The second game happened and it was brutal. This time we debuted my dwarf hold terrain with some really positive results.
The Farsetter Holds - Chapter 2
The abandoned holds just were not the same. In their days of being occupied by the clans and houses of the once proud duardin, they would be well lit and alive with the noise of chatter, massive pyres, and sometimes music. Now they were dark, abandoned, and silent. Eerily silent. The only light here is from the torches of the expedition and the only noise is from the footsteps of the throng.
Dunhill's steamsuit was in working order and marching its mechanical gait with the rest of the throng. They had followed the greenskin horde into this great hall, which was easy to get into due to its wrecked front gate. Dunhill didn't recognize this one. With the runes adorning it, he also knew it wasn't his own families. This belonged to a neighboring clan, the Deephelm family. Architecture was similar of course. All proper duardin knew good mountain hold architecture, therefore, apart from some embellishments, they were all very similar.
Bree was walking right beside Dunhill, her father. Where Drake inherited his father's engineering prowess, Bree inherited his stubbornness. This daughter was so defiant in refusing her father's wishes to stay out of battle, that she pursued the art of runecrafting and apprenticing under their old runelord. Something that she has shown quite a knack for. "He stinks." She commented.
She was referring to the dirty naked blonde haired duardin manically jogging back and forth in front of them, like a hound searching desperately for a scent trail. This unfortunate individual was unforged. A term used to refer to one who's mind was broken. In searching this hold, they had managed to find one lone survivor. He had forgotten his own name, but it can be assumed he is the last known survivor of the Deephelm clan. He had managed to survive in complete isolation for this long, since the exodus, on whatever mushrooms he could find. It made him crazier than an outhouse skaven, but he is useful here. They can really only get him to talk in incoherent ramblings, but he recognized the Forthammer clan ancestral emblem, and seems to be leading them to a pathway there. The unforged had on a loincloth, which was the best they could get him to wear. His whole body is scarred in runes. Perhaps living among civilized duardin, good ales, and proper meals could bring him back to sanity, but most likely he will suicide himself in battle, like the ancient slayers of legend. The unforged suddenly stopped and held perfectly still.
Dunhill signaled the rest to hold. It takes a minute for the whole expedition to halt as well. As soon as it does though, the silence of the hold is broken with distant footsteps. Ones that began to rapidly multiply. Darkness in the distance, but the sound of a horde coming through.
The unforged stared off into the darkness ahead "Great green?!"
"Da Big'un is close, I can feels it." hissed Profut Big'un.
Grox had just about enough of the Profut's ramblings. "SHUT YER GOB! Das enough of da big'un."
The Profut cackled. He knew Grox was growing impatient, they had been wandering in this maze under the mountain for days, but they were going to be rewarded. "All we need is a foight. A foight to wake da big'un from his slumber. And I see a foight comin' now." He pointed his oversized staff down the hallway, toward the torches in the distance.
Grox sniffed the air, and sense the familiar stench of stunties. These were probably the same ones they encountered outside of the mountain. "Now dats more loik it!"
The Profut delighted as well. The sound and magic of a battle would be what's needed to get da big'un riled up. "Wait, Grox da fateseeker, in dis battle, you must send in da fat'uns first. Those boyz get da waaagh going real good. Da big'un will loik it."
Grox didn't mind the caveat to this coming battle, he was just glad to have one. "KLEEVAHS!" he called to his elite squad of fat'uns. They were renown for fighting brutally with their oversized cleavers, hence the name. "Get da rest of da fat'uns to da front. Dis be our WAAAAGH!"
The disciplined duardin were forming their lines, ready to receive the greenskin charge. Bardin Thunderborne had taken his squad of thunderers up to one of the higher paths, and Drake had take the Irondrakes up to the opposite path. The unforged continued to ramble about the 'great green'. Bree approached him, and pointed to the barely discernible greenskins that were becoming visible down the hall. "Is that the great green?"
The unforged manically shook his head, then a sudden series of stomping sounds echoed throughout the halls, stomps so powerful that some of the ceiling tiles in this ancient unkempt hall began to fall to the floor below. They were as long slow clashes, completely different than the rapid footsteps of the now closer greenskins. This was something else. The clashing sound range again, this time the ground shuddered beneath the sure-footed duardin. The unforged turned to Bree, eyes wide open "Great green!"
Jarom's destruction force was primarily Ogor units, meant to represent only the big ones going into this fight. But he also had profut big'un, his weirdnob shaman, a unit of 'ardboys, and a big unit of greenskin boys. It was of course lead by his Ogor Tyrant, Grox. My Dispossessed force had minimum squads of ironbreakers, irondrakes, hammerers, warriors, thunderers, and longbeards, plus a new Unforged. Along with the usual assortment of heroes: Cogsmith, Runelord, and Warden King, Dunhill, leading the army.
Another tile smashed down right next to Dunhill. He was quickly getting surrounded by filthy savage orruk. There was no stopping them this time. The throng was getting beaten by the numbers, and sheer brute strength of the bigger greenskins. Dunhill called for the retreat, and the rest of the throng tried picking up any wounded they could carry. The ceiling was falling at a much faster rate, until eventually entire chunks of wall and pillar were crashing down. Almost as if something was trying to smash through. Something big.
As the remaining duardin were making their way back, under the cover of falling debris, Bree called out "FATHER! I feel the runes! This way!" She ushered in who she could into one of the doorways leading under the main paths above. They had lost their unforged guide to the magic using orruk, but not before he helped take out a few of the bigger ones. A fitting end for such a tortured soul. May Grungni welcome him at his table.
The falling rock was getting more violent, hastening their retreat. Just as Dunhill entered the doorway, he caught a glimpse at one of the great walls, a shape forming behind the billowing dust. Two large figures were emerging. Bigger than any orruk.
Profut Big'un was maniacally laughing, even as orruk was getting smashed and demoralized by the sight. Grox was beginning to make out the shape. He stood in awe. He resolved that moment to never doubt the prophesies and ramblings of the Profut again.
Da Big'un had finally arrived.
|The campaign tree after 2 games. The cards are protected in card sleeves and stuck to the poster board with sticky tack. My current renown is 2, represented by runestones. Jarom's is 4, represented by orruk teef.|
|A sample record sheet filled out after 2 games. 2 renown means a total of 2 rewards listed. This is all part of the campaign system I made. After this game I will edit the document and create a version 2.0 with some errata we figured out through playtesting.|