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. 

 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. 

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. 

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

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. 

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

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.
 

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

 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.

The Red Moon

The Red Moon Rises: part 1

He deflected her attack and struck back. She turned it aside with her blade and shot past him...she smelt amazing...Pain erupted as Tova struck his elbow, ribs, and nape of neck with her "knives". She was quick!
"Point to me!" she smirked.
Hjorvard felt his face redden as they reset, he had to blot out the distractions! They were training, this was important, lose focus and it could cost you everything!
He longed to wield an axe, but more exotic weapons were scarce so you had to prove yourself as a warrior to earn the right to wield them. 
Training had been tough, but it felt good. Strength and skill had vastly improved since they'd started, but it was all coming together. Honing their fighting skills to instinctive reactions had taken a lot of work over years but they were almost there. 
The orange sky said the gentle gaze and protection of Lady Lisu was waning. They needed to be ready, the time was almost upon them. 

It was unusual sleeping in until mid morning, but tonight was going to be exhausting. Hjorvard still ached from yesterday's training, bruises were starting to show, but he did his morning stretches and went to help prepare the food.
As Father cut the meat he looked across the table. 
"When I came of age it was a time of mixed emotions." he announced "You know the words, you've seen the rites, you understand what is expected... get through the ritual. yes, its in front of everyone you know, but its just a ceremony. Its tonight you have to prove you are worthy. its tonight and every night the blood moon shines that we are all counting on you to do your part."
he went quiet and seemed to finish, then he caught his wife's gaze across the table.
"...but don't worry" he continued "your mother and I will be with you. now lets eat, then its off to the temple."

Father Torpal's sermon went on for quite a while. the theme was duty, loyalty, remembering your roots, and doing your part. It was just the two of them coming of age this season, and the eyes of the whole village were on them as they knelt at the altar, observed the rites, and the blessing was performed. It was nerve wracking, but the blessing was to give them strength for what lay ahead. 

Hjorvard stood outside the temple gazing at the horizon. No trace of Yellow, The Lady Lisu was gone from the sky, and it was clear. Was that a touch of red on the horizon? his stomach fluttered with nervous anticipation. 
The punch to his arm snapped him out of the daydream. "well, you didn't mess it up!" Tova said with a look of mock surprise. 
"you didn't either," he replied 'can't you think of something better to say?' he thought, he could have kicked himself! "Rorralarach will rise soon."he said
"it will" she nodded.
they gazed out at the hills on the horizon. She held his hand and rested her head on his shoulder. He froze and felt his face redden. The nervous butterflies in his stomach had turned into a bag of fighting ferrets...and one of them had escaped and was heading elsewhere!
"are you ready" he asked
"Almost" she replied
"what do you mean?" 
still holding his hand she stepped round to face him, gazed into his eyes for a moment, then kissed him. He paused, startled, then kissed back. he'd been imagining it for weeks, but it was better than that. Amazing! 
They parted. 
"what was that for?" he asked. 
she looked sheepish, then a little melancholic "just in case..."
The Bell rang.
They started, and looked towards the hills. a line of red had appeared on the horizon. 
"Its our first duty to make sure the children are safe in the temple vault." she said.       
he nodded "crazy to think we don't have to spend another night down there ever again!"

The vault was secure, The gate was barred and they stood with all the adults of the village by the wooden palisade that marked its edge. The sky was mauve above, fading through to magenta, and the red moon was visible above the horizon.              
"I can see them!" someone shouted
"steady yourself! his father flexed his brawny shoulders, "breathe and remember your training" he growled. 
"we'll see you in the morning, dear."  his mother said to reassure him. 
They could hear the noise of movement carried by the wind.
oh gods! he could see them! men, beastmen, other things? there were a LOT! and they looked crazed! He could feel the blood pumping in his veins, his heart thumping in his chest. he shuddered, he felt sick. fear? elation? nerves. His hand trembled so he gripped his knives tighter. They were almost here! He could see fifty..no a hundred... no, more! He lost count. Stopped trying to count. The terror, excitement, and anticipation mingled into one. 
They were two hundred yards away, and running. he glanced left, then right, seeing tensed warriors, steely determination, and set fighting stances. 
At a hundred and fifty yards, he felt his knee tremble and his stomach lurch. but he controlled it. 'remember your training' he growled at himself. 
a hundred yards. 
He could feel the ground pounding, and smell the approaching horde. Heart pounding, nerves singing, he tensed... then relaxed.           
he glanced above at the moon, so big, so red, a moment of calm. 
Then the Red orb of Rorralarach glared back, deep into his soul! he felt its power course through him. 
The last thing he remembered was roaring "Blood...!" as the frenzy took hold and he joined the harvest.