Greetings Terrans, I’ve done a bit more writing for my RoW thing – a short chapter that addresses how the warband managed to acquire the five Beastmen needed to reach its full starting strength, and that covers a game I played where the objective was to liberate a Beastman Shaman & add him to the warband as well. I’ll close with an update on the post-game sequence, and there is pic of new mini that I did especially for Wudugast too, so feel free to skip the story bit if that’s not your bag.

.

.

.

The Tale of Scynir the Architect – Part 2

Scynir’s warband picked their way warily along the rock-strewn track, their breath echoing within the tight confines of the deep gorge. They were slowly making their way into the Eight Points, picking out secret paths in order to avoid the notice of larger and more powerful groups. The Eightpoints was a dangerous place, and with just four fighters in her band, Scynir knew she was vulnerable.

Scynir considered her followers. All were veteran gladiators who had originally been part of a warband known as the ‘Blooded Hand’, but these four were all that remained following their near annihilation at the hands of an Elven mage… Scynir herself had killed that mage, and in so doing had earned the favour of Tzeentch and the loyalty of these survivors.

Nerys and Gwil were both lithe and agile, lightly armoured and adept at working together – Nerys with her long spear and Gwil with his gladiator’s net. They acted as scouts and skirmishers for the group, often ranging ahead to check the route. Sven was the opposite – a giant of a man who spoke little, but who carried his huge two-handed executioner’s axe with a chilling ease. The fourth warrior was a hulking Beastman called Skrogg, a mountain of muscle who loomed even larger than Sven. The Beastman was a superstitious creature and had been particularly awestruck by the magical transformation that Scynir had undergone. He had barely left her side since then, appointing himself as her personal bodyguard. Scynir did not mind – the reassuring bulk of the Beastman was a comfort to her, and her connection with Tzeentch gave her a newfound appreciation for the creature’s mutant form.

Scynir’s mind continued to wander, and she considered the changes wrought upon her own body during her conversion to Tzeentch. Her hands were probably the most noticeable aspect of the transition, the skin having darkened to near-indigo, and the fingers elongating to either end in a claw or a puckered mouth that spat magical flame on demand. Her face too had darkened, and taken on an inscrutable quality that she found pleasing. She had even taken to wearing a veil to enhance this effect.

More profound changes had occurred internally, where small embers of latent magical ability had been fanned into blazing life by Tzeentch. Scynir had been working hard to expand her powers ever since, learning from the whispers of her new master by day, and reading stolen Elven lore and practicing profane spells by night. Most of this magical experimentation had been carried out on the captive Elf woman, the only other survivor of the massacre that ended with the murder of the mage. Scynir’s power had wrought horrendous changes on the Elf, mutating her once-beautiful face into a living horned skull, and so rendering her blind and mute. However, the magic had also seemingly given the captive a sense for danger that extended beyond the mundane, and on several occasions, the creature had begun clacking her jaw in response to approaching trouble, turning empty eye sockets in the direction of the threat. The warband had come to value the early warning that she gave.

As Scynir thought this, the creature stopped in her tracks and staring dead ahead, slowly clacking to herself. The warband halted, poised for trouble, but after several minutes, the rate and intensity of clicking had not changed, and neither had the direction. An ambush then, and one that the high sides of the gorge made impossible to avoid.

–

–

–

The group advanced cautiously down the gorge – the risk of the ambushing force being superior was significant. The clicking increased in frequency as they proceeded, setting the warband on edge, but a whispering in Scynir’s mind reassured her.

–

“All is proceeding as planned little one, take heart, this is fate.”

–

In increase in brightness ahead revealed that the gorge suddenly widened to form a natural amphitheatre some thirty yards in diameter. Skrogg stopped just before the narrow gorge spilled into this open space, and protectively ushered Scynir behind his back. He sniffed the air deeply, a low growl sounding in his massive chest.

“Wait. Here.” He grunted, his bovine features making the words guttural and harsh.

Skrogg handed his mace to Sven, and advanced into the amphitheatre, his huge head thrust forward, shoulders hunched and fists clenched. He reached the centre of the circle and stopped. Filling his lungs, Skrogg issued a bellowing challenge, the deep breying echoed around the natural arena. Movement in the shadows of several rocky outcrops and fissures revealed several smaller Beastmen lurking in the rocks, primitive weapons in hand. She thought they were of the smaller Ungor variety – certainly none had the impressive span of horns or the physical presence that Skrogg did, and they did not advance to meet Skrogg’s challenge. However, one voice did respond – a similarly deep and discordant bellow rang out, and a massive Beastman stepped out of a narrow fissure in the opposite wall. Throwing down a massive axe, the creature advanced.

This specimen was every bit as imposing as Skrogg, and the two looked evenly matched as they started to circle each other, fists clenched and breath snorting from their muzzles. Neither creature backed down, and at some unseen decision point, the two creatures launched themselves at each other. They met in the middle of the amphitheatre with a sickening clash of heads, their horns locked and they began grappling, massive neck and shoulder muscles bunched as each sought to dominate the other. The ambush leader seemed to be gaining the upper hand at first, but Skrogg was a veteran of many pit fights and knew how to use his opponent’s weight against him. A sudden drop of the hip and pivot, and Skrogg had the other Beastman off balance and crashing to the floor. Skrogg wasted no time in pouncing on his opponent, twisting one of the creature’s arms behind its back and applying a choke hold that would snap the neck of most humans. The immense pressure of Skrogg’s grip made the Beastman’s eyes bulge and its tongue lol out of its mouth, and after a few more moments, Skrogg’s opponent tapped to indicate surrender. Skrogg let the creature go with a roar of triumph as the defeated Beastman rose unsteadily to its feet before bowing deeply to the victor.

The two rivals clasped arms, and began conversing in the guttural language of their kind, while four smaller Beastmen crept out of the shadows to join the pair. The defeated champion was grunting emphatically and pointing to the fissure in the opposite wall, but Skrogg was gesturing back towards Scynir. A growl reinforced he point, and Beastman retrieved his axe he and the smaller Ungors accompanied Skrogg back the shelter where Scynir and her human followers waited.

–

“Hear him out.”

–

The new Beastman looked at Scynir and her band appraisingly before dropping to one knee, head bowed and clenched fist held to its breast.

“Droshag” it grunted by way of introduction.

“Greetings Droshag, I am Scynir the Transformed, Architect of Tzeentch. My master bids you to speak, and me to listen.” replied Scynir.

“Need help Sky-ner, hunters take Gorshag, powerful Shaman… You help rescue, maybe we join you”

 –

“Yes, this Gorshag could be a powerful ally, with his own kind of beast magic for you to learn… All knowledge is power little one – rescue the Shaman, bind these creatures to your service and learn the secrets of his magic!”

–

“It will be so” said Scynir, and with a sign, she bade Droshag to rise and lead the group forward.

–

–

–

It was near dusk by the time the group exited the confines of the gorge. They continued to track the hunters until they reached a shattered temple that nestled in amongst low hills. Observing the complex from a rise, Scynir could see a barbaric group of men and women resting in the ruins, a roaring fire in their midst. They were adorned with furs and bone trinkets, and had fearsome looking bone weapons close to hand. A locked stone chamber stood just beyond the fire, with pair of Rocktusk Prowlers guarding the door. Their huge leonine bodies filled with poised menace and their fangs glinting in the firelight – this was likely to be where the captive Shaman was being held. Including these ferocious hunting beasts, the barbarians numbered some eleven fighters – too many for Scynir’s original band to face, but her new Beastman allies plus the element of surprise balanced the odds. She gave the signal and her warband stealthily approached the temple.

As they entered the temple grounds, the warband split into three groups. Sven, Nerys and Gwil took the centre, while the Ungors took the right flank and Scynir, Skrogg and Droshag took the left. It didn’t take long for the Rocktusks to detect the attackers, their sensitive ears and noses picking out the approaching warband. They growled low in their throats, alerting the hunters to the imminent attack. A particularly large man, presumably the leader, started shouting orders to the others. The barbarians fanned out to meet the threat, Rocktusks surging ahead. The hunting beasts were the first to reach Scynir’s band, with one pouncing on Gwil, and another attacking Skrogg. The speed and savagery of the creatures was terrifying, but her fighters managed to hold them off long enough for support to arrive. The isolated Rocktusks fell to the sheer volume of attacks, though Gwil was taken out of action, and even mighty Skrogg was grievously wounded in the fight. By this time, the supporting barbarians had reached the right flank and were engaged in brutal hand to hand fighting with the Ungors. The Beastmen were giving a good account of themselves, but were struggling to deal with the hunters who were being goaded into a frenzy by a tall female. Sven saw the challenge, and broke right to add his weight to that flank. The balance of power shifted, and Scynir’s fighters began to gain the upper hand.

At the same time, Skrogg and Droshag came under attack from more barbarians, including the leader of the band. He was a giant of a man who overpowered the injured Skrogg, and was trading blow for blow with Droshag. Scynir employed magic to hurl fire at the other barbarians that were trying to flank her, burning one alive and sending another running for cover. . A sudden howl of agony cut through the dusk – Nerys had sneaked up on the fight between Droshag and the barbarian chieftain, and had used the reach of her spear to attack around Droshag and stab the man in the ribs. Droshag took advantage of the distraction to bring his axe down on the fighter, cleaving him from shoulder to breastbone. As the chieftain toppled over, the rest of his followers lost their nerve and fled the field. Many of the Ungors were battered and bloody, while Gwil and Skrogg were both unconscious, but the warband of Scynir were victorious.

Droshag made his way to the locked chamber, and using the back of his axe, he smashed the lock and wrenched open the door. A huge Beastman limped out of the room and clasped arms with Droshag while they exchanged grunting words in their own language. Droshag pointed towards Scynir and the rest of the warband as they tended to their wounded. The Shaman located his staff from among the scattered remains of the hunters camp, and made his way painfully toward Scynir. As he approached, Scynir marvelled at the Shaman’s bright zebra stripes – truly he was marked by her master Tzeentch.

–

“Yes, this is pleasing – Gorshag will join you, and so strengthen your power in service of me.”

–

Gorshag stopped and bowed his head to Scynir.

“The Hawk-Lord of Magic has spoken to me on the wind – He says my tribe and I join you and yours. We will follow you and fight for you in the name of the Hawk-Lord Tzeentch”

Scynir was pleased, nodding her veiled head in agreement.

“Just as planned…” she thought to herself.

.

.

.

So after the game described, (thanks Ross!), I added the shaman from Grashrak’s Despoilers to my warband, and I also rolled to see what happened to the casualties… Happily, they all survived with no major issues. I also rolled to see if I gained any new followers, and Tzeentch saw fit to bless me with 4 new Chaos Dwarfs followers… The warband now stands as follows:

1 Human Champion, Gift of Magic, Overgrown Hands

3 Humans

6 Beastmen

1 Beastman Shaman (via game)

4 Chaos Dwarfs

.

These Chaos Dwarfs will be the focus for my next RoW post.

.

Finally, a word on the female elf captured in part 1 of the story, and who now forms a mutated/mutilated early warning system for the warband. Motivated by having the majority of a Scinari Cathaller mini left over from Scynir’s conversion, and by the Realm of Chaos references to warband followers that add flavour but do not take part in battles, I thought I’d try and do something with her. I was also inspired by Wudugast’s dislike of the original, and wanted to see if I could improve on things a little. Here she is:

I kinda like how she turned out 😊

Greetings Terrans, last time I gave you an overview of how I generated my starting warband, chose my Champion stat card, and I shared pics of the followers all painted up. I still needed a model for my Champion, and the Loreseeker card got me looking at the Lumineth range for inspiration. I also needed a name, so a roll on some internet generator gave me ‘Scynir the Architect’, and after a bit of converting and painting, here she is:

.

For those that are curious, she is made by taking the head of the Scinari Cathallar, trimming the ears to be less Elvish, and then adding it to the body of a Scinari Calligrave. A pair of Blue Horror hands complete the look while effectively ticking both ‘oversized hands’ and ‘gift of magic’ boxes.

Here is Scynir the Architect with her starting warband:

I’m chuffed to bits with how all of this has worked out – I even felt inspired enough to get back into some writing! Feel free to skip it, but if you do fancy a five minutes of fan fiction, here is he tale of how Scynir came to be, and how she gained her very first followers:

.

.

The Tale of Scynir the Architect – Part 1

The wind howled around the ruins, carrying a bitter cold and a light dust that seemed determined to seek out every crevice, despite the dubious shelter of the long-derelict farmhouse. Scynir barely noticed the discomfort, lost as she was in a growing awareness of a wind that, out of her remaining comrades, only she could detect. This wind blew from a plane beyond the ken of normal folk – not a physical force, but one that was warm and enticing to her soul. Scynir found it passing strange that she had never noticed this ‘other’ wind before now, but her awareness of it had been growing by the day, and the whispering that it carried was growing ever louder. She fancied that she could almost hear sibilant words:

–

“Kill the Elves. They despise your kind. The leader has secrets. You are scum to him. Kill the Elves.”

–

She looked sidelong at the Elves. The male was the leader of the pair, his distaste for the humans mercenaries that had protected him these last two weeks was evident in his haughty face. The rumour was that he was a Lumineth Battlemage who had lost his honour guard in the war against Chaos. The other elf was female, and was clearly some kind of apprentice or student. The mage didn’t deign to talk directly to the humans – he only spoke with the Elf woman, and only when the humans were out of earshot. Scynir didn’t even know the Mage’s name.

–

“Kill the Elves. They have nothing but contempt for you. The Mage’s power feeds his contempt. Kill the Elves.”

–

Whatever his story, the Free-state mercenary band that Scynir belonged to had been employed to escort the Elves and their baggage of scrolls and arcane curios back to their own people. Their route had skirted the fell lands of the Eightpoints and they had been attacked several times since their journey began, losing many comrades along the way. Not once had the Elves lifted a finger in their own defence. Thinking that, Scynir glanced at what was left of the mercenary band – apart from herself, only three remained. One was old and past her prime, while the other two were barely old enough to shave… They were clearly terrified, and with a twinge of guilt, she realised that she didn’t even know their names.

–

“Kill the Elves. They despise you. The mage has power that he is hiding from you. He spends your lives like coppers. He values his scrolls more that your lives. Kill the Elves.”

–

She looked back at the mage, and silently brooded as the urge to slide her steel into his arrogant face grew and grew…

–

“Kill him. Take his scrolls – I can teach you how to use them. Take his power! Kill them all!”

–

–

–

–

The sun had set, and the night was bitterly cold. Scynir usually hated the darkness, but this night she didn’t pay it any mind as she lay awake, schemes flitting through her head and the whispering filling her thoughts.

–

“That power is yours for the taking. With it we can build so much together. I will teach you. Wheels within wheels. Be part of my beautiful plan. It is yours for the taking – kill them!”

–

A glance around the group showed the older mercenary stood sentry while the others slept. The two Elves appeared to be deep in whispered conversation, and were intent on whatever it was they were discussing.

An accidental scrape of steel on stone sounded out in the darkness beyond the ruins – it was close. The sentry slowly and silently drew her sword while simultaneously nudging the others with the toe of her right boot. She stared intently out into the darkness, while the Elves stopped their conversation and stood up, tension showing through their graceful forms as they quietly gathered up their packs and satchels, and slowly backed into a corner of the ruined building. Scynir also rose, gripping the hilt of her sword as she backed towards the Elves, her eyes straining to pierce the darkness beyond the sentry. The silence was total – a part of Scynir even noticed that the whispering had stopped, as if the whole universe was holding its breath.

There was a sudden flash of movement in the darkness, followed by a wet thud and a choking sound as the point of a spear sprouted from the back of the sentry’s neck. Cast from the darkness, the spear had lanced cleanly through her throat, severing windpipe and spinal cord before she even had a chance to flinch. She was dead before he hit the floor.

–

“Be ready…”

–

The younger mercenaries froze in the act of rising, mesmerised by the look of shock on the dead woman’s face. It was their turn to die moments later as a pair of men bounded from the darkness, clearing the wall to batter the boys to the ground with shields before driving their short swords into exposed backs. Other shapes loomed out of the darkness – hard looking figures who moved with the practiced skill of trained fighters. Most appeared human, but Scynir spotted a Dwarf, and even a hulking Beastman among their number. They had the look of gladiators or pit fighters about them, and starlight glinted off well maintained weapons and dark steel armour as they grimly advanced. Only Scynir stood between them and the Elves, and as much as she hated the arrogant Mage and his helper, she was under no illusions about how the attacking warband would treat her… She prepared to sell her life dearly.

–

“Not yet…”

–

The raiders had cautiously advanced to within ten paces when they suddenly froze. Scynir became aware of chanting from behind her, and felt her neck hairs stand on end, a premonition of awesome powers about to be unleashed. She instinctively dived to the ground as sudden bolts of lightning arced through the night with a deafening crack. Screams of agony and rage filled the night, and the ruins were suddenly thick with the unmistakeable smell of cooking flesh.

–

“Soon…”

–

Slowly, Scynir regained her feet and her sword, and, blinking away livid afterimages, she continued to back away from the raiders. As her vison cleared, she realised that most of them were now motionless on the ground, flesh charred, low flames sputtering as they continued to feed on fat and tissue. A thick greasy smoke rolling into the air, adding to the cloying stench of burnt meat. Slowly a few of the raiders staggered to their feet – a giant of a man with a massive headsman’s axe, a pair of gladiators – one armed with spear and the other with net, and the towering Beastman, fur singed and its heavy mace gripped in massive fists.

–

“Almost…”

–

Scynir reached the Elves – her back was against the same wall with the Mage immediately to her right, and the acolyte to the right of him. The Mage had resumed his chanting, hands thrust forward to cast more magical lightning at the raiders. Scynir could see the fear and resignation in their faces – and the futile rage.

–

“Now!”

–

Without thinking, she swung her blade backhand with a savage cry of exultation, cleanly hacking through the Mage’s throat and neck. The head seemed to leap from the body on a jet of blood – face frozen in shock as it bounced and rolled towards the raiders. It came to a stop on its side, facing back towards her, and Scynir almost laughed as the Mage’s eyes appeared to look at her in recognition, while the mouth twitched in silent reproach.

There was shocked silence for a moment more before the Elf woman began wailing in grief and the surviving raiders began shouting in confusion. Scynir was oblivious to all as her awareness became engulfed by the full force of the winds of magic and the awesome majesty of Tzeentch.

–

“You have done so well little one – too long have the arrogant Elves kept their knowledge hidden from me. Through you, we will learn their secrets – you shall be one of my architects in the mortal realms, and together we will build great works of intrigue as part of my greater plan. Accept my gifts, and rejoice, for I am Tzeentch, the Changer of Ways, the Architect of Fate, the Lord of Sorcery… and you are now mine.”

–

Scynir screamed as bolts of raw energy blasted down from the sky, surrounding her in a glowing purple cage of pure magic. Her clothes and armour disintegrated in the light, the flesh on her hands turned a dark indigo as they grew and twisted into monstrous things. Some fingers grew razor sharp claws, others developed puckered mouths that began to drip liquid flames, while some digits disappeared altogether. Scynir didn’t care – she felt no pain during the transformations, only the ecstasy of pure magic filling her whole being.

Eventually the energy subsided, and Scynir stood naked and gloriously transformed by the glory of Tzeentch. She looked down to see the raiders on their knees before her and she knew they were ready to serve. The female Elf was cowering in the corner of the ruined room, her eyes wide with the horror of what she had witnessed.

Scynir addressed her new followers.

“Do as you please with the Elf, but first remove her clothes carefully and bring them to me – I rather like them!”

Exultant roars filled the night and drowned out the terrified screams of the Elf as the warband of Scynir the Architect, champion of Tzeentch, fell upon their first victim in savage fury.

Scynir didn’t care – she was already rifling through the Elven satchels, hungrily seeking out scrolls of forbidden lore.