Sword and Spell: A Warhammer fantasy general quest

[Swordswain]

This is a dark age.

A bloody age.

An age of daemons and of sorcery.

It is an age of battle and death, and of the world's ending.

Amidst all the fire, flame and fury, it is a time, too, of mighty heroes, of bold deeds and great courage.

From the sprawling cities of the empire to the brawling hordes of the badlands, from the great Bastion to the glittering shores of Ulthuan, from the sun-baked ruins of Nehekhara to the steaming jungles of the new world, there is only war. Vast legions and petty mobs of bandits alike give battle in every place, in every way, and for every reason imaginable.

They fight with Spear and Bow, Pike and Shot, Sword and Spell. They fight in struggling shieldwalls, or mounted atop mystical beasts, or from the ramparts of stalwart fortresses. They fight for gold and glory and gods of a hundred stripes, for kith and kin, for honor, for survival or simply to inflict suffering on another living being.

They are lead by the great, the good, or the greedy. The Ambitious, the cowardly, the mad. By highborn lords and grungy mercenary captains. By noble heroes and villains most foul.

And, somewhere in this vast melting pot of armies and leaders, some of them have the misfortune of being led by you.

You, willing or not, are the leader (or something approximating a leader) of one of the countless warbands that roam this world, and your troops hail from among the:​

-[] Tribes of Albion
Though often underestimated by outsiders, the tribes that live on the misty isles are warlike and courageous, having staunchly defended their homes against all comers, making up for a lack of technology for sheer, heroic skill at arms and druidic sorcery. Frenzied woad-warriors and wind-swift charioteers rush into battle, hoping the gain the favour of the Morrigan, accompanied by the island's own giants and monsters.

-[] Amazons
In a world where the fairer sex is often looked down upon in the world of men, the Matriarchal tribes that have settled in the mouth of the greatest of Lustria's many rivers have proven they can be just as mighty, and just as vicious, as any men. Isolationist by nature, outsiders are forbidden from learning the primordial secrets they still guard, and the ancient technology locked away in their vaults.

-[] Caliphates of Araby
Adventurous explorers and merchants, the people of the Arabyan peninsula have ventured far and wide across the world, bringing back riches and knowledge to their desert homes, and transforming their cities into glittering wonders of the world, populated by almost unrivalled scholars and artisans. At the beck and call of the Caliphs are dervishers and Djinn-binders, Camelry and Jezzail gunners, and the fanatic devotion to their one god of Order.

-[] Beastmen Herds
The true children of chaos are less like an army, and more like a force of nature. They dwell in the wild places of the world, stamping and snorting and rutting in sheer outrage against the very concept of civilization. Like an unpredictable storm, their great herds come roaring out of the forest to tear down the artifice of man with claw and horn and fury.

-[] Kingdom of Bretonnia
Fair Bretonnia is the land of chivalry, and it shows. For although it's impoverished peasents leave much to be desired, Bretonnian Knights are the finest heavy cavalry in the world, each striving on quests of honor and virtue to prove themselves worthy of but a single sip from the blessed grail of the lady of the lake.

-[] Grand Cathay
The single largest of all human nations, Grand Cathay is an Empire without equal, it's vast legions benefitting from entire compendiums of academic strategic theory, Mystical astromancy, and the secrets of smoke and powder in equal measure. So long as the great bastion stands, so too will civilization. Perhaps the only thing that can bring Cathay down is itself, for the empire long united must divide.

-[] Chaos Dwarfs
The Dawi Zharr, as they are called in their own tongue, are the most inventive of the slaves of evil. Where others would assail the bastions of good with endless hordes of wretches, the Chaos dwarves bring those walled citadels down with Daemon-infused artillery barrages, reducing blessed castles to little more than molten slag in their relentless quest for ever more slaves, and ever more wealth.

-[] Daemons of Chaos
Nightmares made flesh, the Daemons of Chaos take physical form in this world at the behest of their immortal and terrible masters. Magical by their very nature, they bring the flickering unreality of Chaos to meterial fruition, wreaking terror and destruction wherever they go. To beings of Aethyr, this world is an endless feast of delights.

-[] Dark Elves
As sadistic as they are sophisticated, the Dark elves, or Druchii, as they call themselves, consider themselves the superior beings of the world, and sneer down at the younger races who are fit only as slaves and entertainment. Vicious and elegant in equal measure, they sail the world with nigh impunity, engaging slaver-raids backed by ancients sorcery and monsters tamed by whip and will.

-[] Dwarfs
Stolid and unyielding as the mountains they call home, the true Dawi have weathered the ages of suffering with unflappable courage, and sheer bull-headed stubbornness. Though the ancient glory days are behind them, and many holds have been lost to invading monsters over the centuries, the dwarven kingdoms still bitterly hold on to what remains, nursing their grudges like good ale, and defended by the finest crafted arms and armor in the world.

-[] Empire
A flickering light of civilization in a world gone mad, the Empire is a nation founded by the great, but torn apart by the greedy. Bearing the weighty legacy of the man-turned-god Sigmar, the Empire's well organized state armies grapple against their inhuman and impossible foes with little more than faith, steel, and gunpowder. A balanced faction, the Empire's armies can do a little bit of everything. A jack of all trades, so to speak.

-[] Estalia
The fractious kingdoms of the southwestern old world are loosely collected under the name of Estalia. They share a common culture and language, a love for the arts of fencing, and collectively represent the greatest number of old world colonies and expeditions into the forbidding continent across the sea. None of this stops them from constantly fighting one another, crashing great blocks of pike and arquebus against each other in squabbles over who owns which land.

-[] Tilea
The feuding republics and principalities of Tilea are ruled more by merchants than nobles, and they view war as a business more than anything else. Whenever there is a dispute, it is settled by whoever is willing to spend the most money to hire the most swords, making the peninsula a hotbed for mercenaries, sellswords, thugs-for-hire, and other such enterprising warbands. For these priced-warriors, each battle is an investment, and they must measure their actions carefully to ensure profit at the end of the day. Still, among their number is a disproportionate amount of hardened veterans and specialist regiments of renown.

-[] High Elves
The magical island-continent of Ulthuan is the original home of the elven race, and still the holdfast of the Asur, or high elves, as mankind knows them. Possessed of a long history, older than the race of men, as glorious as it is tragic, the High elves are fading shadow of their once world-spanning sorcerous might. Still, they arrogantly treat the younger races like ignorant children. Perhaps they have the right to, for nobody else could understands the depths of sacrifice they have made to keep the world intact time and time again.

-[] Kingdoms of Ind
Ind is called the land of a thousand gods, and not without reason, for the deities worshipped by it's many peoples are without number, forming a complex panoply of divine powers and spirits that govern the land just as much as it's opulently wealthy Maharajah's. When a temple or shrine is violated, armies of gilded war elephants and noble chariots roll out to avenge the slight (or to subjugate competing kingdoms), and that is if the spirits of the sacred place do not manifest to avenge the slight personally.

-[] Tzardom of Kislev
Though sometimes derided as a kingdom of half-barbarians, the old world owes much, even its very existence, to Kislev. Existing as the northern frontier of civilized life, Kislev's vast icy steppes are always the first to be invaded by the madmen and cultists of the great hordes of Chaos, and it is by the staunch resolve and sacrifice of their warriors, Winged hussars and ice Witches all the way down to the common Kossar, that the people of the south can sleep soundly at night.

-[] Lizardmen
Called "Lizardmen" by the ignorant, these creatures were designed, not born. Created as the perfect servitor race for the enigmatic and godlike old ones who once shaped the very world, the Lizardmen dwell in vast temple cities deep in the interior of the lustrian jungle, fending off constant invaders and saboteurs, and enacting rituals of Geomantic magic, still doggedly determined to go through with the "Great Plan" exactly as it was laid out, no matter how many millenia it takes, and no matter how many wayward species they must put down in the process.

-[] Shogunate of Nippon
They say Nippon is a land where honor is stronger than steel. Perhaps this is so, for its elite warrior-aristocracy are known to fight to the death or take their own lives rather than surrender, and daily life is governed by ten-thousand or more strictly adhered to rituals. The islands have kept themselves in a state of isolation for some time now, fending off outsiders with immaculate swordsmanship and divine wind.

-[] Ogre Kingdoms
Several times the size of a man, Ogres are massive, strong, brutal creatures, more at home in prehistoric environment of the mountains of Mourn than in a city, but let it never be said they are unintelligent. Driven by an endless hunger and practical (some would say lazy) outlook on the world, Ogre tribes are just a likely to work as mercenaries as go raiding, extracting from their employers exhorbitant fees in gold and meat. After all, why not get paid for what you were going to do anyway?

-[] Orcs and Goblins
Greenskins love to fight, its as simple as that. They love to fight humans, elves, dwarves, and especially one another. A powerful warboss builds up momentum, gathering lesser tribes in its wake with each victory until an unstoppable green horde has been formed to roll across the badlands in one unending tide of chipped axes and whooping chants, ready to kill until finally slain themselves. Greenskins are numerous, savage, and brutally cunning.

-[] Pirates of Sartosa
There is fortune and fame to be had on the high seas, for those brave and mad enough to claim it. The Pirates of Sartosa are a scurrilous, treacherous, utterly selfish, and unnaturally lucky set of rapscallions, ne'er-do-wells, villains, and other assorted unkind names who prowl the vast oceans of the world near and far. Using cannonades and sheer daring to plunder merchant vessels or cut their way through to buried treasure, regardless of the risk.

-[] Skaven Under-Empire
Teeming under the skin of the world in their millions is the worlds biggest and most dysfunctional empire. If the ratmen who infested every sewer and tunnel had the collective will, they could swarm the overworld with a tide of endless numbers, fell sorcery, and maniacally powerful warpstone fuelled warmachines, making it theirs forevermore. unfortunately, every single Skaven is primarily concerned with stabbing the Skaven directly above him in the back.

-[] Tomb Kings
Out of the sands of time march the undying legions of the Tomb Kings. Cursed by ancient magic to forever defend the ruins of their once golden empire, entire generations of fathers and sons squabble in their undeath over who properly own which bit of which ruin, commanding hordes of skeletons and enchanted stone constructs to wreak terrible vengeance on those who would dare steal their burial riches.

-[] Vampire Counts
Immortal, beautiful, endlessly thirsty. The looming midnight aristocracy live unseen among human kind, masquerading among the halls of the rich and powerful, building entire secret networks of blood-slaves and unknowing collaborators so that, when the time is right, they may once more take up the sword and bare their fangs, squashing the realms of the living beneath endless waves of mindless, undead thralls or terrifying flesh-monsters held together by necromancy most foul.

-[] Warriors of Chaos
Bleeding out from the top of the world like a scalped skull are the tribes of the Northmen, worshippers of the ruinous powers. Each warrior and chieftain desperate to prove himself in the eyes of the powers that be, to earn glory in the eyes of the gods through deeds of bloodshed and ritual, to have his name carved in the annals of history and be ascended to Daemonhood. They reave south with hordes of furious berzerkers, mutated monters, chaotic shamans, and Hell-Plated chosen warriors. Raw destruction given form.

-[] Wood Elves
Guardians of the sacred forest, wood elves are in tune with nature, and only a fool thinks nature gentle. Archers and skirmishers without equal, entire armies have been scythed down by volleys from hidden wood elves before they manage to close, and when they do, they are met by fists of oak as the very forest itself comes alive to slay intruders. Capricious tree spirits with stabbing branches and massive treemen elders make quick work of most mortals. Unrepentantly cruel to those who trespass, the wood elves would happily let the civilizations of man burn if it meant saving the forests.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Hello and welcome to Sword and Spell. In this quest, you will play as the leader of one among countless warbands in the world of Warhammer Fantasy. Depending on your choices this may mean you end up running a territory/fief, or that you struggle to keep together a roaming tribe, or that you are simply a mercenary captain carefully assessing each new job. Well see where it takes us.

I should note that, in terms of rules, I am basing this mostly on the Fanmade 9th Edition of the tabletop wargame, and that for both rules and lore, I reserve the right to switch around lore from different incarnations and headcanon of Warhammer fantasy, both as a matter of preference and for the sake of making the quest run smoother.

First choice here is the Faction/Army list you will be mainly using. As you may notice, this includes several options that are not part of the standard 8th edition set or in the Warhammer: Total war series. Since I have rules for those factions and I think they're pretty neat, I thought id include them in case people wanted to try something a bit different.


Other than that, I can only say I hope you have fun!

 

[Swordswain]

The hierarchy of Ogre society is a brutal, tribal meritocracy where one earns the right to lead other Ogres into battle not through noble blood or government appointment, but through might, divine blessings, or most importantly of all, sheer unbridled girth. Higher ranking Ogres benefit from prime choice among their tribes food and weapons stockpiles, and inspire glory-hungry lessers to stand fast and fight harder in the hopes that they too might one day ascend the ladder of power.

Who are you, and how did you come to inhabit a position of such authority over your lessers?

-[] Bragg Backbreaker
Your tribe was an early and eager adopter of the mercenary opportunities offered by human civilizations. Long before you were born, they took up a nomadic lifestyle and wandered out of the ancestral ranges of the mountains of Mourn, out past the dangers of the darklands and into the rich forests and cities of the old world, there to offer their strong arms in service to any manling lord or merchant who could afford to keep their bellies full. It was here, in the old world, that you were born. To you, home is the open roads of Remas or Averland, and you have been raised all your life in a tribal culture that is more ... mercantile and cosmopolitan than those who remain behind in the homelands you have never seen.

By dint of luck and nature, you had always been a bigger, stronger, and braver lad than most of the other young bulls, and over time and practice through fighting the enemies your tribe was hired to crush, you managed to pick up an understanding of fighting a tad more sophisticated than "Big stick go smash". You were destined to rise high in the tribe, and honestly, people weren't all that surprised at the circumstances that lead you to your current position of relative authority.

One of your Tyrant's bruisers, as is often their wont to do, was throwing his weight around and, in particular, decided to pick on you. You don't really remember the reason why, probably something stupid about not taking your tent down fast enough or somesuch nonsense. You decided to argue back, and things escalated probably farther than they needed to. At the end of the fight, you lifted the would-be-bully over your head and brought him down over your knee, breaking his spine in twain.

Impressed and amused in equal measure, your tribes leading Tyrant decided that you had earned the right to take the place of the one you had felled, seeing as you had clearly proven your might and the your victim, unable to move or fight, was now next to useless to the tribe. After you had eaten the poor lout, of course.

Now, you are the new, youngest bruiser of the tribe, and you get to do the bullying. Charged with enforcing the will of the Tyrant in his absence, this makes you, in the fractious and disorganized hierarchy of an Ogre tribe, something like the equivalent of a human officer or captain, often leading small units of Ogres on your own where your Tyrant cant be bothered.

Character Type: Bruiser
Starting Location: Northern Tilea
Playstyle: Nomadic Mercenary band
Starting Unit: Maneaters, draped in Human-style finery tailored to their massive bodies.

-[] Morga the Meat-Mother
The young bulls know to bow their heads and quiet down their ruckus when you draw near. Theyre good, obedient boys. You should know, you raised them that way after all. As both mate to your tribes Tyrant and its resident butcher, you are mother to the tribe in more ways than one.

Your idiot of a chieftain is mostly concerned with feasting and fighting as one of the many vassals of Greasus Goldtooth, meaning most of the day-to-day running of the tribes, from properly berating the gnoblars to organizing hunting parties. The younger Ogres look to you first for orders in all things domestic.

As a butcher, you are also the head chef and Shaman of the tribe. Charged with preparing those much beloved feast nights and combining the sacred art of cooking with mystic ritual and sacrifice to honor the great maw. It is to you the rest of the tribe comes for guidance and authority in all things spiritual, religious, or magical.
In the most literal sense, you are the actual, literal mother to a good portion of the tribe. The great maw has blessed you with fertility, and at this point you've lost count of the number of little Ogres you've born by the Tyrant. They're your children through and through, and they know to obey their mother.
All of these things are what you are, but they not what want, not what you dream of.

In your heart of hearts, you are a Gourmand. Where other Ogres gleefully gorge on whatever happens to be at hand, you carefully prepare each meal, considering how each individual component, and the method of preparation will affect the overall taste and texture. Will elf legs go good with troll liver? Whats the proper spice for an Auroch roast? How many humans does it take to make a proper stew? One day, you hope, your specialty dishes will be revered across all of Ogrekind.
To get to that point, though, youll need ample supplies of rare ingredients, and culinary knowledge stolen from half a hundred cultures.

Character Type: Butcher
Starting Location: Southern Mountains of Mourn
Playstyle: Fantasy restaurant Sim Tribal Fief Management & Ogre Politics
Starting Units: A couple of your sons in the form of a unit of Ironguts

-[] Skorn Snowpelt
Your tribe are among the traditionalists who eschew the tyranny and luxury of Goldtooth's pseudo-empire, preferring instead a fierce and warlike independence in the primeval snows of the north. Instead of protecting caravans in exchange for firearms and heaps of Cathayan silk, your people take what they want through sheer force of arms, relying on brute strength and the old ways to see them through any challenge.

It is a stark existence up here, and whether or not the tribe will survive another winter rests upon the shoulders of its expert hunters and trackers. Including you. You stalk the great pine valleys and the cliffsides of towering mountains, running down hornbeasts and stonebellies to bring meat, fat, and hide back to sustain the tribe.

Many dangerous creatures haunt the wilderness, and in order to survive you must be cleverer than the average Ogre. Utilizing a wide variety of tricks and traps to catch your prey. Pitfalls and boulderslides, Ironsnappers and Chain-Snares. Instead of simply clubbing things to death, you bring them down at range with great throwing spears or harpoon launchers.

In particular, you have earned some renown for your ability to tame the great beasts and monsters you share these lands with, bringing them to heel as mounts or war-animals. Your personal pack of hunting cats once helped you bring down a bear twice your own size, whose pelt you now wear over your shoulders as a trophy.

Dark days lie ahead though. Your tribe has many enemies, most more numerous than they are. They will need to rely heavily upon your tricks if they are to survive the battles to come.
Character Type: Hunter
Starting Location: Northern Mountains of Mourn
Playstyle: Prehistoric-fantasy Arctic Survivalism
Starting Units: Sabretusk pack, trained as your personal hunting beasts.

-[] Lark Lavaguts
You are blessed in a way that most Ogres could never hope to be.
Possessed by a sense of religious Zeal, you left your home tribe to ascended in a pilgrimage up the obsidian flanks of the living god-mountain known as the fire mouth. Struggled over flowing magma streams and jagged peaks, there to undertake the ancient trials of fire under the stern gaze of it's warrior-priests.

First, they prepared for you a cauldron of curry made from flametoad and devilpepper. This you consumed with gusto, though it caused your guts to turn to churn as though liquid.

Toughing out sickness that gripped your insides, you laboriously caught a scuttling fire beetle in your bare hands, and consumed the carthorse-sized creature raw in a single sitting, despite the burning sensation it spread through your skin.

Last, and most importantly of all, a team of Gnoblar slaves lowered you into the very Caldera among a handful of other applicants, suspended on thrice-enchanted chains, your flesh smouldering, your hair flaking away, your eyes liquefying in your skull as you got closer and closer to the sacred godsblood of the firemount. When, at last, you were close enough, you reached out, scooped raw magma into your hands, and drank your fill.

By all rights, you should have died then and there. Every other prospective applicant did, but then, that is an expected part of the test. You, lucky beyond measure, were chosen and blessed by the Fire Mouth as worthy of its gifts. Instead of perishing, you were reborn in fire, a living incarnation of the god's molten fury.

Beneath your brazen skin, lava runs through your veins in place of blood, your eyes glow with mystical power, and your body temperature is never anything less than boiling. Thanks to your gods, you can bring magical wrath to bear on the battlefield. Breathing out streams of fire like a dragon to melt right through mail and flesh alike, and inspiring fellow ogres to feats of might in a religious frenzy.

But your quest is not done, not yet. Alongside your ascension, your god has gifted you a vision. A task that needs doing. You will lead a warband far and wide from this sacred place, an army of the faithful, ready to strike down enemies of your deity, retrieve ancient artifacts, and earn glory in the name of the Fire Mouth.

Character Type: Firebelly.
Starting Location: At the foot of the Fire Mouth.
Playstyle: Roving band of religious fanatics, driven by vision-quests
Starting Unit: An extra large helping of Gnoblar slaves, gifted to you as attendants by the priests of the Fire-Mouth.

-[] Write-in (What is your name, what is your story, what is your goal, and where do you start?)
--[] You are a Bruiser (Melee-warrior Character Archetype, typically the enforcers and seconds of Tribal Chieftains/Tyrants)
--[] You are a Butcher (Caster Archetype, Versed in the lore of the Great Maw)
--[] You are a Hunter (Ranged-Skirmisher Archetype, lots of tricks and special tools)
--[] You are a Firebelly (Caster Archetype, Versed in the lore of Fire)

You will be granted a single free unit by the GM, appropriate to your character's story.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Your character starts off an an Ogre Hero level unit, though with time, they may evolve into something much greater. You also have the potential to benefit from a unique Ogre Mechanic as described below:

BIG NAMES OF THE OGRES
Ogre names are typically as blunt and obvious as their owners. This is because Ogres have a limited capacity for honorifics and titles, and lose interest very quickly after the first syllable or two. The exception to this are those names Ogres traditionally associate with great heroes; the so-called 'big names', which invariably tie into a hazardous feat the Ogre has undertaken in order to prove his mettle.

When Ogres gain such renown that their deeds are told throughout the kingdoms, it is said they have 'earned a name' for themselves and they gain descriptive titles –an Ogre who has fought and bested a Giant will attach an honorific like Giantbreaker or Big Basher to his name. This kind of big reputation is essential to becoming a successful Bruiser or Tyrant. Ogres that travel into the world often pick up foreign titles or terms, like Captain or 'the unhygienic', which are also incorporated into their titles, even though Ogres might not fully understand their meaning. Sometimes the results can be comical – however, anyone foolish enough to laugh at an Ogre's name is sure to find himself on the wrong side of a gut-plate pretty quickly.

In this way, an Ogre who has scaled the sheer face of Mount Thug with only his bare hands may adopt the name Mountaineater, whereas an Ogre who has slaughtered his way through a unit of knights with nothing more than a jagged rock and a bad hangover might take the name Skullcracker. With typical Ogre directness, an Ogre's name tells anyone alive long enough to hear it what that Ogre excels at or the particular skills he prides himself in. In this way an Ogre will know whether the Ogre he is talking to is worthy of great respect, having earned himself a big name.

When your character personally performs highly impressive feats, they have a chance of earning a "Big Name", a title and epithet by which other Ogres will call them. Big names come with mechanical benefits appropriate to the feat that earned them. For example, you could gain bonuses against specific types of enemies, or a greater chance to resist spell effects, or a boost to a single stat. In this way, an Ogre character can become stronger by taking risks to perform great deeds and fame.
​

 

[Swordswain]

DRAMATIS PERSONAE
aka
THE ARMY LIST
& Other relevant information​

ARMY SPECIAL RULES & UNIQUE EQUIPMENT
Note: If a special rule is Unique to a unit, it will be specified under that unit's stats.

Spoiler: Ogre Charge

Given the chance, an Ogre will barge into combat, using its great lumbering mass as a weapon. When working together, Ogres can harness the tremendous momentum of their formation to deliver an overpowering impact on anything they collide with. It is a living avalanche, an immense tonnage of muscle and fat behind heavy iron gut-plates that slams the enemy before the Ogres begin to lay about themselves with their brutal weaponry.

Each monstrous infantry model on foot with the Ogre Charge special rule that successfully charges an enemy has the Impact Hits (1) special rule. Models with this special rule that are part of a unit with ranks add their current Rank Bonus to the Strength of the Impact Hits they inflict.

Spoiler: Impact Hits

The impact of a charge can itself sometimes cause severe casualties amongst the foe.

Impact Hits are only made on the turn the model makes a successful charge into close combat, and only against the unit the model has charged. Impact Hits are resolved at the very beginning of the close combat, before challenges are issued and attacks of any other kind are made. They hit a unit in base contact and are randomised as Automatic Hits. If the model is in base contact with more than one unit, randomise the Impact Hits between them as evenly as possible. If the model with Impact Hits is not in base contact with the enemy, no Impact Hits are inflicted.Impact Hits roll to wound using the Strength of the model making the Impact Hits. Any armour saves taken are done using the close combat value of the armour, and Parry saves may not be taken (see Weapons and Armour chapter). Any Wounds caused by Impact Hits are counted towards combat resolution. Unless specified, any special rules that apply to the model's normal attacks do not apply to its Impact Hits.

Spoiler: Stubborn

Some troops will fight on in dose combat almost regardless of casualties. This can be because they consider themselves to be elite, have taken severe vows to hold their ground in combat or are simply too slow witted to flee when defeated by superior troops!

If the majority of the models in a unit are Stubborn, the unit is always Steadfast, whether or not they have a higher Unit Strength than their enemy or are disrupted.

Spoiler: IMMUNITY

Some warriors and creatures in the Warhammer world are almost completely fearless, or are such grizzled veterans that situations that would make lesser troops panic have no effect on them. Others have an immunity to certain elements, either by a natural mutation or by magic.

Models with the Immunity rule ignore the effects of the rule(s) in the brackets. Examples include Killing Blow, Poisoned Attacks, Flaming Attacks, Ice Attacks, Lightning Attacks and so on. Note that the model only ignores the effects of the rule itself unless the attack is also listed as being non-physical. The physical attack still causes damage as normal.

Immunity can also include Panic, Fear and Terror. If the majority of the models in a unit have the Immunity (Panic, Fear or Terror) rule, the unit ignores the effects of Panic, Fear or Terror and any such tests it would otherwise had to take.

Models that are Immune to all three above effects have the Immunity (Psychology) rule. This also includes automatically passing any Psychology tests they might need to take (such as many spell effects or special rules that would otherwise force a unit to take a Psychology test). However, they may never choose Flee! as a charge reaction (though they may still use Feigned Flight or Fire & Flee). Pride, or a sluggish acceptance of the situation, prevents them from doing so

Spoiler: Look-Out Gnoblar

Gnoblars are often bullied into makeshift crow's-nests at the top of Ogre standards. If an enemy is targeting the Ogres below, the Gnoblar can either give advance warning of the threat, or fall to his death.

Any character or champion in a unit with a Look-out Gnoblar benefits from the 'Look Out Sir!' special rule as long as there are three rank and file models of the same troop type remaining in the unit

Spoiler: Look out sir!

If a character is hit by a template weapon or spell that uses a template, a comrade will shout a warning or physically push them clear of incoming harm and suffer the hit themself instead. This happens automatically, and no roll is required, nor is this considered as a "save" for rules purposes. "Look Out Sir!" cannot be used if there are less than five rank-and-file models (including command group) left in the unit. This only applies to Characters with the same troop type as the unit.

Spoiler: Expendable

Some units are practically considered worthless by the rest of the army, either due to their low status or being simple beasts, and no heed is paid to their demise.

Models with this special rule do not cause Panic to friendly units that are not Expendable themselves. Characters may not join a unit with this rule, unless specified.For every Core unit with the Expendable special rule in your army, you are required to include at least one other Core Unit without the Expendable rule. For more information on this, see the Choosing Your Army chapter.

Spoiler: Ogre Equipment

Spoiler: Ironfists

Originating from the traditional Ogre sport of pitfighting, Ogres often cover their off-hand with some kind of shield, spiked gauntlet or heavy glove. This can be used to bat aside even the strongest attacks in a similar way to a giant buckler, or merely to smash an enemy's face into an unrecognisable pulp.

An ironfist can be used as either an additional hand weapon or a buckler in close combat, even when mounted. You must choose which function you want to use at the start of each close combat round.

Spoiler: Ogre Pistols

Ogres that have sold their swords across the Empire often pick up specially modified black powder weapons as recompense for their efforts; these are regarded as symbols of great status due to their ability to emit noise and violence in equal measure. Such is the size and strength of their owners that Ogres use these with the ease a human uses a pistol. The most common of these customised weapons is an Empire handgun with a massively enlarged trigger and guard; most Maneaters have at least one of these devices in their possession and some may sport a brace of these handguns across their puffed-out guts.

Ogre Pistols follow all the rules for normal pistols, but have a range of 24"

GENERAL

Spoiler: Bragg Backbreaker

Bruiser-Monstrous Infantry (Character)

Movement	Weapon skill	Ballistic Skill	Strength	Toughness	Wounds	Initiative	Attacks	Leadership
6	5	4	5	5	4	3	4	8

Equipment:
-Hand Weapon
-Great Weapon
-Medium Armour

Special Rules:
-Ogre Charge

SPECIAL UNITS

Spoiler: 3x Maneaters

Veterans of your tribe's Mercenary jobs, these fearless campaigners have seen it all, and picked up extra skills along the way. Including a sense of fashion on which they spend a great portion of their loot. A squad of three of them have been seconded to you to give your small force some real backbone.



Monstrous Infantry

Movement	Weapon Skill	Ballistic Skill	Strength	Toughness	Wounds	Initiative	Attacks	Leadership
6	4	4	5	4	3	3	3	8

Equipment:
-Hand Weapons
-Light Armor
-Ogre Pistols

Special Rules:
-Ogre Charge
-Stubborn
-Immunity (Psychology)

Spoiler: Been There, Done That

Each Maneater in the unit may pick one of the following special rules:
-Armour Piercing (1)
-Devastating Charge
-Hatred
-Killing Blow
-Multiple Wounds (D3)
-Parry (6+)
-Poisoned Attacks
-Strength Bonus (1)

Spoiler: Motley Crew

The models in a unit of Maneaters are often armed with a variety of different weapons. If they are, your opponent must make it clear which model they want to allocate their attacks to. Any excess wounds are carried over to the rest of the unit as normal in an order chosen by your opponent.

CORE UNITS

Spoiler: 5x Ogre Bulls

Your basic Ogre tribesmen, any Ogre male is considered a Bull once he has reached sufficient age, and together they form the main mass of the tribes warriors. Relatively straightforward, Bulls charge directly into battle, relying mostly on their natural physical advantages over most creatures to win the day rather than any complex tactics or equipment.



Monstrous Infantry

Profile	Movement	Weaponskill	Ballistic Skill	Strength	Toughness	Wounds	Initiative	Attacks	Leadership
Bull	6	3	2	4	4	3	2	3	7
Crusher	6	3	2	4	4	3	2	4	7

Equipment:
-Hand Weapons
-Ironfists
-Light Armour

Upgrades:
-Crusher
-Bellower (Musician)
-Standard Bearer

Special Rules:
-Ogre Charge
-Look-Out Gnoblar

Spoiler: 7x Gnoblars

The common slaves of the tribe, Gnoblars are tiny, weak, cowardly, easily slain, and equipped only with rusty shivs and kitchen knives tied to sticks. They, however, extremely numerous, and are often herded to the front of battle en masse as expendable meat shields.



Infantry

Profile	Movement	Weaponskill	Ballistic Skill	Strength	Toughness	Wounds	Initiative	Attacks	Leadership
Gnoblar	4	2	3	2	2	1	3	1	5

Equipment:
-Hand Weapons
-Additional Hand Weapons

Special Rules:
-Beneath Contempt

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Spoiler: The great enemy: Mooneyes

Early on in your tribe's wandering history, when they first came out of the east from between the world's edge mountains into the old world, they were hired by the then-ruler of Akendorf in the border princes to help secure his realm. First against his rivals, and then against a tide of beasts and monsters that had recently come pouring out of the Düsterwald forest.

At first, the tribe feasted well on the endless hordes of Mutants and Wolf-beasts crushed beneath their steel boots. The tables soon turned, however, when the leader of the beastmen revealed himself.

A great prophet and Shaman of the brayherds, gifted with unholy powers by the dark gods, this fell creature unleashed terrible sorcery upon your tribe's warhost, reducing entire bands of warriors to little more than molten bone-liquid, while the nearby beastmen seemed to only grow in might and ferocity, inspired by it's presence.

The tribe's pride broke when the then-Tyrant was twisted into a deformed, bestial mutant and turned on his own warriors, causing them to flee the field. The Shaman had dealt the tribe one of it's few, and earliest defeats.

Twelve times since then has the Shaman known as Mooneyes met the Ironjaw tribe on the field of battle, claiming the lives of a further three Tyrants. Of all those battles, it was only forced to retreat twice.

Nobody knows why the two encounter each other so often. Perhaps mooneyes has a special vendetta against the tribe, or perhaps the architect of fate simply finds it amusing to put them in eachothers path. Whatever the reason, Mooneyes has become the eternal specter haunting the minds of the Ironjaw tribe.

Thankfully you have never had the displeasure of meeting it in person, but Mooneyes has become something like the collective nightmare of the tribe. The scary story told around campfires to get the young'uns to behave. Every such story ends with a warning:

Do not wander alone at night, do not stray far from the campfire. For out there, in the dark of the night, lurk the balefully glowing eyes of the great terror. Once they see you, it is already too late.

 

[Swordswain]

At this time of year, the Trantine hills experience long, hot days, with the sun Overhead blazing mercilessly down onto all the earth, unmitigated by cloud or breeze. This is all well and good for the farmers who tend the terraced olive groves or endless fruit orchards, and even more so for the wealthy patrons who actually own the land. More sun, if mixed with an appropriate amount of watering, means bigger harvests, which means more product, which means more profit.

It created significantly less pleasant effects when applied to a large number of bodies crammed in close together, certainly the common people of the nearby city were cursing and scowling as they sweated half to death during their toils, skin reddening and peeling, even as they jockeyed for space in the wine houses and taverns, seeking cool relief from the troubles of the day. In such areas of close proximity, the unwashed mass of the hoi polloi served as a perfect vector for disease, and small breakouts of plague in the summer were not unheard of.

However bad the city was, though, it had nothing on your camp.

​

Ogres are several times the size of a human, and accordingly sweat enough to drown lesser creatures. These secretions roll down chests and arms and legs, getting stuck in the endless folds of blubber and other, unmentionable places. There to sit and stay and comingle with the mud of the road, the juices of the latest meal, blood from old injuries (or victims) and other assorted effluvia, all festering and combining together to create something as unique as it is rancid. It is not quite true that Ogres never bathe as some humans might say, but as a rule your species is not all that attentive to hygiene, and it has not rained for a number of days.

This … effect is then multiplied by every member of the tribe, by the hundreds, and further joins the generalized results of camp life. The must of old, worn leather, the Latrines, the many pack animals, the food that's gone a bit off after being left exposed to the elements, the ashy smoke still drifting off of cookfires or torches or ritual bowls or the forge of the camp smith. The Gnoblars, so, so many Gnoblars.

And this is without mentioning the noise, constant and unending.

The combined effect of the camp's atmosphere would probably be more lethal to a human visitor than all the warriors it contains combined, but to you, this is just what home is like.

You plod along without issue, each heavy step sending up small clouds of dust in your wake as you pass through and around clusters of Ogre-sized yurts, brown hide stretched thin between supports made from massive bones. Yawning and grumbling Ogres push their way out of flaps, pulling on hide trousers, buckling gut-plates, and gathering around small campfires to await the morning stew as it is prepared by den-mothers.

Even as you watch, one impatient young bull grabs up a passing Gnoblar, as casually as though he were scratching his own head, and shoves the little creature into his mouth with a series of horrible crunching sounds.

The rest of the gnoblar's tiny kin do not even seem to care, scurrying around with incredible dexterity, or perhaps familiarity, between the legs of their masters, ferrying objects back and forth or otherwise performing any one of the countless little tasks required to keep the camp running.

You barely even notice them scrambling to get out of your way as you continue plodding along, casting a plane of shadow in your wake big enough for a human family to hide from the sun in. You are a tad bigger than the average Ogre, and long-legged strides soon carry you towards the central area of the camp.

You skirt around the edge of the Maw-Pit, a massive rounded hole dug into the ground like a bowl as the first part of establishing the camp. It's edge is lined with tall stones poised to jut inwards, all built in emulation of your god. The pit was the first part of the camp built, and is a center of ritual and recreation both. Eager young bulls often challenge one another to wrestle in the pit, sometimes to the death, all done in the eyes of the great Maw. Feasts can be held around it's circumference, with the fighters down below serving as entertainment. It is the common meeting place, where the Tyrant gives his public announcements.

Across from you, on the other side of the pit, is the Tyrant's own tent. A palace of hide and bone, larger and grander than the homes of the rest of the tribe, festooned with trophies from a hundred battles. Broken shields and shattered swords and crumpled helmets of a dozen styles. Above it all, flying high and proud, is the banner of your tribe:

[] The Roaming Mammoth of the Wanderfoot Tribe
Possessed of an ancient wanderlust, the Wanderfoot tribe are always on the move, and have become experts at surviving the many dangers of wilderness travel in the old world.
Your tribe will be able to move far faster across the world map, and be far more likely to spot and avoid ambushes or natural dangers. They will also be capable of surviving off the land to a certain extent, harvesting a great deal of food and resources off of the natural environment.

[] The Grinning Skull of the Bonehead Tribe
What they lack for in intelligence, the bonehead tribe more than makes up for in sheer jovial fearlessness. Whether on the battlefield or in the frequent camp games, feasts, athletics, headbutting competitions, and rounds of Catch the Gnoblar.
Your tribe will have an easier time against out-of-combat fear and morale effects, and will run frequent competitions and challenges in which you might earn extra favor, renown, and resources. Additionally, beating enemy characters in single combat will earn you extra renown.

[] The Clenched fist of the Strongblood Tribe
Blessed with fertility, the Strongblood tribe is known to bounce back from even the worst defeats stronger than before, and can shrug off casualties that would devastate any other tribe.
Your tribe is numerous and reproduces quickly, making casualties easier to replace. Additionally, you and other characters will recover from sustained injuries far quicker, and you will benefit from extra resistance against poisons and diseases.

[] The bladed teeth of the Irontusk Tribe.
No Ogre could ever rightfully be called a "Master Smith", but the Irontusk tribe comes somewhat close. Obsessed with making themselves as "Strong as Steel", they spend a disproportionate amount of time and resources on acquiring metal and extra weapons from anywhere they can.
Your tribe has larger stockpiles of weapons and armour. In the future, this will provide discounts on improving the wargear of yourself, other characters, and troops, as well as making it easier to access more advanced forms of equipment.

[] Write-In
Include a name, Heraldry, and the general theme you want to go for.

There, somewhere in that vast tent, is your Tyrant. Your chieftain. The bastard who ordered you to get up early so he could give you a 'mission' as his newest bruiser, forcing you to run around before the sun had risen to assemble all your troops together to do something he is too lazy and too important to bother with himself.

You reckon this is more of a test than anything else. The task is not complicated, and it will be your first time leading a warband in the field, so the Tyrant probably wants to make sure you are capable of doing what you are told and not break apart on your first command.

You are fairly confident you can get it done without issue. You have an advantage. After all, you are already known for:

-[] Being a Humanitarian
You are what you eat, so they say, and you have eaten many humans at this point. That, and having spent so much time among them has granted you certain insights as to what makes the race of man tick. Things that seem complicated and mystifying to most Ogres, such as the complexities of human politics, why which groups hate one another, and what the point of certain behaviors is, seems clear as day to you.
You mostly understand human cultures, allowing you to discern their real motivations, desires, and the reasons behind their actions. In particular, this allows you to comprehend the reasons why they hire you to do certain things, and what the knock-on effects of those actions will be. No going in blind for you, for you will always understand the context of the wars you are being thrown into, and what you can likely expect to face.

[] Acting as a Friend of the Small
You have always had a soft spot for Gnoblars, and tend to treat them far gentler than most Ogres do their slaves. You save the leftovers of your meals for them, rarely ever eat them, and even feel a little bad when you accidentally sit on one. This kindness is noticed, and appreciated.
You will receive a discount on Gnoblar units, unlock extra actions in camp to do with Gnoblar welfare, and down the line you may take non-standard upgrades to make Gnoblar units far more effective and Versatile.

[] Your Bizness Savvy
Among Ogres you are considered a Savant with numbers, as you are able to count beyond the number of fingers you have. They often send you to negotiate trade deals, because you have the best understanding of the actual value of the items involved, and can usually avoid getting completely fleeced. Usually.
You get better prices when purchasing anything from the markets, and can score a higher profit when selling anything.

[] Your Straw-Tea-Jackal Akumen
You have learned to have an actual understanding of strategy and tactics, with an appreciation for the arts of flanking, deception, and unit composition most Ogres do not have. On the battlefield, you can accurately assess the capabilities of both friendly and enemy units, and come up with solutions on the fly.
During battles, you can freely identify and understand enemy units actual stats and nature more than just their physical appearance, and you will automatically receive strategic assessments of how well various actions are likely to work out.

[] Write-In
Pick one thing you are particularly good at.

A quality that is certain to help you stand out above your peers. Unfortunately, though you are flawless, your tribe is not. Perhaps due to poor leadership, perhaps due to bad luck, there is one factor that troubles your tribe continually, and may well prove a hindrance in your efforts. Your tribe is:

[] Abandoned by the Maw
Some say that wandering so far from the homelands has displeased the great maw, which has turned its benevolent gaze away from your tribe in disgust, taking with it its gifts. Whatever the real reason, your tribe has not birthed a butcher in many generations.
Your tribe is Utterly incapable of spawning Magic Users.

[] Beastless
Tragically, your tribe no longer possesses the traditional beasts used to support Ogre armies. Your herds died during your many travels, and finding replacements is nigh impossible. You have been forced to make do with the feeble animals of the old world instead.
Your tribe has no Ogres-Faction beasts, and cannot spawn any units that use those animals. (Mournfangs, Sabretusks, Rhinox, etc.)

[] Pursued by an Enemy.
Your tribe has the misfortune of drawing the Ire of a powerful foe, who will stop at nothing to ruin your day.
A powerful and resourceful leader, for whatever reason, has it out for your tribe, and will seek to fuck you over whenever the opportunity arises, no matter how far away you may go. Choose one faction for this enemy to belong to:
-[] Empire
-[] Kislev
-[] Tilea
-[] Estalia
-[] Bretonnia
-[] Orcs & Goblins
-[] Beastmen
-[] Skaven
-[] Vampire Counts

[] Write-In
This will have to be a significant and lasting drawback.

If that was not enough, your "warband" is barely worthy of the name. The Tyrant granted you enough forces to guard a granary, not slay an enemy army. Your mouth twists in a frown as you come around the corner to the little mustering field in which you told your troops to gather.

The maneaters are there, of course, chuckling to one another in that smug, grating tone of theirs over some joke you were too late to hear. They are easily the best troops you have, experienced veterans all, but they don't respect you. Not yet. They are all older than you by decades, and consider you little more than an upstart child. They obey for now, but you'd much rather not have them laughing behind your back.

One of them looks up as you approach, grinning that shit-eating grin of his. "Oi, ladz, da boss is here."
The others look over, and one of them sweeps into a mocking bow, sweeping his feathered hat off of his head. "Glad you could join us, yer bruiserness. See, the ladz were wondering, what exactly are we doing today?"

You grunt, thinking back to what the Tyrant told you. Your tribe is currently in the employ of the city-state of Trantio, whose reigning prince has both the money and the need for your muscle. The constant feuds of the Tilean states tend to run hotter during the summer, and other dangers have also come crawling out of their hidey holes.

[] Bands of marauding greenskins have come down from the Apuccini mountains, as they do every year. And, like every year before, they have started raiding and looting the farmsteads and groves of the countryside. Scouts have managed to locate the camp one of these bands is staying at, and the authorities want them eliminated before they cause any more trouble.

[] A group of armed humans has crossed the border from the west, and has been making its way from town to town inquiring about local defenses. Mercenaries sent by one of the rival city-states no doubt, probing around to see how vulnerable Trantine land currently is, and if they might be able to seize a border fiefdom or two.The Prince wants them to be taught a lesson. A lethal one.

[] A small river has inexplicably dried up, and the farms that relied on its water, especially during such a hot summer as this, are complaining. The prince's court suspects sabotage by one of their neighbors, and wants an armed party to follow the dried up river to investigate, and kill whatever's caused this.

With that explanation out of the way, you turn your attention to the rest of your troops, asessing what you have available.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Now comes the fun part, putting together your modest (For now) Army.

You have 220 points to spend.

You MUST spend at least 125 POINTS on the following units in some combination.
Note: You may have multiple of the same kind of unit, assuming you can afford it. (For example, you may have two different groups of Gnoblars)

[] X amount of Ogre Bulls (30 Points per Ogre)
Your basic Ogre tribesmen, any Ogre male is considered a Bull once he has reached sufficient age, and together they form the main mass of the tribes warriors. Relatively straightforward, Bulls charge directly into battle, relying mostly on their natural physical advantages over most creatures to win the day rather than any complex tactics or equipment.
Note: single Unit of Ogres must have at least 3 Models
-[] May upgrade one Bull to a Crusher (Unit leader) for 10 Points.
-[] May Upgrade one Bull to a Bellower (Musician) for 10 Points.
-[] May Upgrade one Bull to a Standard bearer for 10 Points.
-[] The Unit may take a Look-out Gnoblar for 5 Points (4 points, if Friend of the Small was chosen)
-[] The unit may take additional hand Weapons for 1 Point per Model.
Alternatively
-[] The unit may take Ironfists for 2 points per model (1 point per, if the Irontusk tribe was chosen)

[] X amount of Gnoblars (2.5 point per Gnoblar, 2 if Friend of the Small was chosen)
The common slaves of the tribe, Gnoblars are tiny, weak, cowardly, easily slain, and equipped only with rusty shivs and kitchen knives tied to sticks. They, however, extremely numerous, and are often herded to the front of battle en masse as expendable meat shields.
Note: A Single unit of Gnoblars must have at least 5 Models
-[] May upgrade one Gnoblar to a Groinbiter (Unit leader) for 10 points. (5, if Friend of the Small was chosen)
-[] May upgrade one Gnoblar to a musician for 10 points. (5, if Friend of the Small was chosen)
-[] May upgrade one Gnoblar to a standard bearer for 10 points. (5, if Friend of the Small was chosen)
-[] The unit may take additional hand weapons for 1 point per model. (0.5 points per, if Irontusk tribe was chosen)

You May choose to spend up to 45 points on the following upgrades for Bragg:

May be armed with one of the following:
-[] Additional hand weapon=4 points (2, if Irontusk tribe was chosen)
A large cleaver-like saber you can heft in your off-hand, allowing you to make additional attacks in close combat. Especially good for wading into crowds.
-[] Great weapon=8 points (6, if Irontusk tribe was chosen)
A massive warhammer made from a small boulder tied to the end of a tree-trunk. Huge enough that even you have to use two hands to wield it, but capable of crushing even heavily armoured or unnaturally tough creatures.
-[] Ironfist=5 points (3, if Irontusk tribe was chosen)
A brutal Ogre invention, the Ironfist comes from pit-fighting traditions, and is essentially just an especially thick and unusually heavy metal gauntlet festooned with spikes and other attachments. It can be used as an offhand weapon in close combat to bash things to death with, but it can also double as a defensive shield.
-[] Ogre pistol=7 points (5, if Bizness Savvy was chosen)
Originally, this was probably a human arquebus, musket, or blunderbuss meant to be used in two hands. But with the barrel filed down a bit and the grip enlarged, it makes a pistol fit for Ogre hands.
-[] Brace of Ogre pistols=10 points (7, if Bizness Savvy was chosen)
A set of two to four Ogre pistols paired together on a Bandolier or string, pre-loaded and ready to go so that the wielder, after firing one, may simply drop it and pull out another instead of going through a lengthy reloading process in the midst of battle. Allowing them to put more shots into the enemy.

[] May replace light armor with medium armor for 4 points (2, Irontusk tribe was chosen)
You have supplemented your gut-plate with a wide-necked cage-faced helmet, a set of human chaimail coats refashioned into a sleeve for one of your arms, a large spiked pauldron for the opposite shoulder, and a heart-protector plate strapped over your chest.

May take any of the following:
-[] Lucky Gnoblar for 5 points (3 points, if Friend of the Small was chosen)
-[] Sword-Gnoblars (up to two) for 3 points per model (2 points per model, if Friend of the Small was chosen)

May be mounted upon one of the following:
- [] Mournfang = 45 points (Unavailable if Beastless was chosen)
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Consider your choices carefully, as several of these will have lasting impacts on the game. I will happily answer any questions the moment I get the Opportunity. I wanted to include descriptions for all the equipment and Upgrade choices, but I had to get this out before heading off to work, so I may add those descriptions in later.

 

[Swordswain]

Sighing through your nose, you take a moment to examine your forces in more detail before heading out. Unlike most Ogres, you actually sometimes think a little about what you have at your disposal. Proper Straw-Tea-jackal, so the Tyrant calls you. Whatever. You don't care what the word for it is, you like winning, and to win, you have to know what yer workin' with.

There are the Maneaters, of course. Done up in their feathered hats, vests several sizes too small, and pantaloons dyed all manner of colors. Copying human fashion is an affectation many of the older members of your tribe have adopted. Personally, you've never understood the point of it. It just makes them look silly.

Not that you would risk voicing that opinion out loud. They may be odd-looking, and they may only number three, but each of them has seen decades of mercenary work across the old world. They've battled men and dwarves, goblins and Giants, Ephemeral ghosts and horrific Daemons, even a rival Ogre tribe once or twice. Fearless veterans, with the scars and the superior skills to prove it. You can count on them to punch above their weight, and considering their size, that's saying something.

In addition to the massive human-made pistols each proudly displays strapped to his grizzled chest, or bulging hip, the Maneaters are a diverse lot, and they often bring something different to the table.

Select 3 of the following, (each option can be taken multiple times):

[] Armour Piercing (1)
One of the Maneaters has, quite creatively, armed himself with an Anchor that used to belong to a small human ship, and swings it around like a gigantic Pickaxe. The sheer force concentrated behind it's piercing tips rips right through armor.

[] Devastating Charge
This Maneater has not mellowed with age. In fact, he's incredibly energetic and eager to get to grips with the enemy. He puts extra effort into every charge.

[] Hatred
Nobody knows what's made this Maneater so scornful and grumpy. Whatever the cause, he has a horrible temper, and seems to despise the very world around him.

[] Killing Blow
This Maneater is an expert at debilitating strong foes with a good stab to the vital organs, or a targeted bash to the skull.

[] Multiple Wounds (D3)
This Maneater has covered his weapons in a truly unnecessary number of spikes, enabling him to clip multiple foes with each swing.

[] Parry (6+)
This Maneater has picked up skills that might generously be compared to human fencing forms, and can bat aside enemy attacks with his weapon.

[] Poisoned Attacks
Nobody is quite certain where this Maneater gets his seemingly endless supply of alchemical poisons, or how he manages not to kill himself when applying them to his cleaver, but what's not in doubt is the effect it has upon his victims.

[] Strength Bonus (1)
Glutting on decades of success has allowed this Ogre to grow larger than normal, and his massive weight lends even more strength to the charge.

Not far away, loitering in their own little cluster, are the bulls. The young and bloodthirsty Ogres you managed to wrangle into your own little crew, hotheaded and eager to prove themselves. They, at least, look up to you as their leader and an inspiration in whose footsteps they wish to follow, each dreaming of the day they might cover themselves in glory and rise to your station. They are much of an age with you, actually, and you knew most of them before your promotion.

Collectively, the five of them make up the largest share of mass in your army, and you went out of your way to make sure they were kitted out. You managed to nab a set of Ironfists for the lot, and it is they who carry the banner. Your personal banner. The very sight of it fills you with pride, though the hide is worn and ragged, the symbol stands out loud and proud:

[] A spinal cord cloven in twain, White on Red

[] A horned helmet, surrounded by the mawteeth, Black on white.

[] Crossed cleavers, Red on Gray

[] A huge handprint, White on Black.

[] Write-In

Atop that tall bannerpole is built a tiny crow's nest, like on the mast of a ship, in which a Gnoblar, chosen for it's keen eyesight and sensitive ears, snores. Come the time to fight, it will scream warnings to the Ogres below it of threats they might otherwise miss.

It is not the only Gnoblar here, though it might as well be. You barely spare a glance for the pathetic handful of Gnoblar assistants and slaves who scurry around, a mere seven dregs to be prodded into battle as meat-shields. More useful to carry your things than as infantry.

And that's it. Nine Ogres, including yourself, and somehow an even smaller number of Gnoblars. That's what you have to work with to kill whatever's blocking up the river.

Hefting your great hammer up onto one shoulder, you shove two massive, sausagelike fingers into your mouth to unleash a shrill whistle, gathering the attention of the warband. The bulls look up at you attentively, while the Gnoblars are forced to cover their ears and shirk back. The Maneaters, for their part, glance over their shoulders with indifference.

"Grab yer bits and pieces-" Your voice is deep, but smooth compared to most Ogres. It cracks through the air, sure and sharp. You won't admit it out loud of course, but you've actually been practicing your 'Boss Voice' in private just so that the others would listen to you more.

"-Were movin' out."

And, without further hesitation, you stomp off past them, heading out past the camp's stake perimeter towards the direction of the river. Gratified to hear a cavalcade of thunderous footsteps following in your wake not a moment later.

An Ogre march is like a ponderous landslide or a collection of boulders rolling their way across the land. Rather than the strict marching columns formed by more disciplined human forces, Ogres simply fall into natural mobs by familiarity (Of kinship or unit) and sidle on after the one leading the pack, which, in this case, is you. Like ducklings following their mother, they trod after the deep imprints on the earth left by your each step, creating a series of staggered thumping sounds with every tread, like muffled gunshots ringing out.

Directly behind you are the Maneaters, still gossiping with one another about what they are going to do the next time they hit a big-city market, and behind them the bulls, only occasionally grunting and complaining about the heat. The Gnoblars scuttle off to either side, not wanting to be crushed underfoot by a careless or inattentive Ogre's foot.

In this way do you traverse the countryside, slowly but surely picking your way up and down the hillside paths, surrounded on either side by rolling groves of Olive trees planted in neat rows, the sun beating down upon you mercilessly as you crest each new rise.

It is a long, boring, and hungry few hours of a trek, your feet aching and your stomach beginning to rumble as you press ever onwards. Occasionally, one of your Gnoblars runs up a nearby tree to saw a branch off before hastily rushing back to deliver it into the hands of an impatient bull (if the Ogre has not simply ripped the branch down themselves), so that he might chew on fistfulls of ripening olives, or, in one case, oranges whose juice dribbles down your chin. Technically, you don't have permission to just steal produce from under the noses of the local landowners, but it's the kind of thing Ogre mercenaries just sort of do, and is an expected risk of hiring your tribe. At least, by any humans with brains to spare.

The scavenged fruit is hardly filling to your insatiable stomachs, and it has nothing on a good man-meat roast, but it tides you over for the half-day it takes until you arrive at the village of Rigano.

It's a small place, but old and well built. One to two hundred homes clustered together in one the flatter pieces of land at the bottom of a small valley, their whitewashed plaster walls cracked and yellowed slightly with age, revealing the gray bricks beneath, but still strong enough to hold up slanting rooves of fire-red clay tiles. Most are only one story tall, although those positioned towards the sloping hillsides are occasionally terraced atop one another.

Cobblestone pathways, weathered but still functional, connect these homes in a criss-crossing labyrinth towards the market square at the center, the central hub of the settlement, and it is this square you lead your troop towards.

For their part, the villagers scramble to avoid your party, fearfully locking themselves indoors or hiding in the alleyways too small for an Ogre to walk down. They are aware of your purpose here and that you are, strictly speaking, allies in the employ of their government. That does not make the presence of several massive, man-eating monsters any less disconcerting to the average peasant.

At last you come out onto the square, and finally pause your march with a raised fist, taking a moment to look round.

The large rectangle of cobblestone, open to the sky, is the center of village life, just like it is in countless other settlements in Tilea and beyond. It shows, too. The edges of the square are lined with modest cloth stalls to sell everyday items, drink and clothes and household goods imported from the craftsmen of the city that cannot be made locally in exchange for vast sums of fruit and olives and sheep's wool and other agricultural products paid in tithe. Each and every stall is in the process of hurriedly being packed up by its owner to get out of your way.

Across from the road you entered through stands the largest and most well maintained building in the settlement. A small temple or chapel of some sort, though to which of the many human gods you could not dare a guess. It takes up extra space, surrounded by a modest garden of apple trees and berry bushes. An extension off to one side connects it to a large, round stone building that you assume must be the local granary. The plaster of it's walls are more pristine than the surrounding buildings, and it's roof is painted a rich, deep green.

The most dominant feature, however, is the fountain in the center. A monument of stone, the multi-tiered device is carved with small gargoyles and intricate details, but has clearly seen better days. Bits and pieces of it have broken off over time, and rust climbs the wrought-iron statue at it's top, degrading its features past the point of recognition. Still, under normal circumstances, cool clean water should be gushing forth from its faucets.

But the basin of the fountain is bone-dry.

Still, it's as good a place as any to rest, so you order your troops to sit down, take a load off, and break out the rations.

Bundles of Salted pork, strips of jerkied beef, entire fistfulls of mashed up cheese and bread are swallowed whole and gorged upon as your Ogres sit down in a little circle, pulling open the small packs carried at their hips. Caskets of rotgut grog are downed, or splashed over heads to relieve reddening, blistering skin. Leftover scraps are messily tossed aside for the Gnoblars to fight over.

It is altogether about as compact and efficient a lunch break that can be expected of your kind. You, personally, are interrupted in the middle of digging into a slab of lamb by the Crusher who leads your Bulls. Kurgg, an old mate of yours before your promotion, and possessed of a harder head and stronger guts than most of the others.

"Oi, Bragg!"

You grunt in annoyance, wiping your hands off on your trousers. "Whatsit now? Already told ya the grogs all spent."

"Nah, this is bizness-like. Gotsa little'un who wants to talk to ya."

A human? Curious, you laboriously heft yourself back up onto your feet and wave the petitioner forwards. Kurgg steps aside to reveal an elderly human woman, whose long, gray braid slips out from beneath her yellow and green hood.

Nervously, she steps forward. Hands wringing as she falls under your massive shadow.

"You are the … condottieri, sent by the city, yes?"

You snort. "Were wots got sent to fix yer river problem, if'n that's what you mean."

She nods. "Yes, yes that's good only … err, well, how long, exactly, will you be staying in town for? It's just … we sre a small place, you see, and the people gets antsy with … with such as yourself around …"

"Almost done 'ere." You look over her shoulder towards where your force is busy polishing off the remains of their meal. You had to get moving again soon anyway, if you wanted to make it upriver before nightfall.

"Would it be helpful if I showed you to the river?"

You blink in surprise at the offer, but it makes sense after a moment's thought. The sooner you find your path, the sooner you get out of their hair. You give the woman a nod, and she begins to lead you off to one side, explaining as she goes.

"It started about a month ago, you see, but it wasn't too bad at first. We noticed the water-level was a bit lower than the riverbanks, but thought nothing of it. Some level of variation is natural. Over the following weeks though, it kept dropping lower and lower, and we started noticing pieces of wood and debris floating along in the stream. Our first thought was the greenskins, the raiders come down from the mountains every year … but they come to loot and pillage, not to block up rivers. It's not the kind of thing they normally do. We sent word to Trantio, of course, but it took them so long to respond and when they finally do they send- Ah! Here we are!"

You had started to tune the human out about one sentence into her little speech. The mundanities of little'un life held little interest to you. What was interesting, however, was the riverbed she had brought you to.

Located not far from the village square, doubtless the river was once the lifeblood of the hamlet, it's waters, pouring down from mountain snowmelt, vital for keeping crops and people alike alive. It separated Rigano in two, with a curved stone bridge connecting the gap.

The river had apparently been deeper than it was wide, and in its disappearance it left behind something like a miniature ravine with steep, muddy sides. The length of its bottom dotted with stones, rotting fish, and the occasional piece of wood. Curious, you leap over the side of the bridge, landing below with a deafening whump and giving your human escort quite the startle.

Leaning down, you pick up the piece of wood in one massive hand and turn it over from side to side, examining it. Rather than a log or driftwood, it's shaped like a perfectly square plank, albeit one splintered in half. One end is driven through with a rusty iron nail. This is not natural wood.

Someone is building, or has built something up there. But what?

Well, only one way to find out, you suppose.

It does not take you long to gather the band up and get marching once again, using the riverbed as a little road to guide your path further up the hills, closer towards the distant peaks of the Apuccini mountains that form the vast spine of Tilea.

Technically speaking, it's a shorter distance overland to where you end up stopping than it is from the camp to Rigano, but the riverbed makes for rough terrain, mud slipping and sliding on your boots, and a great deal of it is uphill too, as you reverse-track the river's course flowing downwards from its source. Altogether, it takes you most of the rest of the day before you finally find what you are looking for, and the evening sun is beginning to head towards the horizon.

After hours of trekking up through the riverbed, painting your arms in mud to fend off the sun, you come across the beginnings of still-flowing liquid. Tiny trickles at first, carving spiderweb paths through the drying dirt, before coming together into slightly larger rivulets, and then, at last, a single small stream filling the bottom of the crevasse, pathetic compared to what the river should be, but evidence that it is not entirely gone.

Over the next hill, you hear a sound. A heavy metallic Ka-Chunk, Ka-Chunk, Ka-Chunk, and the sloshing of gallons of water.

Whatever is blocking the river, it's directly up ahead. All that's left is for you to decide how to approach it. You can't simply loiter around, lest the foe, whoever they are, catch you with your trousers down.

Select one of the following:
[] Send Gnoblars as Scouts
Gnoblars are small, dextrous, and occasionally sneaky. They might be able to scout out your foe so that you understand what you are up against, giving you a better idea of enemy numbers and disposition. Sure, some of them might die, but you honestly couldn't care less. They're expendable, the lives of proper Ogre warriors are not. The only real issue is that if they're caught, they might alert the enemy, giving them more time to prepare.

Your unit of Gnoblars will go ahead of the main force to scout out the enemy. Each of the seven Gnoblars will make a dangerous terrain test with a small chance of dying (1 in six chances of failure). If any are "Caught" in this way, the enemy force will be alerted to your presence, and gain a small amount of extra time to prepare.

Any survivors of the Gnoblar unit (likely the majority) will return and give you a mostly-accurate assessment of the enemy army and the terrain. Afterwards, you will get another vote on how to deploy with the benefit of more information at your disposal.

[] Attack!
There's no point in wasting time, or giving it to the enemy. You will forge right up the riverbed as fast as you can to take the foe by surprise and crush them beneath your forces in a direct attack.

This option will start the battle immediately. You will be forced to deploy inside the riverbed, but your enemy, taken by surprise, will also be out of position and be unable to prepare any defenses.

[] Intimidation
There's nothing to start a fight like a good warcry. Your warriors will sally up the riverbed at a moderate pace, screaming and bellowing and beating their chests, waving your banner for all it's worth. It will alert the enemy to your presence, but that won't be a problem when they're shaking in their boots.

This option will start the battle. The enemy will have a moderate amount of time to prepare as they hear your approach, but also have a good chance of suffering a debilitating fear penalty.

[] Reposition
It doesn't take a genius to guess that fighting from inside the trench that is the riverbed while your foes rain missiles down upon you is … suboptimal. You will take your time to climb out and deploy in a more advantageous position.

This option will start the battle. The enemy will see you moving, and have a moderate amount of time to prepare, but you will be able to deploy your own troops in a far better position.

[] Intimidate & Reposition
Why not both?

This option will start the battle. It allows you to both reposition your troops and potentially intimidate the enemy as both other options combined, but in exchange, they will have even more time to prepare.

 

[Swordswain]

When you first order the Gnoblars up, they obey only with fearful reluctance. Ears pressed flat against heads as they creep up the sides of the riverbed and through the brush, terrified that the mechanical sounds from up ahead were, in fact, the gnashing teeth of some great beast poised to devour them. Even more scared that if they do not obey, they would soon find themselves at the wrong end of a bruiser's temper.

It was a pleasant surprise when all of them come creeping back towards you, safe and sound, if a little skittish looking. Immediately, one of them lopes towards you, head lowered in deference. The other Ogres look on curiously as you gesture for it to speak.

"Go on then, What'd ya find?"

The gnoblar wrings its hand, its voice high and nasally, tinged with fear. "Itz ratz, boss! Like the little'uns that sometimes get inta tha pantry, right? 'Cept, these ones were real big! Da size of a human, and deyz were walking around on two legs an' chittering, using tools and whatnot!"

You stare at the little creature any signs of deception, but it has no reason to lie to you. Somewhere in the background, you hear Kurgg make a crude joke at the thing's stupidity, to which the other bulls chortle. When you glance over at the Maneaters, however, their usual mirth has disappeared as they stare at the Gnoblar with cautious, calculating gazes. One whispers something to another, who nods grimly.

Deciding that the best course of action is to show austere leadership, you give off a throaty grumble that silences your warband, before humming in thought as you look down at the Gnoblar, arms crossing over your broad chest. It quails under your gaze, almost seeming to melt on the spot. At length, you give a small, almost imperceptible nod to continue.

"Wot else?"

Swallowing thickly, the slave continues "W-well, we saw wots been blockin da water. They'z built dis big dam in da way, it's cuttin off da whole river. Da big thunky noise? Itz comin from in dere. Dey have a camp nearby too."

"How many are there?"

"Lotz! Err, compared to us, anyway. Most 'em are scrawny types, half-starved by the looks of 'em. Poor buggers only got scraps of cloth and dese big iron collars. They'z was all chained up together like how we leads the Mournfangs around in camp. Most o' those were workin' on the dam, but some were inside this lil' cave in the river, so its hard to say how many there were. Two-tens, at least."

"Anything else?"

Slightly more confident that you are apparently more interested in asking questions than stomping on him, the Gnoblar nods and gestures enthusiastically.

"Dere were some guards keepin' watch like, so we couldn't get too close. I fink about ten, yeah? They'z got big pokey sticks and metal bits on their clothes, shields too! They werent as 'ungry lookin' neither."

"They were in charge?"

"Well, one of dem was bit a bigger than the rest, with a bit more shiny bitz on 'im. He was a screamer, that'un. Kept hollering and screeching whenever one of the scrawny ones didn't work fast enough. One time he made an example outta one, called up a pair of others carrying dis big metal tube-thing. It made an awful noise and flash, awful I tells ya, and then one of the scrawny ones was torn right up like dat Holey-cheese da humans like."

All very valuable information about the composition of the enemy force. There was, however, one thing you were still missing.

"What was the terrain like?"

Eagerly, the Gnoblar uses his Knife to begin drawing a crude diagram in the dirt to show you the prospective battlefield.



-For the purposes of this battle, a Unit may scale the cliff walls seperating the riverbed up or down, but doing so forces a dangerous terrain test, and uses up the units entire movement. The two natural 'Ramps' (denoted by a lack of black separation line) may be traversed normally.
-The Cave counts as a building which a unit may Garrison for cover, as does the peasent's house. Note that, because of your size, only a small number of Ogres can fit inside a building.
-If you choose to reposition, you will be deploying anywhere on the side with the peasent's house, as opposed to within the Riverbed.
-The water reserve is impassable.
-The Dam is just about wide enough for three Ogres to cross abreast.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

[] Attack!
There's no point in wasting time, or giving it to the enemy. You will forge right up the riverbed as fast as you can to take the foe by surprise and crush them beneath your forces in a direct attack.

This option will start the battle immediately. You will be forced to deploy inside the riverbed, but your enemy, taken by surprise, will also be out of position and be unable to prepare any defenses.

[] Intimidation
There's nothing to start a fight like a good warcry. Your warriors will sally up the riverbed at a moderate pace, screaming and bellowing and beating their chests, waving your banner for all it's worth. It will alert the enemy to your presence, but that won't be a problem when they're shaking in their boots.

This option will start the battle. The enemy will have a moderate amount of time to prepare as they hear your approach, but also have a good chance of suffering a debilitating fear penalty.

[] Reposition
It doesn't take a genius to guess that fighting from inside the trench that is the riverbed while your foes rain missiles down upon you is … suboptimal. You will take your time to climb out and deploy in a more advantageous position.

This option will start the battle. The enemy will see you moving, and have a moderate amount of time to prepare, but you will be able to deploy your own troops in a far better position.

[] Intimidate & Reposition
Why not both?

This option will start the battle. It allows you to both reposition your troops and potentially intimidate the enemy as both other options combined, but in exchange, they will have even more time to prepare.

 

[Swordswain]

For those of you who are unfamiliar with Warhammer Tabletop, I have put together a brief overview of how the game works. Originally, I was planning to include this as part of the next IC post (which will also be coming along shortly here), but I realized that it's the kind of thing we will probably need to refer back to repeatedly, and so deserves its own threadmark.

Naturally, a great deal of the nitty-gritty details have been omitted for the sake of simplicity, and if it all seems confusing to you, don't be intimidated It's mostly just here for posterity. What's mostly important here for your purposes is the order things are done in, and which stats influence which activities.

A standard game of Warhammer Fantasy Battles consists of 6 rounds (possibly more if the situation calls for it, or less, if things are clear before then).

Each round consists of a turn for each of the armies involved.

Each such turn consists of the 4 phases. The Phases, and their components parts are listed in chronological order below as to how they are enacted in game.

Spoiler: Movement

Spoiler: Start of Phase

At the very beginning of a turn, and the beginning of the movement phase, before any movement happens, certain special abilities or effects, as mentioned in their individual descriptions, activate. For example, certain units have actions they automatically take right away.

Spoiler: Charge

Declaring charges is the first Voluntary action a player (thats you!) can do with their action, and it is the primary way to get into close combat with your enemy.

A unit can possibly charge any enemy within its maximum charge range (that is, 6 + The charging units movement stat). Note, however, that the further away you start your charge from, the less likely you are to succeed, and the closer you start the charge from, the more likely you are to succeed. Therefore, even if you are technically within charge range, it may be worth it to hold off for another turn to move closer normally before charging. Much like in a real battle, a commander must carefully time their decisions for maximum impact. Too early, and they may lose momentum and be left vulnerable, too late, and the chance may pass them by.

The enemy unit that is being charged may declare a charge reaction (generally to Hold their ground, stand and shoot, or Flee!)

The charging unit then rolls 2d6, and takes the highest result. That result is added to the unit's movement stats, and if the total is equal to or greater than the distance between it and its target, the charge is successful and the unit barges into close combat!

However, if the distance is less than that required to close with the enemy, the charging unit instead only moves forward a distance equivalent to that rolled on the dice and does not get into close combat, leaving them vulnerable to being countercharged or shot at on the enemy's turn.

A unit can only charge enemy units within sight, and can only wheel/pivot once during its charge movement.

A unit that has charged or attempted to charge cannot make its normal movement afterwards.

Spoiler: Compulsory Moves

Compulsory moves are moves that the player has no control over, and can come from a number of sources. Mostly these are units that have broken from battle and are fleeing across the map, but occasionally magic spells or special rules may make a unit move against the will of its player as well.

First, Leadership tests are taken to see if any units currently fleeing can rally and get back in the fight.

Then, any fleeing units that fail to rally continue to flee in the direction they were going.

Afterwards, any other compulsory moves such as from spell effects or special rules are taken.

Spoiler: Remaining Moves

Remaining moves actually comprise the majority of movement in the game, and this is where you'll be maneuvering your forces around the battlefield. Under normal circumstances, a unit can move up to its movement stat across the map.

A unit may choose to move to the sides or backwards, but does so at only half its movement (rounded up).

A unit may also choose to march, shouldering its weapons, lining up, and jogging 'at the double' across the battlefield to get where it needs to be faster. A unit that chooses to march may only move forwards, but has double its normal movement. Due to the stresses of combat, it is more difficult to march when enemies are nearby. Therefore, if an enemy unit is within 8'', the chosen unit must take a leadership test before marching to see if it is disciplined enough to pull the maneuver off. If successful, they may march. If unsuccessful, they may not march, but can still move as normal. Note that a unit that has marched cannot normally fire ranged weapons in the shooting phase, or cast spells.

On the battlefields of warhammer, most units of troops group together in distinct formations, blocks and columns and shieldwalls and wedges, moving and fighting together as a unit instead of as individuals. For this reason, most units must wheel their entire formation around on the battlefield. This is done by pivoting the unit-block around one of it's corners, with movement being expended the farther the opposite corner moves from its original position.

Certain lone models, such as individual characters on foot, are excepted from this. As, standing on their own, they have no need to keep in formation with the rest of the unit, and may simply twist around to face whichever way they please.

Spoiler: Magic

Spoiler: Winds of Magic

In Warhammer fantasy, most Magic users rely upon the aetheric winds of magic that blow into the world from realms beyond as the source of their power. Magic is at its most potent (and it's most dangerous), when the winds blow strongly, and weaker when they are calm and thin.

To represent the ebb and flow of the winds of magic, the player whose turn it is rolls 2d6. The resulting number is equal to the number of dice that makes up their 'power pool' from which they will draw magical energy to cast their spells.

The opposing player also gets a number of dice equal to the highest of the two d6 rolled to form their dispel pool.

The expertise of the casters themselves may aid this process by properly channeling the mystic energy and making it go further than it otherwise might have. For every Wizard level in the active player's army, they may roll a d6. On a result of 5 or 6, an extra dice is added to their power pool.

The opposing player may do the same for their dispel pool, but only gain an extra dice on a roll of 6.

Spoiler: Cast & Dispel

The player whose turn it is may next attempt to cast spells to effect the battlefield, whether that is buffing their own troops, destroying enemies with blasts of arcane force, or other, stranger effects.

The player selects one of their casters, and selects one of the spells that caster knows (alongside any targets the spell is directed towards).

Each spell has a casting value, a target number that must be reached in order for a spell to be successfully cast.

The wizard selects a number of dice from their army's power pool to roll for the spell. They must select at least one dice, and may select up to their wizard level +2 in dice (For example, a level 3 wizard may select up to 5 dice). Those dice are then rolled, and are added to the wizard's level. If the total is equal to or greater than the casting value of the spell, the spell successfully goes off.

Note that a dice result of one or two is always considered a failure regardless of the wizard's level.

Also note that some spells have a 'boosted version' with increased effects in exchange for a higher casting level.

If two or more unmodified 1's are rolled during the casting, the spell goes haywire (magic is as dangerous as it is powerful) and it is considered a miscast. The caster will suffer from any one of a number of bad effects as determined by rolling on the GM's miscast table.

Likewise, if two or more unmodified 6s are rolled, the spell is considered to automatically succeed with Unstoppable force, and cannot be dispelled.

Note that it is possible for both of these to happen in the same casting.

Once a spell has been successfully cast (as well as any miscast effects), the opposing player may choose to try and dispel it. They may select any number of dice from their dispel pool and roll it against the cast spell. If the opposing player has any wizards, they may select one to lead the dispelling. If this is done, the wizard's level is added to the dispel result.

If the dispel result is higher than the casting result, the spell is successfully dispelled and does not take place.

Note that once used, both power and dispel dice are removed from their respective pools.

Also note that while multiple wizards can cast the same spell, each individual wizard can only cast each spell they know once per turn, though they are free to cast any other spells they know.

Once the dispelling is over, the player whose turn it is may attempt to cast another spell, and the opposing player may again attempt to dispel it. Casting and dispelling continue in this order until either there are no power dice left, the player cannot cast any more spells, or chooses not to.

Spoiler: Spell Resolution

Once casting and dispelling is over, any spells that were successfully cast and not dispelled have their effects take place.

Spoiler: Shooting

Spoiler: Who is Shooting What

Shooting phase, as the name implies, is where ranged weapons and artillery come into play. Note that because most ranged weapons require a moment to aim and prepare, a number of actions can make it impossible to shoot in a given turn. The following make a unit ineligible to shoot:

-It has marched this turn
-It has reformed this turn
-It has just rallied from fleeing this turn
-It has declared a charge
-It is currently in close combat
-It is currently fleeing

If it is eligible to shoot, the unit may select an enemy unit within range of its weapons, and within its forward arc. A unit cannot shoot to its sides or behind itself. Note that range is determined by model, so, for example, its possible that the front rank of a unit may be able to open fire, but not the rear ranks. Also note that models in the second rank can always fire if the model in front of them can.

Generally, a unit cannot shoot into an enemy that is engaged in close combat with a friendly unit. There is however an exception to this. If the ranged unit is within 4'' of an enemy unit, and facing towards a side of that unit not in the melee combat, it can fire into the combat. Note however that this is still risky, as on a roll of 1 a hit is instead made against the friendly unit in combat.

Spoiler: Shooting Attacks

Shooting models roll based on their ballistic skill, with a higher ballistic skill giving them a greater chance of hitting the enemy.

Note that circumstances such as magical augments, or the enemy possessing cover may effect chances to hit. In particular, most basic ranged weapons suffer a -1 to hit if the firing unit moved this turn.

Hits then roll their strength (for ranged attacks this is generally determined by the weapon being used) against the Toughness of the target unit. With the ratio of strength to toughness determining how easy it is for the weapon to kill or hurt that enemy, or for that enemy to shrug off the blow. Any hits that go through are considered Wounds.

The enemy unit may then roll saves from it's Armor or magical protections. Any wounds that are unsaved are then subtracted from the unit, and any models that run out of wounds die and are removed as casualties.

Note that most normal models in the game only have 1 wound.

Spoiler: Close Combat

Spoiler: Who fights first?

Models that are in close combat act based on their initiative, with the highest initiative models acting first. Models that are slain before their initiative allows them to act do not get to participate in the combat.

If opposing models possess the same initiative, they are considered to be acting at the same time in combat. The GM will nominate one side to roll first, but even if the opposing model is slain, it may still make its attacks before it is removed.

Spoiler: Who fights who?

Any models in base contact with the enemy (generally the front rank) may make attacks against the foe, and if the first rank of the unit is fighting, the second rank may make supporting attacks as well. This does not apply to fighting along the sides of the unit (One of the main reasons attacking an enemy in the flank is advantageous). Note that certain weapons such as pikes allow units to fight in extra ranks depending upon circumstances.

Spoiler: Melee Attacks

To attack, models roll their Weaponskill against the enemies own Weaponskill. Therefore having a higher weaponskill allows a unit to perform better in both offense and defense in melee.

Similarly to ranged combat, successful hits then roll to wound with their strength against the enemies toughness. Note that the model's own strength is usually the basis for this as opposed to the weapon on its own.

Again similarly to ranged attacks, successful Wounds may then possibly be saved by Armour or magical protections. Any unsaved wounds are subtracted from the target unit, and any models with no wounds remaining are removed as casulaties.

Note that most models only have 1 wound.

Spoiler: Combat Resolution

After all eligible models on both sides have made their attacks, it is time for combat resolution.

Both sides of the combat round up a score based on various factors. If they charged into combat, if they have a unit banner, the number of casualties inflicted on the enemy, the number of ranks they have, etc. The side with the biggest score wins.

The losing unit is considered to have lost the round of combat, and, because its soldiers are feeling pressured, must make a leadership test. If the test succeeds, they stand their ground and continue fighting into the next turn. If the test is failed, they turn tail and Flee 2d6 across the battlefield, directly away from combat.

A victorious unit may choose to pursue a fleeing enemy 2d6 across the battlefield, and likely destroy it if they catch up (or at least inflict additional devastating casualties). However, if the pursuit fails to catch up with the foe, the unit may find itself out of position and vulnerable to other enemy units with nothing to show for it.

 

[Swordswain]

Turning over the information provided by your scouts in your keen mind, you swiftly consider and dismiss a multitude of possibilities before inevitably arriving at the simplest and most obvious plan of action. Simply charge directly towards the enemy immediately, taking advantage of their surprise to crush them under your superior bulk as quickly as possible.

Any sort of fancy maneuvering or other pre-battle shenanigans would give the foe time to adapt and prepare for your presence, and ontop of that, a couple handfuls of starving rat-things were not worth the effort of your strategy. If all goes according to plan, they would simply splinter under your overwhelming assault like cheap wood.

Most importantly though, it's the Ogre thing to do.

Not wasting any more time, you stand up to your full height, heft your great maul in both hands, and give a shrill whistle to get the attention of your troops.

"Forward, at the double!"

Eagerly falling into line, your little warband proceeds to job up the riverbed, a snaking column of bloodthirsty Ogres and war-clubs. Never one to miss out on the action, you also take up your position-

[] Embedded within the Maneaters
Obviously, it is the right of the leader to surround himself with the most elite troops

[] Embedded within the Bulls
They need your leadership more than the veterans

[] Alone at the head of the formation
You need nobody to protect you but yourself, and on your own you can maneuver and move far more freely.

With every step, your heart beats just a little faster, your breath comes just a little shorter. Sweat gathers on your palms, and your shoulders grow tense. You have fought and killed many times before, but the anxious excitement that comes just before a battle has never truly gone away, and this will be your first time acting as a field commander, leading other members of the tribe by word and example. The grip on your hammer is white-knuckled in anticipation.

Soon enough, rounding the next bend, you are upon the enemy.


Bragg leads his Ogres up the Riverbed, eager and hungry for blood.


The Warbands Gnoblar's, meanwhile, instinctively creep off to the side, more than happy to let their masters take the lead.


Just as the Gnoblar described, the dry riverbed opens up before you, with tall cliff-faces on either side.

Directly ahead is the Dam, a creaking, groaning catastrophe of architecture, cobbled together from rickety planks of wood, piled stone, and other debris. Snaking in and out of it are rusted pipes hissing with steam, rotating flaps that occasionally let loose small gushes of water before closing again, and a completely inexplicable weathervane. The mechanical thumping sound echoes from within.

Off to one side, past a small outcropping that once must have been unnoticeable beneath the flowing waters, the riverbed dips and bends towards a gaping, yawning portal torn into the side of the cliff face, a cave around which stone-dust and small rocks are piled.

It is from here, from this passage to the underbelly of the earth, that the first enemies reveal themselves.

You hear them before you see them, the skittering, scritching sounds of dozens upon dozens of tiny claws scrambling over rocks. Only quietly at first, but growing in number and volume with each passing second, until it seems the darkness of the cave is itself a dam of sorts, single-handedly holding back a riotous thunderstorm somewhere in its depths, pushing at the seams.

Metaphorical dams are not as good at holding things back as the real one blocking the river, and the cave bursts open like an overripe fruit, vomiting forth a chittering, screeching tide of patchy brown fur, ragged cloth, and clanking iron manacles.

No two of the slaves (?) are exactly alike, but all are identically wretched in appearance, and they are packed remarkably close together as they swarm across the land, even occasionally crawling across one another. In such a compact formation, it's difficult to tell where one rat ends and another begins.

The horde pulls up short outside the cave, raising up onto their hindlegs (or, only legs? The top ones count as arms, right?), sniffing at the air, elongated noses and whiskers twitching, yellow teeth bared in low hisses and snarls as they stare down your approaching group.


A horde of skavenslaves emerge from their work below, famished and confused, blinking in the light of day.

You meet their stare with a grin, because although individually scrawny, collectively they'll make a good dinner. Your only concern is whether to roast them or put them in a stew.

Just as you are about to give the order to charge, however, you hear Kurgg curse, and glance over your shoulder to see where he is pointing one massive arm.

Above your heads, off to one side on the cliff, half-shaded under a swaying tree, yet another horde peers down at you with beady black eyes, having scuttled into position to see what the commotion was. Having them up there was suboptimal, but on the upside, your entire army stood between the two hordes, effectively splitting the ratmen in half.


Having been sent to scavenge from the ruins of a human shack, the pack of slaves peer down at the backs of marching ogres that have intruded upon their assigned workspace.

Where the leader and guards were you had no idea, but you strongly suspected they were currently in the process of desperately scrambling into readiness all the way over in their camp, separated from their slaves.


Cursing and spitting, Packleader Rikk Gutstikk whips his confused guards into formation, himself bleary eyed and tired, having just been woken up from his evening nap. Nearby, the engineers cackle madly as they power up their weapon, eager to test it on something more substantial than disobedient workers. They must move quickly to meet up with the workers, lest they all be slain piecemeal!

It is up to you to issue your orders now, to get your army into motion and take advantage of the momentum before the enemy consolidates, for it will be far more difficult to communicate in the midst of clashing steel and flesh.

[] What is your general battleplan?

Rather than exhaustively voting on every single little decision involved in carrying out a battle turn by turn, you will outline your general strategy and orders at the beginning of a fight. These may be as simple or as detailed as you like (for example, you could specify that you want X unit to charge into melee, but only when they are guaranteed to succeed to charge rather than at the earliest possible opportunity). You may also include contingencies (If X happens, do Y)

Once your battleplan is given, the battle will be simulated, and your units will attempt to carry out your orders to the best of their ability.

On particularly special occasions, or for particularly important/unexpected events, the Battle will pause in order for you to make a decision, but for the most part things will cntinue on their own.

In addition to simple practicality, there is an IC realism reason for this. Bragg may tell his troops what to do before battle is joined, but it's far harder to issue complex orders to a unot all the way on the other side of the battlefield while in the middle of smashing the enemy to a pulp personally, limiting his ability to make adjustments on the fly.

The battlefield is a chaotic place, and commanders often need to simply trust their troops to carry on the plan, as through the blood, mud, and chaos, active reports of whats going on are hard to keep track of.

Note: As this is the first 'tutorial' battle, the enemy force has a significantly smaller overall value than yours (plus some small tricks up their sleeves) and, barring incredibly bad luck, you should be able to smash them with relative ease.