Part 1: "Broken, But Breathing" // A Narrative Battle Report

Orcs & Goblins ⚔︎ Empire

The battle had been long and hard-fought, but the warband was ultimately shattered. Ugag and his mob had descended upon a small village in the foothills of the Grey Mountains when another host arrived. However, these humans were not the shiny boyz previously encountered. They were mercenaries from Reikland, likely under the service of a local Baron who received news of their latest pillaging. Not only did the mercenaries have more bodies on the field; they also had black powder. Ugag had broken off on his own, again, to charge directly into a group of fanatical rabble. Gruuma knew the mob wasn't worth their time. The sound option was to ride along the flank and take these new challengers from the rear. A handful of potbellied halflings hid in the woodline. Red-shafted arrows whizzed past their heads as the boars gained momentum. The halflings tried to turn and scamper up the boughs of gnarled oak and elm, but it was too late. Tusk and tooth shredded through the feeble bowline, and the woods rang with the high-pitched, jovial squeals of the boars as they feasted on flesh and bone. From his vantage point Gruuma took a moment to survey the situation. Ugag was out of sight. He knew it would be up to him to salvage whatever victory he could.

Halfling archers moments before impact

In the center of the field, Krekka the mad shaman and his mob of spears advanced toward the center formation of swordsmen. Gruuma could hear their battle cries as a company of quarrelers behind them let loose a volley of bolts. They missed the goblins, and in return Krekka gave the order to release the rabid fanatics hidden amongst the company. With ease the hooded freaks swung iron ball and chain, sweeping a path through the densely packed swordsmen and into the quarrelers. Gruuma saw the panic as the mercenaries sought to close the gaps made in their formation, and sprang to action. He broke from the trees and swept through the backline to aid the shaman.

The sound of black powder rang across the field. From his saddle he could see a group of outriders break the mob of boyz that held the warband's right flank. Boyz fled towards the woods, and the outriders made sport of it. They rode down the slowest lads, and wasted no time shooting them point blank. Ugag was nowhere to be seen, and the rabble that had originally been chasing emerged. In a tidal wave of fervor and hatred, they descended on the goblins. They wielded farm tools and crude weapons as if they were great-swords and battle axes. It didn't take long before the goblins broke and ran off into the woods too.

Ugag had led them over the mountains months ago, carving out the cave warren as a base to raid the region beyond. Now they retreated to it broken, boars lathered and blowing hard, the smell of blood and powder still thick in their nostrils. It was not the victory Gruuma wanted, but a warband that still breathed.

Ugag charging solo (again)

Enemies all around, luckily the goblin fanatics could be deployed

Swordsmen v Night Goblins

Campbell's classic Empire army

+ /+/ +

Summer has been full swing. It's taken me a while to write up this battle report (happened back in April). This 500 pt game took 6 full rounds and Empire packed quite the punch. The objective was simple: destroy your enemy. I made some errors (again) using my warboss solo which led to his early demise. Fanatics did a lot of work, but it wasn't enough. The Empire flagellants were crazy strong too, putting out a ton of hits and being relentless on the battlefield.

A lot more stuff has been painted since this battle report; and I'm hoping to be done soon. My poor playing has helped form a narrative for my warband that I'll expand on in Part 2. Battle March has recently came out and the crowd here is pretty hyped for the format. Looking forward to playing more TOW in the coming months!

- Mike

"Gork (Or Maybe Mork) Smiles" // First Game of the Old World

“Form up, youz squig-shits!” roared Ugag as he yanked the reins of his massive war-boar.

He smelled them before he saw them, and he was glad.

For three moons, his lads had pillaged the countryside, leaving nothing and no one standing. Ugag had grown frustrated. The only “opposition” they’d faced were rabble— peasants in roughspun tunics; men with too much gray in their beards, and boys barely able to lift a pitchfork.

It wasn’t until Gruuma, boss nob of his boar riders, suggested they leave survivors to spread the word.

Why survivors? Ugag had thought. Less carnage. Less fun.

Still, Gruuma had always been a shrewd one. At times, Ugag suspected the nob had goblin in him.

And truth be told, there was little sport left in killing farmers. His lads were getting bored. Soon they’d turn on each other… or worse, start squabbling with the goblins that had joined them.

These were not the same goblins that toiled in the warcamp. These were night goblins, led by Krekka da Red Whispa, a cunning shaman who never showed his face. They gorged on mushrooms that drove them into frenzies, and slicked their blades with ooze said to have withered Thrakka’s limbs to twigs.

Ugag snarled at the thought of ending up like Thrakka— all because the shiny gitz never showed.

So he had begrudgingly agreed with Gruuma.

The air shimmered as they crested the grassy knoll.

To their right, an old watchtower lay in ruin. To their left, a lazy creek wound downhill. In the center stood a small shrine and house dedicated to a god that was neither Gork nor Mork.

It was destined to burn.

That’s when Ugag saw them.

The high sun gleamed off polished armor. Colorful banners snapped in the breeze. The scent of horseflesh and sweat hit the back of Ugag's tongue.

Around him, shrill cries and deep bellows rose from the warband.

“Dak-ka! Dak-ka! Dak-ka!”

They drummed blades against crude shields and stomped their feet. Ugag felt his blood boil as the chant built to a crescendo, his vision reddening...

“WAAAAAAGH!”

He drove his heels into the flanks of his war-boar and charged straight for the Bretonnian line.

He expected Gruuma and the boar boyz to follow.

They didn’t.

Ugag bared his tusks. He would deal with Gruuma later.

He thundered into the field, great axe gripped in both hands. A sortie of shiny gitz rode to meet him, the ground trembling beneath their charge.

From the sortie, a group of knights peeled away in the direction of the watchtower.

Ahead, leading the remaining knights, was one rider.

He was young with a mane of golden hair. Green and white heraldry. A black serpent coiled across his shield.

Ugag roared and leaned into the charge.

The knight lowered his lance.

Its tip was shaped like a serpent’s head, its mouth open, a steel tongue thrust forward.

Ugag was too slow.

The serpent struck true.

The world became a crash of steel, splintering wood, and thunderous hooves as the knights rode him down, not even slowing as they passed.

Pinned beneath his war-boar, barely conscious, Ugag glimpsed the chaos unfolding.

The serpent knight slammed into the line of boyz as they descended from the knoll, failing, or perhaps choosing not, to see the goblins sweeping in on their flank.

From the goblin ranks came madness.

Two whirling shapes—torn linen and iron—hurtled forward like living missiles.

It was the fanatics.

They smashed into the knights' flank.

The crunch of steel. The snap of bone.

They tore through the formation of both men and greenskin without slowing.

Amid the carnage, Krekka danced with his totem-staff raised, voice shrieking. A halo of red energy flared above the mob of greenskins, forming a grimacing sun. The red-light gleamed across their blades.

The boyz surged forward, hacking with renewed fury.

The knights broke.

Seeing the charge had failed, they wheeled in panic and rode straight into the goblins closing on their flank.

From the old watchtower came the sound of hooves and screams.

A handful of knights returned, far fewer than had ridden out.

Behind them came Gruuma and his boar boyz, cackling as they ran the survivors down to the last man.

Ugag’s vision dimmed.

Arrows thudded into the dirt around him. A feeble volley gone wide.

Horn blasts sounded.

Hooves thundered past, fading toward the shrine.

“Dak-ka! Dak-ka!”

The chant swelled once more.

Then… another sound.

The jingle of spurs.

Heavy footsteps.

Slow. Deliberate.

Gruuma stepped into view, looming over him.

Not hurried. Not searching. Certain.

He crouched and took hold of Ugag’s harness, dragging him just enough from the mud to meet his gaze.

Their eyes locked.

In the nob’s expression… something like triumph. Something colder than victory.

Understanding.

As if this had always been the way of it.

Reflected in those fiery red pupils, Ugag saw a grin. Wide. Brutal.

Gork.

Or maybe Mork.

And then…

Blackness.

+/+/+

At my core, I’ll always choose fantasy over sci-fi, so it was a great pleasure to play my first game of the Old World with Sam (@realmofniembro). We’d been talking about running a (very) slow-grow narrative series. No pressure, no league, just playing games and letting the dice tell the story while we learn a new ruleset... Excuse the lack of paint as I work through these mob of gitz. 

Sam did an excellent job painting the terrain, and Forest helped ref the game as we worked our way through the rules. Definitely check out Sam’s write-up on his blog here, covering the same battle from the perspective of his knights.

There was a lot of interest at the shop to see neither AoS or 40k being played. A couple observers mentioned that they had fantasy armies at home and that they would be up for a game.

Anyway, we'll see what happens between Ugag and Gruuma in the next game.

- Mike