#20 Battle IV - The Dissatisfaction of the Slayer
"Look Dieter!" said Moritz, "You'll never guess who's in here!"
Private Liedl followed his new friend Private Ontz into the tavern. That very day, both lads had signed up with the Glymmsmen. Flushed with soldier's pride and youthful enthusiasm, they were now looking for ale. Dieter was motivated by dreams of honour, glory and revenge and had lied unconvincingly about his age, but the recruiting sergeant really didn't care if his new troops were children, he just needed bodies. The reality of joining the standing army of Glymmsforge had dawned rapidly on the two youths, but only after they'd already made their marks on the scrappy parchment. If they were honest with themselves, they wanted the inn's services to subdue their terror at the commitment they'd just made. Dieter had loved his father's tales of soldiery, but he now had a strong suspicion that they had painted a deceptively rosey picture. Was he too destined for his father's fate?
Dieter shook himself and pushed through the tavern door behind Moritz. A blast of hot, smoky, stinking air almost knocked him down, but the murmuring throng of people packed inside was intriguing and the atmosphere unmistakably expectant.
"Who is it then Moritz? Who's here?"
Dieter was not only too young to join the Freeguild troopers, but too short (another fact ignored by the sergeant) so unlike his lanky friend he couldn't see anything beyond the bodies crammed together. But they were both used to working their way through a crowd and soon the two lads had squeezed far enough forward to see what - or rather who - was causing all the excitement.
Sat at the bar, massive tankard in hand, was a duardin. It didn't appear to be his first drink of the evening. Towering spikes of rust-coloured hair did not disguise his small stature, but what he lacked in height he more than made up for in bulk. Bare from the waist up, his impossibly muscled torso was covered in tattoos and scars. A magnificent axe was leaning against the bar next to him. But it was his face that drew the boys' attention. He was clearly incredibly old, even for a duardin, yet he seemed to have defied all efforts of time and ageing to diminish him. His single remaining eye was intense, the fiercest Dieter had ever seen and he couldn't help stepping back when it caught his own as the duardin scanned the room. As did everyone else in the tavern, which explained the wide empty space around the slayer and the crush of bodies everywhere else.
Dieter Liedl knew immediately who this was. He was a living legend. But for him to be here seemed so unlikely that he struggled to believe his eyes.
"Moritz? Is that really..." he whispered, not taking his eyes off the figure at the bar, "Is that Gotrek Gurnisson?"
"Yes," replied Private Ontz, "and I don't think he's very happy..."
Our first game using our new battle mat and 100% painted models and scenery. The Gravewalkers Chamber (Anvils of the Heldenhammer) are out for revenge on the Raptured Court (Blisterskin Flesh-Eater Courts).
1750pt; Knife to the Heart
All photos courtesy of Owen (grave.walkers on Instagram) who also of course created all the awesome Order miniatures.
"'Lord Ordinator' he calls himself," growled Gotrek. "Well I call him -" there followed a string of words that Dieter didn't precisely understand although the sentiment was crystal clear. "I travel across the mortal realms to this Sigmar-forsaken hole in search of worthy adversaries. And when I find one, that piece of git dung fills it full of lightening bolts!"
The duardin seemed to be mainly talking to himself (or possibly his tankard) but it didn't stop his audience from hanging on his every word. The room jumped as Gotrek slammed the tankard down, splattering the front row of the crowd with tepid ale. The barman tentatively pushed another drink in his direction. "We'd be honoured to hear the tale of the whole battle sir... um... if it pleases you Mister Gurnisson sir?"
"Eh? What?" snapped Gotrek. Everyone jumped back. "Huh. alright then."
"Well..." leaning back against the bar he settled himself into what was clearly a very well-practiced pose. Then he slowly and deliberately drained his drink.
"That Lord-Arcanum Gardius the Venerated," he snorted, "he wanted to take a look at some old building. It's hard to find apparently, moves about a bit. I think he called it Barfunweltz Manse."
Dieter gasped. He'd spent a night in that haunted house a couple of years ago.
"No idea what's so special about the old ruin, but I'd heard there was some ghoul king in Barfunweltz calling himself the False Messiah and flapping about on a great terrorghiest. So I thought I'd tag along and bag me a giant undead bat."
Awed silence fell in expectation of an inspirational tale of battle.
"Well, I hope Gardius found something useful in it, 'cos he was about as useful as a pickled troggoth in the fight!" Gotrek grimaced at his joke while the crowd laughed nervously. Dieter and Moritz glanced around to check there were no Gravewalkers in the tavern to defend their Lord-Arcanum's honour.
"Anyway, we spent days traipsing through Barfunweltz Cemetery but we found the Manse eventually. There was a swarm of ghouls ransacking some tomb a short distance away so the Evocators, Decimators and some Sequitors all went to see them off."
"While that was all going on, I was delighted to see my prey - this False Messiah character - had turned up on his big dead bat. He and his crypt flayer mates headed straight for the Manse, nice and close to me. Apparently, he used to live there or something and the place is sacred to his followers? Who cares? He's supposed to be good for fight so I had my eye on him. The Gravewalkers said his terrorgheist had bitten the head off their Lord-Celestant so maybe he'd like to try this noggin?!"
Again, the crowd laughed uncomfortably as Gotrek pointed to his own head and chuckled. Dieter struggled to work out which was more risky: upsetting the Anvils of the Heldenhammer by laughing at the fate of their honoured leader; or upsetting Gotrek by not laughing at his joke. Along with the rest of the room, he chose laughter.
"Anyway, I start running full pelt at the False Messiah ready to introduce him to Zangrom-Thaz," he patted his axe affectionately. "But that snivelling Lord-Ordinator was obviously worried about his own pretty skull becoming bat food! Next thing I know his celestar ballista has blown the terrorgheist to bits and all I'm left with by the time I get there is the ghoul king that was stood on its back!"
"Well, I finished him off no problem - and then the crypt flayers." Gotrek shook his head sadly, as if defeating an abhorrent ghoul king and his mightiest servants was a feat so mundane it gave him no satisfaction at all.
"Meanwhile, the stupid Sequitors who were supposed to be guarding the Manse ran off after some crypt horrors and a varghulf that had turned up on our flank. But the varghulf flew off and, along with a crypt infernal courtier that came shooting out of the sky, soared right over my head and into the Manse!
"Well, that seemed to spark some infernal magical reaction and this ghostly green light appeared blinding us all. Next thing we know the flesh-eaters had all vanished - and the Manse too! Or.. maybe we vanished? Or..." Gotrek trailed off, squinting into his tankard.
“Don't like Shyish much," he growled, "and if those Gravewalkers want me to fight with them again they're going to need to buck their ideas up."
At the start of turn 3 the Raptured Court were controlling both objectives and the battle was won.
P.S. Rolling 140 dice for your ghouls’ attacks is fun!
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