Welcome to Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay. Your actions, either by heroic deeds, villainous acts or your gruesome death, will shape the Old World as we know it.
Rector Meinz lights all twelve candles. Twelve for the number of tribes that followed Our Lord; twelve for the number of electors established in our Holy Empire. I kneel before the altar.
Meinz turns to me, makes the Sign of the Hammer and delivers his benediction:
'Initiate, receive ye the blessing of Sigmar
Go forth and do the work of missionary and warrior
We commit thee to Sigmar's hands
Take heed of those you meet
Beware of witch and demon
Give all due examination
Be any impediment in them
Be any corruption or foulness
Crush them body and soul
You are an extension of the Empire
Protect its citizens
Destroy its foes
Merciful Sigmar
Behold this thy servant
Mighty Sigmar
Strengthen this thy soldier
In Sigmar's name...'
The assembled clergy and a handful of worshipers respond, 'Amen!'
The rector makes the perfunctory gestures, touching forehead, lips, chest, and does the same to me. As he does so he whispers in my ear, "I have had a vision. The Demon of Mutation sees you. But fear not. Our Lord watches over you."
I stand, place my warhammer over my chest, and proclaim in a loud voice, "Only in death does duty end."
I turn and stride out of the sanctuary to face my destiny.
My thoughts drifting back to the present, I look out at the road that will carry me towards the Black Mountains. Towards the pass where Sigmar rid our lands of the Greenskins. Towards my destiny. The church has received portents of evils in the east. They are sending me and I go without remorse or hesitation.
'...the Demon of Mutation sees you!'
Sitting in the tavern, in an all to well familiar sight, wenches here and there, well dressed averlander militia and mercenaries drinking and bickering. Pulls out a paper and reads it to himself like not believing it.
Hey! I ordered something yesterday can I have it in the same day also!?
Last drink before leaving in the morrow towards the south and closer to the Black Mountains to meet his new employer and work. As the wench bring the drink towards me
I lost my thirst today, since I had it yesterday, but thank you for your efforts
Getting of his chair hearing the serving wench spit at the floor and curse him. I have heard much worst and probably from me chuckles as he begins his travel.
Why wait for the morrow if I can start now
As he begins his travel.
A pall of dust hangs over the caravan as it moves slowly eastward. I pause and glance at the the Lord Constable's "relief force." Having already sent every able-bodied soldier north to defend Middenheim, it is left to the handful of remaining men-at-arms, mercenaries, adventurers, but mostly everyday ordinary citizens to help protect Averland's eastern border. Some volunteered for this endeavor, others were told to go with a vague promise of future payment. I chide myself for looking upon this motley group with some dismay because looks can be deceiving: Sigmar is with us and we are his people.
Walking along I notice a large, sturdy man with broad shoulders. Obviously a seasoned mercenary, a crossbow hangs from his back and he carries a hefty battleaxe across his shoulders. I catch stride beside him and call out, "Hail and well-met, fellow traveler! May Sigmar smile upon you. I am Brother Ottmar Manstein, Initiate of the Holy Church of Sigmar. How goes it for you on this blessed day?"
As the caravan rolls along, members of the procession taking time to chat with each other now and then amid the marching, checking of weapons, hurrying along of the oxen pulling the wagon and so forth. The Empire humans all seem complacent despite the looming threat of cahos in the north, unaware of the dangers still prevelant in the world around them. Foul creatures still stalked the wilds of the dark forests, orcs still roamed the fringes of the World's Edge Mountains and bandits plagued the roads and crossways of the Empire, waylaying lone travelers.
The guardsmen accompanying the caravan are at ease, thinking that all evil and harm in the world that could possibly exist was far to the north at the gates of the Wolfenburg at Middenheim, where they had recieved word of the Chaos horde's first failed attack on the mighty fortress-mountain stronghold that is Middenheim. No other such calamity could exist elsewhere when so much evil and destruction loomed in one place. Their weapons were either sheathed, held loosely, or more often than not, stowed in the back of the wagons. Only a few still held their weapons closeby, knowing that death was as unexpected as ever, especially in these troubled times.
The caravan-master issues instructions to his men, but ignoring his men's complacency. He is unaware of the evil always looming about those who left the safety of the cities, as are his guards and those who had volunteered to join such an easy-paying mission to the Black Mountains. After all, who would dare call themselves evil when the Gates of Hell had opened up north?
Glaring red eyes watch the progression of the wagons, men and oxen troop slowly past, guttural snarling quieted by a large and ferocious looking leader, who has cleverly had its followers stay back well out of sight, even an elf would not be able to spot it from the road.
For now, it bids its time, awaiting for the perfect moment to strike. For now, it allows its soon-to-be victims their peace of mind and to make their instructions to those they do not already know. It has all the time in the world, they are alone on a wide open plain with no horses and too many valuable supplies to leave behind to be despoiled. There would be plenty of hot meat on the spit tonight. So it waits, and watches, and grows hungrier with every passing second at the thought of so much human-flesh and spoils of war just waiting to be taken.
Down at the caravan, the men give the newcomers a wide berth, knowing that they are simply to be guided to the pass and then their journey would end. Hardly any of these men, even the mercenaries, as they were more fresh meat who had sprung up out of the back streets and dirt piles to take up the role of the swordsmen and men of negotiable honor, knew next to nothing of combat. They give the hard-eyed axe-carrying warrior a wide birth, as well as the nobleman carrying the keen-bladed weapons. The student they all direct snide comments at constantly, or at least they did until he gave them such a speech of philosophies that the received headaches had swayed them to just avoid him. The priest of Sigmar was the most well received, every mother's son of the Empire knew to bow their head to the Heldenhammer. The only ones to speak to them the most were the caravan-master, a rather rotund and mustachioed man with a lifted Brettonian accent, a few of the older more experianced guards who knew good warriors when they saw them, and one ox-driver who spoke entirely in Tilean, and even that was in such a broken pattern that only his employer could understand him.
Wolfgang covers his nostrils to avoid sneezing. "Greetings, as well. Do you have some wine with you?"
Wolfgang covers his nostrils to avoid sneezing. "Greetings, as well. Do you have some wine with you?"
There always has to be one of this bastards, they plague me like Chaos plagues the world
M'lord I have no wine but ye may ask the caravan master for it, he would me more than happy to do so. I'm Brenog by the way as I clean my axe to pass the time.
"A splendid idea, Brenog."
Wolfgang checks his purse and asks Brenog anew, "And are there intrepid individuals here willing to wager on cards?"
Creak
Creak
Creak
Creak
Creak
How did my tutors find out...Jakob.
Creak
A disheveled figure sits up suddenly in an open freight wagon.
"Must pack!" the figure looks about wildly.
"Aaaoooow" he clutches his head and collapses back into the cart.
Creak
While traveling I mingle company, giving heart to the downcast and affirming the stalwart. Walking past a wagon, a young man with a scraggly mop of black hair sits bolt upright, moans and collapses. Ah, it was not so long ago that I lost myself in drink, carousing until the morn. Praise to the church that set right my ways. In the cart is a water barrel and I bring the youth a ladle. "Drink this friend. It will help remove the cobwebs that muddle your mind. I am Brother Ottmar, and I bid you good day."
The figure looks at the stranger with wild bloodshot eyes.
He looks at the ladle of water.....Turns a bit green.
Suddenly he takes the ladel and splashes his face with the contents.
He blinks....again...and starts to look more human.
"More" He crokes and this ladelfull he drinks.
The figure takes a deep steadying breath, only wincing slightly at the noise. "Thank you Brother Ottmar. I do not know you but I will tell you now, Nevet go to a party put together by Jakob Muller."
"Now where are my books. If Jakob absconded with my Agricola.....Ah (ow) Here it is. I must have packed at some point in the evening."
Remembering he is not alone. "Please forgive my poor manners. I am Marius Fenwick researcher for Professor Algemanerr and currently an article of baggage."
Never liked gamblin' much, I rather spend it in more useful things like wine and fixing my gear[b] as he shows him the edge of his axe [b]Good mercenaries know that it's better to keep your gear in check for it will keep ya good n' safe when ya need it!
Hearing a moan!? from another cart Guess there are women with manly voice or probably something of the sort, glad I ain't in that cart
"...Please forgive my poor manners. I am Marius Fenwick researcher for Professor Algemanerr and currently an article of baggage."
"No apology necessary, Marius, the pleasure is mine. A student of philosophy, eh? Some of my order scorn such work... However I follow the teachings of Aquilonus who argues that faith and reason coexist." I wink at the bleary eyed researcher, "Perhaps we can have intellectual debate over the campfire sometime?"
I leave the student so he can recover in peace.
Wolfgang nods at Brenog's words.
"Well, thank you then."
He then moves towards the Sigmarite.
"Blessings of the Heldenhammer be upon you. I am Wolfgang, recently of Middenheim. May I have a moment of your time?"
Follow trail checks from OOC board
51% success1d100 ⇒ 26
41% success1d100 ⇒ 60
11% success1d100 ⇒ 72
Laurenor had managed to trail the orcs into the empire lands and had stayed close on their heels. But one night the orcs had stolen a march on him and had slipped away before he could catch them.
Laurenor sighed he had just managed to reack these damnable orcs into what the humans called Averland almost to another stretch of mountains but that damned leader Ripjaw had grown even more cunning if that was possible and slipped away. Left with no recourse he had begun moving through the woods towards what he could partially tell was a road. Hopefully Ripjaw would act like a normal orc raider soon and decide to come back and waylay a caravan the money grubbing humans were always sending down one raod or another. Maybe he could catch the orc as they ravaged one and manage to send a fang into his ugly eye.
However the sight that greets his eyes is disappointing. unable to tell if the orc had even come close to the road he only saw some small caravan with a few human figures milling about it. He was still quite a ways away but it was best to proceed with caution and not let the humans see him just yet. With luck Ripjaw would come.
Convoy Difficult Perception:
All throughout the trek down the road, the caravan master, a pompous and rather self-satisfied man named Lloyd, sat primptly on his cushioned seat, shouting orders and making jests at the expence of the group of Averheimers traveling with them. He is by no means a kind man, nor very particularily wise. The guards he stations pay no attention to their jobs, 'slink' off in plain sight to resume drinking, and generally allow the men under his command to act in such ways any battle-hardened sergeant would feel his oratory commanding voice literally trying to climb out of his mouth to disparage the group of lay-abouts.
Lloyd does always announce changes in the road for the sake of his ox-drivers, and the entire party can hear his high-pitched voice call out, "Passing 'tween two hills! Convoy in single line."
"Blessings of the Heldenhammer be upon you. I am Wolfgang, recently of Middenheim. May I have a moment of your time?"
Seeing my questioners clothing and mannerisms, I immediately recognize his station. "I knew not that we were blessed to have nobility among us." Bowing slightly, "My liege! I am Brother Ottmar of the Order of Sigmar. How might I be of service?"
"Passing 'tween two hills! Convoy in single line."
Casting a doubtful glance at the source of the command, "What think you of our Caravan-Master?"
On the road between the two hills, rests a blockage comprised of fallen trees and stones. This obstacle is very out of the ordinary, for where did the trees come from to fall thus, almost stacked into a perfect wall, when the forest is almost 50 feet away? Make of this what you will, although do not converse about it, except in thought, until everyone has rolled the check.
Casting a doubtful glance at the source of the command, "What think you of our Caravan-Master?"
Last time I heard a stupid command come out of someone I put my fist in it's mouth looking at the caravan master with intent Guess it is not worth it in this case, but he must know his job he is a caravan master, I'm just a mercenary holy man
Sitting on the edge of the wagon Marius watches the world roll by.
And just keeps watching......
Spoiler for Wolfgang and Ottmar, unless Laurenor also makes his perception skill test as well.
Wolfgang, Ottmar, please roll Intiative and add +5% to the roll for spotting the blockage in the road. thank you.
Sorry, long day at school.
41% Success
As the wagons come to a halt with the lowing of oxen, the caravan master hauls himself from his cushioned seat and glares around at his men as if they are to blame for the interruption of his peaceful ride down the road. Everyone else is busy inspecting the fallen trees and boulders, scratching their heads in bewilderment for a while then all throwing off their weapons other armaments to begin the arduous task of attempting to clear the rubble.
The Caravan master approaches the newcomers, a light in his eyes as his ample gut reverberates with every heavy step in his expensive Bretonnian shoes. "Ahem, Messeres, but as you can see, the road, she is blocked. I would require your assitance to help my men clear it..."
A sudden cacophony of noise erupts near the front and everyone whirls round to see one of the largest ox-drivers pause in his bending over to pick up a large rock. His eyes are wide and unseeing, and a small trickle of blood leaks from the corner of his mouth before he topples over, an arrow in his back.
A great, feral roaring of utter rage and hunger sounds from the woods and out of the trees gallop twisted, evil looking creatures. Their long legs are hooved and covered in heavy fur, iron bands around their thighs and ankles. From the waist up, their bodies are humanoid but also covered with thick matted brown fur. In their clawed hands they clutch foul, crude weapons. But it is their heads that draw the most attention. They are goat-like, fanged like wolves with forward curving horns. The majority of the charging beasts of Chaos are smaller however, with feral more human faces and only small horns wielding spears. One of their number even carries a bow, garbed in a long conealing cloak from under which its curling horns protrude, while the most massive of the group hangs back, directing its minions with feral animal bellows.
COMBAT ENSUED!
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
Everyone roll Intiatives, but you will not act this round, save for Wolfgang, Ottmar and the elusive Laurenor.
4 Ungors: 30+=39
4 Beastmen: 35+ =44
Beastman Archer: 38+= 40
Beastman Champion: 34+=36
Ottmar, please roll Intiative and add +5% to the roll
Initiative 41
This things plague every bush in the Empire. Ulric give me strength... as he prepares himself for battle.
** spoiler omitted **
"To arms! For Sigmar!"
"Form ranks!!!" Wolfgang draws his weapons.
Marius falls backwards into the wagon.
Initiative Order: *=Surprise Round Actee's
Laurenor*: 53
Brother Ottmar*: 46
Beastmen*: 44
Wolfgang* 43
Brenog: 41
Archer*: 40
Ungors*: 39
Marius: 38
Champion*: 36
Laurenor it is your action first as we begin the surprise round..
Laurenor curses in Eltharin as the wave of beastmen descend on the trapped caravan and its occupants. In a flash he draws an arrow from his quiver and fits it to his bowstring, sighting down on one of the charging gors. "Damn these beastmen they are everywhere!" he mutters as he closes one eye then takes a deep breath and then releases the string on the exhale, sending the Fang of Athel Loren scything through the air towards the foul beasts of Chaos.
Aiming, +10% to Ballistic Roll.
Attack: 60% success on Gor
Damage:
The arrow strikes the beastman in the head, striking off one of its foul ears and making it clamp a clawed hand to the wound in sudden agony, loosing a loud braying roar. The wound is far from mortal and barely any of the damage goes through, besides the now missing ear.
The beastmen give feral roars as they charge. Calmly I draw my dagger from its ankle sheath, ready my hammer, and utter a prayer for myself and those around me:
"Courage brothers!"
"Sigmar of the Hammer,
Strengthen my hand,
Guide my weapon,
Give me courage,
Smite my foe!"
Anyways, Ready your Hammer, adopt Parrying Stance :) good idea Brother Ottmar. and now onto the charging Beastmen!
Their goat like legs pounding the ground beneath them, the first three of the Gors slam into the line of awaiting humans with inhuman speed. Two of the monsters crash into defenseless caravan drivers. The other charges straight at Brenog the mercenary.
50% Attack Success (+10% from Charging)
The two caravan drivers cry out in pain as the blades of the beastmen hack them apart with brutal ferocity, the beasts howling feral praises to the Blood God! One man staggers back, a bloody hole in his shoulder from which blood squirts from horribly, the other falls to the ground, his chest split open from the impact. As the stunned humans watch, the second Gor then reaches down with a clawed hand and rips the man's heart out of his chest with a triumphant bray of savage victory.
The third beastman's crude flail sings high at Brenog's face but the trained Mercenary ducks at the last second and the flail's cruelly spiked head smashes instead into one of the wagons. The rest of the foul Beast's comrades are hot on its heels.
However, the fourth beastman, who is suddenly missing a furry ear, bellows in rage and begins loping off towards the tree line back along the road, heavy spiked mace held high and his fangs bared in anger. You all are startled to see an elf holding a bow just visible form between the trees. It appears that you all are not to out-numbered after all!
Wolfgang moves to assist Brenog.
"En garde!!!"
The cloaked, horned archer pauses midstride, cloven hooves chruning the ground as it comes to a stop 20 feet from the line of wagons, sets shaft to string again and looses the arrow at the nearest of the adventurers.
Firing Into Melee -20%BS
Attack: 20% Hit
Brenog, in mid duck, you also avoid a quivering arrow from striking you in the gut. You sway out of the way just in time, yet again and the arrow sprouts from the wagon's side where your heart just was. Sigmar has granted you a measure of his own luck, for now.
While the archer stops to shoot, the smaller horned Ungors rush forwards, except for two, which break off to follow the earless Gor as it charges towards the elven archer. The other two Chaos beasts bellow braying war-cries in their dark tongue and launch themselves at the caravan, aiming their spears for the well-dressed human swordsman and the hammer-wielding priest of the Corpse God!
Ungor 1 Attack on Wolfgang
Charging (+10%WS)
Attack: 40% hit
Damage: SB 3 plus= 5 damage to Wolfgang's chest
Ungor 2 Attack on Ottmar
Charging (+10%WS)
Attack: 40% hit
The second Ungor mistimes the thrust and Ottmar parries the clumsy attack with ease, but Wolfgang is not so lucky, as the foul thing's rusty spear strikes him in the side, jagged point piercing his flesh as the Ungor snarls in supposed victory.
The Beastman Champion, meanwhile, breaks off from the main group of brawling warriors and bullrushes straight into the line of human drivers and unarmed guardsmen, who stand paralyzed with fear as the huge, demonically horned beast wielding two axes smashes into them with a roar far deeper than any of its lackeys'.
Charging (+10%WS)
Attack 1: 53% Hit
Attack 2: 33% Hit
Failing to strike either of its targets with its axes, the Champion looses a roar of frustration and rage, sending those still in front of it scurrying backwards in fear, namely the caravan master.
Round One
Ungor 1 Attack on Wolfgang
Charging (+10%WS)
Attack: 40% hit1d100
Damage: SB 3 plus 1d10= 5 damage to Wolfgang's chest
Having readied into a defensive stance, will try to parry with my weapon:
Parry (WS)= 45
For naught and damage is taken.
Brenog ya filth!! You fight better with your breath than ya weapons dumb beast!
Now this is how you go about this business! With brutal efficiency. NOW DIE!!!
Attack +20% difficulty aim to the head
Damage from Hand Weapon (axe)
Marius watches in horror as the beastmen charge. His concious mind is frozen but his deep memory grabs a desperate straw.
He in in a wagon. A fully loaded wagon, with panicing horses.
Pointed roughly at the lead beast.
The driver seems stunned.
That lever there is the brake.
Without thinking, because thinking would unleash the fear Marius climbs onto the seat next to the driver. One foot kicks the brake free as he takes the reins from the horrorstruck driver.
The horses now free follow the dictates of millions of years of evolution. When a predator is near, run.
Marius hauls hard on the reins keeping the horses pointed towards the champion. In his mind he is remembering the daring chariot tactics of Darius the second. If he can keep control he just might be able to seperate the enemy forces or even run over one or two.
@Brenog, I wasn't aware of that ruling, so I'd go with the hit locater system personally. However, good hit, but I am afraid that peksy little Gor is still up and twitching. Emphasis on the twitching, but he's still very much, give or take half of his face, alive. You aren't dueling the Champion yet, he's busy trying to slaughter the NPC's a little ways away, but no worries, beastmen don't flee easily or often. That IS assuming the Gor you and WOlfgang are fighting doesn't crit you. This game can go in any direction, LITERALLY. I almost had a dwarf shieldbreaker killed by Snotlings. SNOTLINGS.
@Ottmar, not sure what you're trying to go for here, are you trying to parry for Wolfgang or preemptively parrying for yourself? Cuz you don't roll parrying till I have confirmed a hit :/ sorry not trying to sound like an @$$hole for rulings. Also you still have a half action to take, assuming you wanted to strike at the Ungor. Parrying is a free action but on the enemy's turn.
@Marius. Wow I always like new ideas, so I am gonna so roll with this one. Hmm...I will roll it that it is the same principle as firing a blunderbuss, they have to agile out of the way or take damage 6 plus 1d10 and be knocked prone. :)
@Laurenor, waiting on your peerless shot before Earless reaches you :)
Laurenor grimaces silently as he sees the three beastmen coming towards him smoothly he steps back into the forest realeasing an arrow into the larger of the the trio hoping to wound it more than he had last time.
Damn these incompetant humans now I am saving them so hopefuly they survie and can attract the orc.
50%
The arrow zips by OneEar as the beastman bellows a foul warcry and doubles its speed, raising its mace in a feral arc and then swinging it down at its elven foe with a roar of raw hatred at its most ancient enemy.
The first gor raises its axe again and cleaves at the wounded man, seeking to finish the slaughter it had begun.
The gor holding up the slain human's heart gives a bellow of victory and then he eats the red still beating flesh, making anyone who watchs feel disctinctly terrified as well as sickened. It then turns, blood streaming from its teeth in search of a new victim.
The Gor who had taken Wolfgang's sword in his belly gives a roar of rage and raises its flail again, slashing it at the noble this time for wounding it.
Gor 1: 40% Hit
Gor 3: (Facing Brenog and Wolfgang)
Gor 4 Earless: Charging (+10%WS) 50% hit Damage to Laurenor
The first Gor swings its axe down, severing the man's head from his shoulders in a spray of gore and bloodlust as it howls out another praise to the God of Skulls.
The Gor facing the mercenary and the noble misses again, its flail passing uncomfortably close to Wolfgang's face before it swings aside at the last moment, saving Wolfgang's attractive face for another day.
The final Gor, missing an ear, bellows as its mace strikes the elf upside the head, setting his long ears to ringing and tearing open his cowl with the heavy iron spike.