T-KoL Turn 11 (Mid-day)

After hearing the news of the battle at Dewar's Well, Rollo downed his flagon of mead in one gulp, let out a mighty belch, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and strode out into the morning sunlight declaring, "I am off to join the friar on his mission of death-dealing as he seems to be the only man in Glenfiddich capable of putting up a decent fight and thus worthy of my company".
“I for one agree with the barbarian!” declared Xox the Ranger taking up his bow and following Rollo through the still gaping tavern door.

Before Strongbow and the Blue Nun had looked away the rotund silhouette of Bash the Cleric filled the doorway. The bar then filled with his stentorian voice, “Greetings friends!”
“Where did you come from?” asked the Nun, “a couple of heroes just went north in search of you!”
“I was with traders,” he replied taking a seat at the table, “turning wolf-pelts and trinkets into currency!” He placed three gold coins on the table. “So, Strongbow,” Bash smiled, “are you and your weapon for hire?”
“As sure as is my aim master!” he beamed and the deal was struck.

My Hero (and his new mate)

Here's a larger image of my new T-KoL character. Once again Arlo has done a fantastic job.

And here's the replacement for another of the characters killed a few turns back. Just one more to go and we are back to our full fighting strength again.

New T-KoL Heroes

Once again we have a new batch of heroes to fight the good fight and free Glenfiddich from the legions of Kahlua. Let's hope they last the night!

Invaders from the north

These two have been on the almost ready pile for quite some time. The first picture is of Rollo; a barbarian from the frozen north who has popped over the ocean to Glenfiddich in search of adventure and fame. He is to be my next character to replace the ill-fated Esme and Kenny. The environs of Glenfiddich are proving to be a real testing ground for new characters. The mini is an old Citadel fighter/barbarian.



This is an old Ral Partha Storm Giant. I have decided to paint him up in various shades of red and have him represent one of the old Norse Fire Giants.

Here is a picture of Rollo about to be surprised by a fire giant. I hope he turns round in time!

Colours 2009

A bit late but thought I'd report anyway...

Colours 2009 was held at Newbury Race Course over the weekend of 12th/13th September. I took Alex along with me on the Sunday.

I went there with a few goals in mind - to purchase some gaming boards, a building and take part in a participation game.

I achieved all those aims and a few more. I bought some nice scenery boards from Total system scenics and a Roman Watch tower from Grand Manner. These will be used for Hordes of the Things and some Romans v. Celts gaming using LotR:SBG variants I found online.

The participation game I played was put on by MAD Gamers. It was called Achtung Dice and involved playing a WW2 PoW and his attempt to escape from camp. Both Alex and I played along with a few others. We had a great result - Alex won by being first off the board and I finished a turn later. It was great fun and good to see EBob's figures in action.

I also picked up some Perry Miniatures 1st Crusade troops to use as both Normans and fantasy warriors/men-at-arms, a Reaper cleric (I have a severe lack of clerics at the moment) and lots of ideas.

Alex bought some Perry Miniatures' 1st Crusade commanders, a Reaper bandit chieftain mini (very nice - I can't wait to see how he paints him) and a couple of bags of cheap Mirliton Miniatures' High Elves for a proposed HotT Elven army to take on my Dwarfs and Orcs/Goblins.

There was also a re-enactment society there that covered Wars of the Roses/Hundred Years War type period. I saw their show but didn't get a chance to speak to any of them or find out what society (and the show guide doesn't help) they belonged to so I could provide you with a link.

It was a long drive down there but an enjoyable day none-the-less. Both Alex and I enjoyed ourselves and bought plenty to keep us occupied for a while.

T-KoL Turn 10 (Morning)

“You couldn’t just lend a hand could you?” begged Bash the Cleric as he struggled with folds and folds of inked velum.
“Sorry mate,” replied Strongbow the hireling archer picking the meat from between his teeth with a broken chicken bone, “I only work for money.”
“What is it you’ve got there anyway?” asked the Blue Nun leaning forward for a better look.
“It’s a map of the highlands,” sighed Bash, “and it’s damnably enormous!”
“You’re not kidding,” said Strongbow discarding the broken bone, “it’s swamping the table. It’s near two Megs, and they’re not going to be happy if it starts dipping itself into their soup!”
“I take it,” enquired Bash’ “that piece of advice was free?”

Leaving the Inn table straining under the weight of the map, Bash picked up his staff and strode out into the morning sun, leaving the door swinging freely behind him.
The Blue Nun, Strongbow and the Two Megs looked up to see a cloaked figure step in through the same door and without speaking cross the room to a secluded table in the corner.
“Who’s he?” asked the Blue Nun.
“Beats me,” replied Strongbow, “but by his cloak and that bow he’s got across his shoulder, I’d guess he’s a Ranger! Looks a bit scary though.”
“In that case you had better not look now, there’s a savage looking barbarian in the other corner!”

The sun was warm, but as Bash the Cleric approached Dewar’s Well the air palpably cooled. Grey shadows shifted. The gathering wolves howled. Riding on their backs, their dead, fleshless hands gripping night-black scythes, sat Kahlua’s skeleton cavalry. Frigid witch-fire burning dimly in their naked eye-sockets, glowed brighter as they raised their heads high, hissed dryly and spurred their lupine mounts to charge the lone cleric.
Quickly, but precisely Bash recited an ancient psalm while raising his hand gently holding a sacred amulet. Frosty light swirled from the trinket. Then like a tidal wave it gushed forth, soaking the malevolent, unholy bones with fractured light. Bash winced as his ears filled with deafening screams and the skeletons crumbled to dust, their soulless remains dashed to mere spindrift on the wind. The wolves suddenly without direction, seeking to restore their own feral order, began fighting amongst themselves. Bash’s judgement was swift and unerring, his staff ruthless. He struck with all his strength, crushing their savage skulls.
Breathing heavily, Bash mopped his brow and rested before skinning the wolves and searching the heather for spoils. He found two dusty rings, each worth a gold piece.

Harboth's Black Mountain Boys (HotT)

Another blast from the Citadel past - Harboth's Black Mountain Boys, a Regiment of Renown from the early days of Warhammer. I don't have as many of these as I do of Bugman's Dwarf Rangers, but they will rank up as formiddable enemies for the doughty brewer. I am basing these for HotT as blades - the same as Bugman's Rangers.


I think there are enough to make another 3 bases worth - a 10AP sub-unit for a future orc and goblin army. Hopefully there will be plenty of actual hordes in that army.

I am about to start on the second base of Harboth's Boys and a new unit of Dwarf Blades. I am also hoping to get a few other minis done over the next few days, so hopefully there will be a few more blog entries to come to make up for last weekend's lack.

Bugman's Dwarf Rangers (HotT)

I finally finished 12AP for a HotT Dwarf army. All the minis are Bugman's Dwarf Rangers from the old Citadel Regiments of Renown range. I have based up most for HotT and there are half-a-dozen already blogged based for skirmishing. Below is the command unit: Bugman with his standard bearer and musician. The standard is hand painted - my first ever attempt at doing anything remotely artistic with a paint brush. I am attempting to push my artistic talents with every batch of minis and feel I am improving slightly each time, but I am nowhere near the standard most people can achieve. Still, I am happy with these results...


Here is the entire 12AP force of Bugman's Rangers...

I just need to find another 12AP of dwarfs (which I do have in my To Do box) for a full Hordes army. These will appear over the next few months.

T-KoL Turn 9 (Night)

Onan the Barbarian, Strepos the Ranger and Kenny the Fighter were speechless as the cold, dark hand of doom tightened its unforgiving grip around their naked throats.
The grim horn sounded once more and the wolf-mounted goblins charged screaming, loosing dark arrows as they came. Strepos drew his sword as the skeletons ran mindlessly towards him. The fist arrow slammed into his chest. He gasped bloodily as his body numbed and his sword fell from his nerveless hand. He staggered like a rag doll, barely aware as the rust blunted blades tore into his flesh again and again, until at last he fell lifeless to the cold, damp ground.
“Frigg!” ejaculated Onan as the wild wolves bore down, their jaws wide and slavering. Falling before the leader, he grimly jammed his axe-shaft between its gnashing teeth, holding firm as the wolf struggled to rip it from his hands. The goblin wolf-rider, grinning, leaned forward over the wolf’s grey head and sent a single black shaft slamming cruelly down into the warrior’s muscle-chorded throat. Onan’s head fell back as his life-blood, thick and black in the moonlight, gushed like a torrent from the savage wound. His grip failed and the wolf tore hungrily into his dead remains.
Past him and onward the other wolves charged. Kenny thrust his pitchfork before him and gritted his teeth, but his courage and lust for vengeance stood for naught as an unstoppable wave of slavering fury ripped him from his feet and bore him on to a pitiless death.

Second sight was upon Secundus the Mage who suddenly sat bolt-upright in his straw bed, “Oh no!” he gasped, “They’ve killed Kenny!”

As bloody red sun rose above the dark mountains the news from Grant’s Gibbet reached Glen Fiddich.
The Blue Nun wept.
“Ruddy hilarious Motley!” announced the Laird, “Ruddy hilarious! You are a comic genius! What do you have for us next?”
Beyond the walls of Glen Fiddich a new age of chaos reigned.

Missing entry last Sunday

I missed the entry on Sunday just gone due to a heavy workload and lots going on at home. I was hoping to put an update onto the site at least every Sunday, but at times this may be unrealistic - sometimes gaming will be superceded by work and family matters.

Anyway, I haven't managed to get much done gaming wise recently, so things may be a bit thin on the ground this weekend as I have been on an archaeological excavation this week. It is a very unusual octagonal mid-late Roman bath house in Kent. I have had the privilege of excavating the central plunge pool. I am not sure if I am able to publish any pictures, but if I am I will try to get one or two up on the blog.

Gaming wise, I should get the stragglers of the HotT Bugman's Dwarf Rangers finished along with the first unit of Harboth's Black Mountain Boys. I also have 16 Warlord Games Celtic warriors almost completed and that Ral Partha Giant is begging to be finished. Hopefully all of these should be up soon.

I was a bit naughty this week though - I ordered up a few, well 21 actually, Norman cavalry. I know I promised myself that I wouldn't buy any more minis until I had painted huge swathes of my backlog but I couldn't resist. I will probably get a few Norman footmen soon to go with them - I don't have very many fighter types for my fantasy setting and Norman warriors will fit the bill nicely.

Alex and I will be attending Colours 2009 in Newbury this weekend. Mostly just to look around but I may buy some buildings and scenery - I have a distinct lack of this kind of stuff. I will try to get Alex onto a participation game and see what the next period will tempt me after I have completed my Roman and Celtic armies. Not sure if it will be historical or fantasy or sci-fi yet, but there are plenty of periods to choose from.

Hopefully things should get back to normal next week and entries should be a little more regular.

T-KoL Turn 8 (Evening)

With every strand of his soul screaming for vengeance, Kenny the fighter left the unwelcoming villagers of Cragganmore behind and strode, teeth clenched, towards Grant’s Gibbet. With his heart crying for retribution he failed to notice that Secundus the Mage was not with him.

“Hello big boy,” gushed a fur-coated Cragganmore wench, “is that a magic staff in your hands or are you just pleased to see me?”

“Look!” Onan the Barbarian pointed to a lone figure approaching along the Gragganmore road.
“A sturdy looking fellow,” observed Strepos the ranger, ”and by the way he is carrying that pitch-fork he appears intent on doing someone some mischief!”
Onan spat.
“Hail warriors of Neame!” shouted the stranger.
“Hail to you also!” replied Strepos, “but be kind to tell me who hails us, for we are hard at work killing monsters this day!”
“I am Kenny the fighter, brother of Esme the mage, cruelly slain on this very field. I come to reap vengeance upon Black Tusk the boar!”
“Well met then young man, for in your task you are not alone!”
The three bravoes shook hands by their own customs and together began scouring the heather for the foul boar. Slowly the shadows began to lengthen.
Suddenly like a dark, screeching cloud, the blood bats rose, swirling like smoke before plunging down like a striking snake enveloping the three adventurers in a swarm of spite. Swiftly the men tore forth their weapons, stabbing and slicing, carving crimson swathes in the fluttering darkness as all around them the stricken bats fell like autumn leaves. Yet onwards they came, oblivious to the steel doom that awaited them, swarming, screeching, until finally the air cleared and splattered with feral gore Onan, Strepos and Kenny surveyed their twitching crimson harvest littering the heather all around them. They had triumphed, but where was Black Tusk?

As the angry sun set behind the twisted mountain peaks the chill air cracked, split by the torturing scream of a hunting horn, it’s tone was inhuman, like nothing the three had ever heard. Involuntarily they drew together.
Then a bestial cheer, a war-cry, echoed through the deepening blackness, joined by the howling of wild wolves as over the rise came riding a blood-crazed band of goblin archers, each astride a ravenous wolf, each with a straining bow raised, poised to fill the night air with venomous shafts.
Then as the full moon peeked through the eastern pass and struck the gibbet with frigid light, a cruel laugh, loaded with vitriol, pierced the darkness and the gibbet cage began to rattle and sway as the moldering bones of its eternal captive began to stir, its skull aglow with spectral flames of sapphire. All around the thin earth began to wrack and rupture as sword-bearing fists of bone punched through the thin mountain clay and tumbled the loose stones of forgotten cairns from beneath as Grant’s slain warriors answered his call to rise.
It was only then that the adventurers saw, swathed in moonlight, the dark tower to the west, the same tower whose image scarred the goblins’ savage shields. It was clear the goblins had waited and now at the bidding of their unseen overlord, under the foul reign of night, they had sprung their trap.

“Thank all that is Holy that you are safe!” gasped the Blue Nun as Bash the cleric closed the door of the inn behind him, shutting out the darkness.
“I hear,” continued the nun, “that Kahlua’s dread cavalry are about this night!” She turned to Strongbow the archer, who nodded his agreement.
“But that is not all,” pitched in the bowman, “for I hear a shepherd’s boy stumbled upon a strange, concealed door in the hillside near Longmorn Pass.
Bash’s brow knotted.
“And from the reports and by own studies”, the nun added before pausing, blushing modestly, “I believe that behind that door is the very crypt where was laid the very Shadowsphere!” “My, my!” exclaimed Bash heaving his baggage off his back and on to the table, “but before I consider an expedition, I need to find a worthy fell monger who will convert these heavy wolf-pelts to ready gold!”