the internal turmoil being experienced at the time.  It now exists as a ruined city in the Charred Lands, a testimony of hubris

Lonely Road – route between Stonehold and Oakhall in the Glory of Contestation. The most northerly road in the Southern Fiefdoms.

The Glory of Contestation – previously the Sinian Empire’s southerly provinces, assimilated and defended by the Southern Fiefdoms during the Ghoul War when Nygorach invaded and sacked the Sinian Empire. The regions which border the Charred Lands are sparsely-populated, dark and dangerous places.

Stonehold – a great city hewn into Stubborn Peak. Founded and subsequently lost by the dwarfs in a bygone age, it was later claimed by humans. In recent years, dwarfs from the East have made their way there in small numbers and it is now one of the few places where dwarfs and humans live alongside one another. Along with Oakhall, Stonehold was the epicentre of Southern resistance against Nygorach in the Ghoul War.

Oakhall – a settlement in the forest canopy surrounding Cadair-ap-Nadhg, the enormous, magically-sustained oak which is believed to have been the first tree summoned by Caer-Nadhg. The forest suffered catastrophic damage during the Ghoul War, and its inhabitants now face a constant battle to preserve and re-grow what remains.

Barrow Hills – an old burial ground which pre-dates the Southern Fiefdoms.

Tower Run - A series of aeemingly abandoned magical Aelf Towers and obelisks on the Tolerance of Crows

Zhi-Sun – southeastern city, known for its artists and artisans.

Green Vine – a druid grove.

New Sidence - In the South Eastern peninsula of Rho lies the fiefdom of Kinea, one of many loosely run and competing states.  In Kinea is the bustling fief-rule (capital) of New Sidence.  New Sidence prides itself above all in being cosmopolitan and neutral, trading anything and everything and rumour has it, giving individual realm gate access to anyone that can pay, from any alliance (no armies!).  Their culture is so mercantile that a wide range of illegal goods are deemed legal if the owner can prove they are in transit to somewhere else and can pay the fees of course.

Some call it a dazzling metropolis where fortunes can be made and lost, exotic goods can be obtained and traded to ships going into and out of the Tallowlands.  Where a man, elf, dwarf, ork, or undead can be anything he wants to become (for the right price).

Others call it a hive of scum and villainy which no one dare to move against because somehow somebody there knows most of your secrets and are probably blackmailing you.

Iliearch’s Tower – an Elven settlement, closed to outsiders.

Wallovia - a formerly abandoned Sinian Empire state it is now seemingly reoccupied but with a more ominous set of rulers and residents

Gravegate – a dreary town in Drannor Valley, constantly plagued by monsters and malign spirits.

Éo – trading city to the west.

Burnt Copse – a small wooded area where, it is rumoured, lives a powerful witch. The name comes from its abundance of Black-bark oak trees.

Left Ventricle – a gnomish town. Named by its founder Krill Jellabone, apparently because he liked how it sounded.

Gargletooth – a stretch of freshwater rapids, impassable due to its many knife-sharp rocks and loose boulders. Home to a tribe of river trolls.

Voyager’s End – a small, nondescript village which sits beneath a sudden bend in a notoriously treacherous mountain road. The road does not go to the village, but many a morning has seen the discovery of the fallen corpse of another luckless traveller who underestimated the danger.

Tenshu – a forested area with many shrines in the foothills of the Dawn Mountains.

Dawn Mountains – the most easterly area of inhabitation. The people of this region are the first to see the sun each day.  Home of Alba Mesa and the aether port city of Barak Mhorna of the forces of order.

Ochre Rock – twin-peaked mountain, home to two constantly-warring dragons. Travellers are wise to avoid this area.

Hollow Mountain – a ghoulish realm.

Steepacre - this happened here, no one wants to talk about it (except bob_hunk who made all these cool! undead! models!)

Bob_hunk's amazing glowing corpse cart

Cool undead models and glowing scenery.

apologist's dawi fight off some nasty doggos.

Capable Kings – a small, old village.

Three Bridges - this will be important later.

Cripple Peak - skaven have been spotted here.

Chaunterwick Purefinder - Home of the famous human bloodbowl team

Ulfheim - home of the ‘famous’ Bloodbowl team bearing its name, this otherwise slightly run down town is more or less run by merchant guilds

Shallowell - Dont go – haunted. Unless you want to get rich and maybe possibly die or run into a gang of aggressive rat catchers

Migdahlgorm, a dwarfish term for 'Old/Respected Outpost', this mountain range contains most of the Throng of Nog's holds. The humans of the region call the mountains the Gorm Ranges.

*This is an in-joke on Xali-Qhops' background, not a spelling mistake, please stop correcting it :)

**Some speculate, a facet of Tzeentch

Mordheim... or Shallowell?

Mordheim... or Shallowell?

Our very own LordBloodTheHungry decided some time ago to run a Tallowlands gang campaign using the Mordheim rules – and what an amazing start we had.  The game was sent in the spooky town of Shallowell, a destination set within the Tallowlands with a reputation for danger, risk and reward for anyone foolhardy or brave enough to make their fortune there.

This is my gang.  I painted it myself which was an achievement given my occasional brush aversion.  I am the second worst painter in the PCRC so please do not look too closely.

LordBloodTheHungry is, I hope, going to say more in a future post about the campaign, which many fondly remember even if it did get sidetracked after starting.

The game had a great narrative, beautifully-crafted terrain, a great result and most importantly for the purposes of this blog it significantly contributed to the background of the Tallowlands.  I used the story below to introduce my Merchant caravan 'gang' as well as to tie in a few places in the Tallowlands.

This is a mid battle scene with cool models and looming scenery.

***

"Now, what are we going to do about you, Theodore?" the councilman pondered. "No merchant has been found guilty of this particular offence; well, not since the Ponzi mausoleum business when my father sat in this seat."

"We have been friends a long time – since we were lads, Hadwin. Surely you can overlook this?" pleaded Theodore.

"It's too late for that, my friend. We have overlooked this kind of thing for too long." Hadwin paused to relight his pipe and to mutter at the poor quality of the pipe weed he was smoking. "When you decided to sell deer meat poached from the Duke's estate 'off the books', you went too far."

"I had no idea that it was stolen, Hadwin!" protested Theodore, putting on his best impression of sincerity.

"Don't give me that fake shock routine. You know as well as I do that your trespass was that you did not pay the Guild its cut of your proceeds. It would be a... shame if the guild couldn't afford to... protect you from the Duke, were he to find out about this."

There was a pause whilst Theodore tried desperately to think up further excuses. Hadwin let him squirm a bit more.

"Now, seeing as we are friends, I have managed to convince the guild to offer you a way out of this." Theodore's face lit up as he saw a way out of his predicament.

"The guild is looking for new avenues of income and we have... ahh – how should I put this? – 'reliable information' that there are riches to be exploited by setting up a trade route with the town of Shallowell. It could be an opportunity to repay your debt to the guild, and to become very wealthy."

Theodore's apprentice Guire, dutifully standing behind him, dropped his master's hat which thudded comically on the wooden floor. "Shallowell? I heard what happened down there, that is suicide – you might as well kill me now!" Theodore exclaimed.

"Come now Theodore, there is no need to get hysterical. An enterprising and careful merchant can make his name and his fortune down there. Besides, the Merchants of Ulfheim Guild are not dwarfs: we don't keep grudges – only money! The Duke himself has an interest in this working and will be sending you two of his knights to accompany you. He has a cousin down there, too, and would like you to pick up an item from him of a... ahh... personal nature. He is not in a hurry to retrieve the item, which gives you plenty of time to do business there. The guild will also waive the remaining payments you owe for your wagon."

Hadwin paused for a moment to see what reaction he was getting before making a quick decision. "We will also send Robin with you. His magic should keep you safe from any arcane threats."

Theodore decided that, despite the danger, this was the best chance he was going to get to salvage the situation. He knew that the wizard they were going with was persona non grata after allowing himself to be hired for the last Blood Bowl match – not by the Ulfheim Exiles, but by the opposition. 

Theodore knew what the guild was doing: clearing the town out of problems. More importantly, however, he knew that the guild's main interests was still making money, and he would receive their support as long as he was nowhere near Ulfheim.

"Fine, I agree to your terms. The Craggy Forest Merchant Company will spearhead the guild's efforts to establish a presence in or near Shallowell." And with that, he spun around, grabbed his hat and marched off towards the door and down the stairs, trying to salvage at least some of his dignity.

Hadwin's assistant emerged from the door behind the councilman. "Did he agree, sir?"

"Yes he did, Hildric, yes he did. Let us see how successful will be the journey of the 'Merchant of Venison'..."

***

The Golden Horde, the Nehekankh – the death which brings life

The Nehekankh — Lucifer216's Ossiarch Bonereapers

Nagash is the God of Death, the source of all necromancy and the scourge of those who would deny him his rightful soul-tithe. He’s also a terrible manager.

The hearts of his many servants do not beat, but the fear of the true death courses through their withered and decayed remains just as blood once did when they were among the living. Ask yourself, gentle reader, if such creatures would honestly tell someone who had engineered the downfall of entire civilizations that they might be able to fulfill his orders to the letter? The Mortarchs might dare to do so, but the nameless, the liches and necromancer-priests who scurry to obey? One might as well wait for the sand to rise up the hourglass. And so, the information that passes to the top of the pyramid is scant indeed; painstakingly polished until anything at all that might ignite the God of Death’s fury has been smoothed away. Furthermore, lies of omission and the actions required to prevent them from coming to light tend to multiply, gradually crushing all that which seems certain. It is this tendency that is the true genesis of the Nehekankh. Born from lies they are and of lies they must be. Their story begins when Nagash ordered the creation of the Ossiarch Bonereaper legions. At first all was well but as the task progressed his minions began to feel the first pangs of unease. Supplies of the necessary soul-stuff were quickly vanishing and yet the work on the last few legions had barely begun. It didn’t take long for his minions to realise that the Great Necromancer’s plans had not been adjusted to account for the souls that Sigmar had stolen from his grasp and used to create the Anvils of the Heldenhammer — the Stormhost forged from the aeons-dead heroes of the World-That-Was. It is not recorded by any scrimshaw-scribe who first proposed this course of action, but it wasn’t long before the soul-stuff required to make fearless, peerless killing machines was watered down with… other elements. Long had the Mortisan Soulmasons and their predecessors observed that mortals fighting for a cause seem to be far more effective than their lack of martial skill would suggest. The mother fighting to protect her young, the wounded man who bids his friends leave him so that they can escape, the son who takes up his father’s sword even its weight sits ill within his trembling hands. But this was not enough. And so it was that another source of soul-stuff was considered. In the darkest of oubliettes, known only to but a few, Nagash kept the souls of his former countrymen from the World-That-Was there to await his personal excruciation. But what need of such wretches for valour or skill at arms? All that was needed was their capacity for suffering. Normally, this would have been flayed away from them with the utmost care, but the risk of discovery was so great that much else was cut away in haste and decanted into the swirling mix of soul-stuff that was used to create the Golden Horde. At first all seemed well — Nagash’s latest legion was tasked with gathering the bone-tithe from Chamon, the Realm of Metal and the initial harvests of bone were plentiful. However, this was for two reasons — the Realmgate through which they had gained access to the Realm of Metal was far from the bulk of the conflict between the forces of Tzeentch and those of order and the sheer amount of bone waiting to be collected from Chamon’s battlefields and graveyards. As the Golden Horde continued its march and began full scale conflict with the realm’s native inhabitants along with daemons and Arcanites, such resources began to wane, forcing it to go on the defensive and dig deep into their scant reserves to build a network of fortifications.

An example of a Kavalos Deathrider in Nehekankh livery 

With the supply situation becoming critical, Liege-Kavalos Zalicazar and his retinue of Kavalos Deathriders sallied forth in search of a solution. The more they journeyed, the more they realised that the sheer amount of unbridled change magic and the depredations of daemons had cut a swathe through the human cities and settlements. Simply trying to raise cattle or grow crops was nearly impossible — a typical farmer would thank Sigmar if their cows and indeed themselves had the same number of limbs from sunrise to sunset. 

Returning weeks later with little to show for their efforts — and fearing the worst — Zalicazar and his companions were astonished to find that a dense and thriving jungle had sprung up almost overnight where the waves of unfettered and wild possibility collided with the deathly energies emanating from the Ossiarch Bonereapers’ fortifications. It was P’tah the most learned of the Golden Horde’s  Mortisan Boneshapers who first proposed the strategy of encouraging tribes and refugees fleeing lands made barren by wild magic to resettle in the newly fertile lands that ringed the borders of their territory. 

N’knef, the legion’s oldest and wisest Mortisan Soulmason pointed out in a voice like the crackling of dry leaves that this wouldn’t be enough — the legion would actually have to defend such settlements and tithe them sustainably, despite that doing so would directly contradict (at least in the short-term), their god’s vision of a perfect unending lifeless necrotopia. But the vague and far off possibility of being unmade as heretics by their ultimate master paled into insignificance when weighed against the absolute certainty of disgrace and torment should they return to Nagashizzar in failure. 

So it came to pass that a legion of animated bone revenants raised with the sole purpose of ushering all life into the malign grip of Nagash has become the Nehekankh – the death which brings life. 

As the decades has passed, the legion has become more comfortable with its decision — for nurturing the human settlements and even inducting the souls of the departed into their ranks with only the slightest refinement sits more naturally with them then the many massacres they carried out when the legion was first unleashed and the legion’s masters have long struggled to understand what would be required of them should Nagash’s vision ever come to pass. 

However, this inner peace is an uneasy one for all of the legion who carry the spark of sentience fear the day that Nagash eventually learns of their blasphemy. To forestall that dreaded day, great cartloads of bone are dispatched back to Nagashizzar with ever-increasing frequency — for the settlements have become great cities thanks to the unceasing labour of deathless hands and the supernaturally fertile fields that surround them. 

But the cities are no longer the Nehekankh’s only source of bone — for its strength has grown and its reach is long. Its leaders are no longer content to garrison walls and defend their livestock. They take the battle to the chaos filth who pollute their lands, while to the south the jungles have become infested with Seraphon — and their great beasts’ remains make the perfect raw material with which to build more Gothizzar Harvesters.

Meanwhile, to further increase their chances of survival once the Great Necromancer eventually discovers their betrayal, the Nehekankh have sent out expeditionary forces across the realms in search of unpillaged stormvaults and the wonders within. This search has led a small force to the Tallowlands...