Sunday, 2 November 2014

Initial Engagements

Flank Charged by Big Man-Things
Nurglott hissed in anger as his wounds were dressed. He was distinctly unhappy after skirmishes with Ogres and Dwarves had not gone as expected. His force had outnumbered the ogres with three times as many warriors. His clanrats should have been crawling over the corpses of the giant man-things. The plague rats should be making drinking vessels of their enemies skulls.
Instead Nurglott had suffered an ignominious defeat as his rats had charged the man-things and been trampled under their oversized feet.
The Skaven dressing the wound pulled tight on the coarse thread and closed a deep gash in the chieftains arm. Reacting with a combination of pain, anger and frustration, Nurglott ripped his dagger from its sheath and slammed the short rusty blade in the the skull of the unfortunate Skaven

Before The Fire Bomb
Nurglotts chance encounter with the dwarves had gone a similar way. The dwarves had possessed some sort of explosive fire bomb which, although not as effective as some of the Clan Skyre weapons that Nurglott had seen in action, was sufficient enough to injure enough Clanrats causing them to flee. The Plague Monks had been similarly unsuccessful in charging into combat and were forced to leave the area in the hands of the hated short man-things.

Nurglott picked at the stitches and pondered. From across the cavern where his warband were resting he could see wounds being treated, meat being eaten and the Plague Monks seemingly undertaking some dark ritual to the Great Horned Rat.
With an uncanny sense Nurglott looked at his two clanrat champions. There was some sort of heated debate going on between Vectiss Cyst and Seeprost. From his body language, the fur hackles and the loud barks, Vectiss was angered by Seeprost. Vectiss was a snivelling wretch, no to be trusted, but something was awry. Seeprost lashed out with a clawed hand at Vectiss. At this slight, both groups of clanrats rose onto their haunches to support their champions.

Nurglott leaped up from his resting place, dagger still in his hand. His chieftains roar caused the clanrats to back down in subservience. The two champions turned to face Nurglott and both dropped into a bowed position, Vectiss almost digging his way into the cavern floor, the urge to be better than his rival champion clear.

Nurglott hissed at the pair.

Vectiss’ eyes were half closed looking down at Nurglott's feet. Seeprost however was staring directly at his chieftain. Nurglott tilted his head to the side and raised an eyebrow, his red eyes boring into those of Seeprost. A challenge?

Slowly Seeprost shook his head and lowered his gaze. Defiance seemed to burn from him though. Satisfied, Nurglott and his champions returned to their respective resting places. Throughout the altercation the Plague Monks had continued their dark prayers.

Nurglott picked up the haunch of a dead clanrat and began gnawing at it. Vectiss Cyst, as a  troublesome, vile Skaven would die sooner rather than later but at least he knew his place. Seeprost however was a different matter. Nurglott had not expected a challenge from him. He would have to be watched...

Monday, 13 October 2014


Regiment of Reknown famed for their role in the Battle of the All Day Breakfast and the frenzied relief attempts of Krak-Horr to which there was a happy ending.

Champion of the Crippledick Peak tribe Golfbhag evantually got greedy (well, even more greedy) and made an attempt to depose his tribal chieftain. His plan rumbled by the machinations of the King's most favoured Gnoblar catamite Golfbhag fled the tribal lands with a handful of loyal family members.

Seeking employment as a mercenary in human lands Golfbhag has since attracted a company's worth of similar Ogre renegades and outcasts. He is currently serving a mysterious employer and is campaigning within the Vale of Shai-Hulud.


Pictured in his famous red-painted (lacquered, the blacksmith said it was called) armour and wielding his favourite double-headed axe Wurzel Damage.

(Ogre Bruiser - Light Armour, Hand Weapon, Great Weapon)


Ogres Bulls loyal to Golfbhag who take their regimental name from the lands from which the original cadre are exiled. Led by Mulig the Rhino.

(3 x Ogres armed with Light Armour, Hand Weapon and Hand Weapon including Crusher)


Armed with blunderbusses taken from a looted Chaos Dwarf land-train. "Counts as" Leadbelchers.

(3 x Leadbelchers armed with Light Armour, Hand Weapon and Leadbelcher Gun)


The elite of the Company, the Skraughterers are a feared unit of Iron Guts that usually accompany Golfbhag into battle as his most trusted henchmen. The Skraughters are currently led by the Crusher Skragg-Slagg - orders are shouted above the din of battle by the notoriously loud Bellower Frakta the Cacophonous.

(3 x Ironguts armed with Heavy Armour and Great Weapon including Crusher, Musician)


Simultaneously Golfbhag's Grandfather, Great-Uncle and second cousin, Great-Uncle Fishguts is these days too demented and senile to take to the field.  He instead follows the company around alternately shouting advice to his grandson/great-nephew/second cousin, dribbling, and falling asleep. He wields Biteychild, the ancient Club of Biting that once bit the fingers clean off the hands of Ogre King Shabba of the Ranx. Rarely using the club for it's intended purposes these days has however caused it's malign little personality to grow bored and it is notorious for going through troublesome behavioural phases of biting Great-Uncle Fishguts as much as is possible.

(Unstatted - has never been played. But I liked the model - from the Reaper Bones range - so he got bought and painted)


Legends tell in hushed tones of the day that Golfbhag (following an epic nineteen day drinking bender after the capture of Burton-am-der-Trent) boasted that he would go up Mount Urethaneedle and capture a living Sky-Titan. This was actually done but nobody felt brave enough to point out that the example Golfbhag brought back down the mountain appeared to A - be quite small, B - was wrapped in swaddling, C - cried a lot, and D - would only drink milk.

Happily however "The Babby" as he came to be known appeared to thrive under Ogre fostering and will one day take to the field as a valued member of the tribe. Golfbhag has attempted to teach the infant Sky-Titan all the things he will need to know as an honorary Ogre such as eating, drinking, belching, and hitting things. Suffering from an uncharacteristic attack of paternalism, Golfbhag spoils The Babby rotten. He does however draw the line at changing nappies - that is what slave Gnoblars are for.

(Giant - never going to be playable in Border Patrol!)

Figures - Mantic. Great-Uncle Fishguts is from Reaper Bones. The Babby is a repurposed Skylanders Giants toy. The human included for scale is from Crusader Miniatures - the usual 28mm scale on a 25mm base)

Rumours and News From the Fighting-Men

Darko Bilic staggered into Schloss Hadjusta two days late. His nag had gone lame yesterday so he'd taken the easy option and sold her to a peasant for horsemeat. Following the death of his desterier last week across the border in Vulgaria he was now, by default, a mercenary footman rather a mercenary horseman. Going through two horses inside a week rather did that to you.

Notorious as the gathering spot for mercenaries, Schloss Hadjusta and the cluster of inns and dosshouses that clung to it's ancient walls was the local place to seek fighting employment. Bilic found his feet retracing old steps through the open gatehouse (where his dishevelled state drew a few sniffs from the billmen on guard) towards the familiar Sign of the Spreadeagle.

Through the double doors and into the smoky interior (a new fad imported from Lustria some say) and he heard his name called.

It was Brokenteeth an old colleague. The half-orc appeared to be in his cups and, Bilic noticed, somewhat down-at-heel. Clearly Brokenteeth wasn't seeing much in the way of employment either. Greetings were exchanged and tankards sloshed.

"Have I missed much?" queried Bilic. "Was fighting for the Papal Bastard over in Vulgaria, some trouble over a pregnant daughter and revenge for a sacked nunnery. Left in the end, the pay wasn't good, too many Skeletons, and I needed to replace a good horse".

"Not much. The war here tiny. Humans not getting out of their hovels - hide like frightened pups. All Ogres and Ratmen. No gold to be had. No-one hiring".

Brokenteeth aimed his tankard at his fanged mouth and missed spectacularly. Unashamed he twisted his head and sucked the beer from his grimy shirt collar.

"Any action?"

"Two clashes I heard. Around Blasthof. Little village. Ogres ate the Ratmen. A bombardier here told me Ratmen warlord maybe captured. Ratmen gone back to warrens to rethink. Another clash expected soon. But not hiring yet."

"Also pointy-ears."

The Half-Orc spat on the floor.

"Pointy-ears rumoured. Humans here hate them. They steal human pups it is said".

No point trying to serve with Ogres, thought Bilic. You're liable to get confused with the breakfast. He returned to his tankard of second-hand beer. Better off waiting for a better prospect to turn up. Wonder if Duke Marco is still looking for good men to teach his peasants how to stab a Goblin?

Friday, 3 October 2014


From the top of a large boulder at the tunnel entrance Nurglottthe Vomitus gazed with beady eyes down into the Vale of Shai-Hulud. The old dwarven ruins that the Skaven chieftain occupied still smelt of the short hairless creatures that had fought to the end. Nurglott despised them. He despised most things. Using the under tunnels that stretched across the Old World Nurglott had led a small war band of clan rats and plague monks into the dwarf infested warrens and skilfully butchered them. Even now the Skaven warriors were feasting on the dwarf and Skaven corpses.

Dusk had finally arrived and Nurlgott signalled for one of his clawleaders to come forward. Nurglott look down as Vectiss Cyst rushed forward to the feet of his chieftain and knelt in obsieance. With a snarl and a baring of teeth Nurglott burst into a rapid series of chittering squeaks and barks. When he was finished, Vectiss Cyst rose back onto his hind legs and withdrew. Returning to his unit Vectiss barked in angry tones and the Skaven under his command stopped their feasting, gathered their spears and shields and started moving forward towards the cavern entrance, down the path into the Vale below.

Following them another unit of clan rats came bearing hand weapons. Their leader, a hulking clan rat with piercing eyes and significant facial scars bowed his snout in respect as he filed past Nurglott. Nurglott had respect for Seeprost of Fester Spike. They had fought together for a long time and the ferocity that Seeprost had against all opponents, mostly the hated Dwarves, was legendary. 

Finally from the depths of the cavern came a strange dirge-like noise. In their green robes, tattered and torn, and surrounded by flies and the stench of decay and disease, the Bringer-of-the-Word Bubonigen Puss shuffled along with his plague monks. Periodically the monk musician would bang on his gong and the dirge would change in pitch. Bubonigen broke away from his fellow monks and bowed before Nurglott. Even in the semi-darkness Nurglott could see the festering sores and weeping pustules on the Plague Monks' ski and the fiery mania that lay in the eyes of every Plague Monk. After a sharp bark from Nurglott, Bubonigen rose and followed the rest of his brethren.

Nurglott drew himself up to his full height and looked once more down into the Vale. Then with a glance back into the cavern he unsheathed his weapon, a blade of corruption that appeared rusted and old but dripped with pus and filled the air with warpstone. With a challenging, defiant roar into the night, Nurglott followed his troops down the pathway to fortune and glory.

The Contract

Salacious scratched his bulbous Gnoblar nose and frowned at his complete lack of comprehension of what the hooded figure was attempting to say to him.

Normally pre-campaign negotiations with the humies or stunties were easy. As the only semi-literate and semi-numerate member of the exiles of the Crippledick Peak tribe of Ogres (a phenomenon believed to have originated when he was dropped on his head by the Hobgoblin midwife) he was usually ushered into the chief's tent to read the contracts and sign his name on them. Monetary compensation was mentioned, the chief growled, that figure went up, evenually the chief stopped growling, the gold was accepted and Salacious signed the paperwork on the chief's behalf. But this was radically different.

The messenger was hidden beneath a voluminous soft grey coat, a colour matched by the silk gloves that poked from billowing sleeves. A wide-brimmed grey hat, similar to those worn by the plague doctors, sat upon the mysterious figure’s head with a veil hanging down to obscure the wearer's features. Salacious prided himself upon having an ear for accents - as far as he could tell this humie had none.

"So, to sum up retrospectively. My employer, hereinafter referred to as the hiring party, finds it desirable that your freelance military company of condottieri marches post-haste to the memorial interment site of one Lady Miasma Undergusset, deceased gentle-lady of this diocese. Upon investing this position your master is hold and deny possession of such position forthwith to a large migratory presence of Rodenticus Chaotica that my employer, hereinafter referred to as the hiring party, believes via intelligence received from the usual channels purveyors of such mentioned espionage-related intelligence to be attempting to secure this tomb and surrounding environment."

"This tactical manoeuvre is required to deny the under-lying subterranean ossuary to the said belligerent host of Rodenticus Chaotica (hereinafter referred to as the enemy, or "the belligerents") who are believed by the aforementioned hiring party to be desirous of working and extracting the veins of the solidified and calcified forms of the essence of Chaos stuff, ejected from boreal polar regions in antediluvian times when interstellar wormholes created by an ancient race of batrachian humanoids imploded. My employer, the hiring party, has strong feelings upon this undesirable event coming to pass and the possible scenarios forthcoming of such event or events."

"Upon securing and the eventual defeat of the belligerents, monetary compensation will be paid via mutually acceptable channels. This compensation is currently held by third-party escrow and has had a considerable multiplier applied to it when compared to similar compensation for military endeavours as ascertained by examination of the current going rate as found upon the open market, and projected future trends. Any questions? I believe you will find the paperwork and conditions to be satisfactory".

A weighty scroll was handed across to Salacious. The Gnobblar noticed it was sealed with a lump of dark red wax bearing the monogram "E-G".

Golfbag Offaleater turned his immense, scarred and bruised Ogrish skull towards Salacious and rumbled a query.


Salacious thought hard.

"I fink the humie wants us to go somewhere near here and kill something dead. He will give us gold."


"The Chief says he'll be delighted to accept your business proposal. Where do I sign my X?"

The Vale of Shai-Hulud

To the south west of the Worlds End Mountains in the region known as the Border Princes lies the Vale of Shai-Hulud. Several hundred miles long and up to 30 miles wide at some points the Vale of Shai-Hulud is home to many races of the Old World. The majority are humans who, while there are no cities to speak of, use a large proportion of the land for farming. There are several large towns particularly along the River Baader where river traffic supplies the whole length of the Vale with essential goods.
Dwarves travel along the Vale from the mountains and occasionally High Elves and Wood Elves make contact. Ogres are frequently seen and are used for their mercenary services although there have been reports of several war bands attacking farmsteads and caravans. Other reports indicate that a tribe of Orcs and Goblins have been seen in the west.
There are even rumours of lizrdmen and Skaven...

Monday, 29 September 2014

The Vale of Shai-Hulud Narrative Campaign, first post.

STOP PRESS - Deep within the Vale of Shai-Hulud (believed to be found somewhere in a secluded part of the Border Princes fought over by petty princelings, wannabe warlords, and tin-pot tyrants) GRIMDARK WAR has been sighted.

Ogre mercenaries and the foul Chaos Ratmen, the SKAVEN, have been indulging in various belligerent activities around the tomb of Lady Miasma Undergusset (RIP), and the bucolic hamlet of Blasthof (twinned with placid-and-picturesque Splashdaun as any student of Shai-Hulud geography knows). Short, bearded things are also believed to be marching (slowly) to the theatre as assorted casus bellum(*) and/or retrospective justifications for such are dreamt up. Wild rumours abound of pointy-eared xenophobes with misplaced superiority complexes also poking their unwanted sniffy noses into the matter. Wrongs to be righted, and rights to be wronged! (As an old advert for an earlier edition claimed).


Coop - Ogres (and Wood Elves if paint table activity is anything to go by)
Darth Phil - Skaven (and High Elves if paint table activity is anything to go by)
Steven - Dorfs.


Border Patrol rules (500 points) from WD285.
No unpainted mans.
No unbased mans.
All named characters lost in battle die for good on a 6 on d6.


(*) I was expelled from the University of Middenheim before completing Prof. Herr Käse's lessons in Speak Language (Classical). This plural may not actually be correct.