The Mystic Key

Hultz

Nathaniel Hultz looked around. He sniffed the air. It was here. It was here. He knew it, knew it without knowing how, but he knew it.

It had been close before, close enough to sense, but always whisked away – somehow – by unknown hands whenever he got near. This time was different. This time he had veiled his seeking and hidden his plans and now was in the presence of his reward.

The key. The unknown key; the infuriatingly, maddeningly unknowable key. A key to what? He could not even guess. But he had paid a steep price for the visions which guided him and he would not allow it to have been in vain.

Movement across the way brought him back from his thoughts and into the present. The barbarians were in position and ready to search. He wondered if he could trust them to surrender the prize if they found it first; probably not, by his reckoning. It did not matter – his own servants had been summoned and he would overwhelm the barbarians with cosmic fire once their usefulness expired. They were the hounds of a feral god and deserved no better.

He drew a deep breath and readied his mind. It seemed strange to think that he had expected to find the key in some deep dungeon or in an impenetrable fortress, such was its pull. And yet, here he stood, knee-deep in mist on the edge of some nameless, dreary town too close to the Tolerance to be called civil. Perhaps, when his life’s work was finished and songs sung of his deeds, the story would be changed to better suit its significance.

He saw the barbarians step forward to begin the search. With a thought, he commanded his own followers to do the same.

It was time. 

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Torpal

Torpal tried not to grin. He knew the pretence was almost over; battle was nigh, he could feel it. It had been too long coming and a reckoning was due.

For months now, Torpal and his priests had travelled across Rhô, spreading worship of the Warhound to the towns and villages they passed through. Mostly they were run out of town before they could sow more than a token scattering of war-fever among the populace, but Torpal was old enough and wise enough to know that a true inferno rises from many lesser fires and that he may well have perished before his life’s work truly bloomed to its full, raging glory.

A few settlements, however, had proved to be receptive to his exhortions and their – mostly impoverished and resentful – inhabitants had turned their streets and squares into cauldrons of fury. Peasants became gladiators and revelled in their brief moments as gore-soaked champions until they were cut down by their friends and neighbours. From these theatres of combat a mighty few emerged triumphant, worthy of their new place at Torpal’s side.

They had been diverted from their task by the appearance of the one called Hultz. He had offered them gold in exchange for their assistance in seeking a mysterious treasure, and in doing so had revealed his own foolishness. For it was clear that Hultz had identified Torpal’s men as followers of the Warhound, and further still it was clear that he was one of the myriad ‘civilised’ men who saw the Wild Gods as brutish loners whose sole occupation was jostling for supremacy with each other. But like any clansman, Torpal knew that the gods bartered and bargained with each other. Indeed, the one known as the Other Trickster had appeared to Torpal in a vision. He had offered Torpal information and, when Torpal asked what it would cost, had said that Torpal knowing was price enough. Torpal was certain that there would be a hidden cost, but had agreed and was granted knowledge of Hultz and his quest. So it was that when Hultz approached him for aid, Torpal held in check his desire to cleave the dandy’s head from his oh-so-finely-cloaked shoulders and accompanied him across many lands to this unremarkable field on the edge of this mean, measly town.

Torpal knew that Hultz was a wizard – he could almost smell the magic oozing out of the man’s pores – and he suspected him of being a lapdog of the Treacherous One. As such, it seemed to Torpal that despite being a fool and a braggart Hultz would be possessed of a measure of cunning and would have secret followers of his own to summon. It was to be expected that Hultz would betray Torpal’s men once he had found what he sought.

It was no surprise to Torpal therefore when the magic coalesced into a cohort of twisted beings. A powerful retinue emerged around Hultz, and Torpal was certain that Hultz was capable of more. They were on opposite sides of the field, ready to search for the mysterious item which Hultz sought. From across the field Torpal was sure that he could see Hultz smirking, secure in his superiority.

Torpal’s instinct was to pre-empt the inevitable betrayal and attack, but he was genuinely interested to know what it was that Hultz was seeking. In any case, Torpal had reason to believe that his men would be aided in battle from an unexpected quarter. In his arrogance Hultz had neglected to give any thought to the town on whose border they stood. He did not even know its name. But Torpal knew.

He had been there before. 

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Prologue

As Hultz and Torpal instructed their followers to begin the search a thin breeze blew some of the mist away. For a brief period the long grass and tall weeds of the field could be seen, bending a little in the wind. Then something else emerged. A number of curious and unexpected shapes – piles of things, floating rocks and other such items – could be seen among the greenery. Certainly they had no cause to be in a place such as this, and the watchers could not be sure if they had been there all along or whether they only appeared when observed.


Suddenly there was movement near the centre of the field. Something glanced over the tops of the weeds and shrieked when it saw the assembled searchers. A gust of wind – much stronger than before – burst over the field and blew down the vegetation. Visible to all was a strange goblin, clearly panicking as it shovelled pieces of gold and silverwork into a bizarre, living satchel-creature.


Torpal’s eyes widened in astonishment. “Lühtefiend!” he gasped, disbelieving. The goblin yelped once more and dashed into a patch of longer grass, vanishing from sight.
 

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 I GM'd a game at the weekend between Father Torpal, priest of Rorralarach (Lord Blood the Hungry) and Nathaniel Hultz, alleged boss of Jethelech (Omricon). Mostly the intention was to start to familiarise ourselves with the Age of Sigmar rules, but everyone knows narrative games are the best so we took the opportunity to write in a cool setting and start to nudge the Tallowlands story along. While I'm not going to give you a blow-by-blow account of the game (although a few battle photos will hopefully appear in the near future...), some of the stand-out moments were:

- Torpal using an ability on the ground, in the hope of making the treasure goblin run towards him (this was one of those delightful moments you get as a GM, where one of the players does something you would never have come up with yourself).

- A unit of 5 Pink Horrors getting chopped up in melee and the unit managing to end the turn with 5 pink and 10 blue Horrors. Maffs.

- Torpal inciting the locals to fight with absolutely everybody, earning Lord Blood some victory points and Rorralarach a new town.

- Shanduko appeared!

- A Slaughterpriest went to investigate a floating, glowing rock and was really disappointed to discover that it was only a floating, glowing rock.

- Hultz grabbed the treasure goblin (and key) and then acted exactly as you'd expect by leaving his followers to get pummelled while he made a run for it.

All of these were great, but by far the best moment for me was seeing the look on Omricon's face when he realised that there was a treasure goblin to pilfer. Pure joy.