Outline Braghafen is a small settlement on the border between the Empire and the wild border lands of the south. Home to a variety of frontiersmen, farmerers and retired adventurers. This rough little village hangs on to survival thanks to the stubborn nature of its citizens. One such citizen is Silas Tun. Silas was once a young, handsome, grifter, quick of tongue and quicker with a sword. It was said he could pick any lock and charm any maiden fair or not. Silas’s skills saw him fall in with a group of treasure hunters and adventurers. After many years of high adventure this group stumbled across an artifact of great power and evil known as the Demonicum. Realizing the damage it could do to the world, the adventurers formed a pact to keep the artifact safe and out of the hands of those that would abuse it. The artifact was left in the charge of the party’s wizard Baygar Brightsoul and the rest ofvthe party pledged to come to his aid if he ever need it.
Silas settled in Braghafen setting himself up as a sage, using a number of minor magic items found on his adventurers, and the knowledge acquired in a life well travelled. Silas is now an old man, his eyesight is failing and old wounds cause him aches and pains in cold weather. Any thoughts of a peaceful retirement, spending his days in the Golden Goblin inn, are about to be rudely shattered. Timinus Blacksoul, the son of Baygar, has murdered his father and stolen the Demonicum and is now seeking to open it to gain the power he believes is held within. Timinus has tracked down his father’s old adventuring companions and plans to capture and torture them for information on the Demonicum. His first target is Silas. To achieve his goal Timinus has taken control of an orc tribe, living west of Braghafen, and sent them under his new orc general Slabgut to storm Braghafen and capture Silas.
Yesterday a scout brought news, to the Mayor of Braghafen, that orcs were gathering nearby readying an assault on the village. The Mayor’s initial plan was to load up the wagons, abandon the village and hide in the dubious safety of the hills. The arrival of a mysterious wizard called Adhumla Brightsoul changed the plan. With the wizard’s assurance that he would add his magical powers to the defence of the village the Mayor has ordered Captain Gunther of the village Millita to prepare to defend Braghafen. The village’s defences were further strengthened when some visiting Dwarf traders, led by Jorgun Hammerson, offered to fight side by side with villagers. Now as dawn breaks the orcs can be seen on the horizon and the village’s defenders prepare for the coming storm.
The rain had stopped an hour before dawn, leaving the fields outside Braghafen slick with mud. The dawn light revealed hundreds of orccwarriors sprawled across the hills like boils on rotten flesh, their flaming torches coughing greasy smoke into the grey morning sky. Orcs bellowed, fought, sharpened axes, and dragged carts laden with jagged stones toward the tribe’s newest pride a trebuchet the orcs had namedThe Rocklobber
It towered above the orc horde, all thick beams and iron bindings, its throwing arm creaking in the wind like some giant wooden beast eager to feed. Orc artillerists scrambled over it while several sweating, cursing orcs hauled ammunition into place.
General Slabgut stood beneath the machine with his arms folded across his rusted breastplate. The title still felt strange in his ears. General. He liked it. An orc trotted up the muddy slope toward him, panting with excitement. “Oi, Gen’ral Slabgut! We ready ta smash da hummies?”Slabgut’s yellow eyes narrowed.The soldier blinked. Then blinked again.“No salute?” Slabgut growled. The orc jumped and nearly dropped his axe. He slammed a fist against his chest so hard it knocked one of his tusk caps loose. “SORRY, GEN’RAL!”“Dat’s better.”The soldier grinned stupidly. “Can’t wait ta chop da village up. Heard hummies squeal funny when ya stomp on ‘em.”
Slabgut scratched at his jaw. “Yeh, well… we ain’t killin’ all of ‘em.”The orc looked horrified. “Wot?”“Da boss wants one alive.”“The boss” meant Timinus Blacksoul. Even speaking the wizard’s name made the air feel colder.The soldier frowned. “Which humie?”Slabgut paused. His thick brow furrowed.“…Old one.”“Old humie?”“Wot’s he look like?”Slabgut’s eye twitched. “Old.”The soldier waited for more.
“That’s all I got! Wizard didn’t say much. Wrinkly. Probably smells funny. You can kill any humie carryin’ weapons. But if dey ain’t armed, grab ‘em instead. One of ‘em’s probably da old git.”The orc nodded enthusiastically. “Right! Kill the stabby ones, grab the squishy ones!”“Exactly.”The soldier saluted again — backwards this time somehow — before running downhill shouting for the others to get ready. Slabgut watched him go and muttered, “Moron.”
His thought drifted toward the “boss” the wizard who had careful chosen to stay back at the main orc camp. Even from here many miles away, he could feel the wizard watching him. Timinus Blacksoul. The human had arrived months ago walking into the tribes camp like nothing scared him. Irontusk had laughed at the skinny sorcerer right until bolts of lightning had burst from his hands and reduced him to a smoking corpse in front of the whole tribe.
By dawn the next day, Timinus commanded the tribe and Slabgut had become his General. The wizard had changed everything. The tribe marched in ranks now. Supplies were counted. Scouts reported properly. Siege engines were built. It was clever.Too clever. Slabgut hated him for it. But he feared him more. He still remembered Irontusk screaming as his body was fried by lightning.
One day, though…One day the wizard would slip and when he did, Slabgut would gut him personally. Then the tribe would belong to him.Not just another squabbling mob of greenskins charging at walls until arrows turned them into pincushions. No — his army would have Rock lobbers, discipline, armour and Siege towers. Slabgut would be the greatest orc warlord the world had ever seen. General Slabgut. He grinned at the thought, showing rows of chipped yellow fangs.“Yeh,” he muttered. “Got a nice sound to it.”
A horn bellowed across the army. Orcs surged toward the village, weapons raised high. More orcs hauled the trebuchet into firing position. Below them, in Braghafen, a bell began to ring in panic.
Slabgut lifted his axe.“ATTACK DA VILLAGE!” he roared. The trebuchet arm snapped forward with a thunderous crack and the first stone flew toward Braghafen
Terrain
Braghafen sits on the western side of the river Brag which is crossed by a stone bridge; some woods lie to the north and south of the village. Some low hills ring the village.
Woods – count as difficult ground
River Brag – the river can be crossed at the bridge with no penalty. The Bridge is T7 5 wounds. Troops can cross the river elsewhere but due to steep muddy banks must do so at ¼ speed
Hills – the hills are low and shallow so incur no movement penalties to cross
The village of Braghafen – the village has six buildings, four houses, the Golden Goblin Inn and the village hall/mayor’s residence. Houses are T7 5 wounds, the Golden Goblin is s T7 8 wounds. The village hall is T7 10 wounds. All doors to the buildings are T6 3 wounds.
Fences and Barricades – the village is surrounded by poorly maintained wooden palisade and the gaps have been filled where possible with makeshift barricades, these 4” sections T6 3 wounds each.
Starting The Game
The Defenders set up first anywhere inside the village walls. The orcs deploy in a 12” deep deployment zone from the table edge anywhere west of the River. 1 unit of orcs can be sent on an outflanking attack and will appear east of the river on the northern table edge. As the attackers the orcs get the first turn.
Special Rules
All orc units other than the stone thrower have access to fire. The orc archers can use fire arrows; the orc infantry have flaming torches available from the start of the game. The orcs can use these to try and destroy a village building as long as they have captured the civilian inside first.
The orcs are aiming to capture Silas the sage, however in true orc fashion they can’t exactly remember who they are looking for. General Slabgut has given orders that all unarmed civilians should be captured and they can work out who Silas is after the battle. Each building contains one civilian locked inside; if a unit of orcs can break down the door and enter the building they can capture the civilian inside. A civilian captive is kept with the orc unit that captured it if the orc unit is routed or destroyed the civilian captive will then join the nearest unit of village defenders. The orcs can recapture the civilians by routing or destroying the defenders in combat.
At the end of the game number the six civilians 1 to 6 and roll 1d6 the number rolled on the dice indicates which civilian is Silas the Sage.
Stone thrower. Because of the chance of accidentally killing Silas the Sage General Slabgut has forbidden the Stone thrower to deliberately target the buildings in Braghafen. The stone thrower may still target the bridge, barricades and palisade or defending units. Note the stone thrower can still hit buildings by accident due to the rock missing its intended target. If it does destroy a building with a civilian in it the civilian inside is assumed to be killed. The orcs will automatically lose the game if the dice roll to find Silas at the end of the game indicates he died in a building collapse.
Dwarven supply wagon. The Dwarf traders have a supply wagon ladened with supplies that they were planning to transport back to their mine in the hills. if a unit of orcs can come into base to base contact with the wagon they can loot it that turns for some extra victory points. the defenders get extra victory points if the wagon remains unlooted. The Defender can place the wagon wherever he likes inside the village deployment zone.
Flank Attack. General Slabgut can select one orc unit to cross the river Brag further north and march down the east side of the river. He must declare during deployment if he wants to do this and which unit he is choosing. If the flank attack is used, roll a d6 at the start of each orc turn from turn 2 a 5-6 indicates the orcs have arrived and they are placed on the table edge and may move in the movement phase. Add +1 to the dice each turn after turn 2.(ie 4,5,6 on turn 3).
Victory points
Defenders
Every orc killed 1 point Every building not destroyed 1point Orc stone thrower destroyed 2 points dwarf supply wagon unlooted 2 points every Orc Captain killed 2 points General Slabgut killed 3 points each uncaptured civilian 1 point
Silas the Sage captured +10 points Silas the sage not captured -10 points
Orcs Every building destroyed 1 point Every defender killed 1 point Captain Gunter killed 2 points Mayor Grunchild killed 2 points Jorgun Hammerson killed 2 points Adhumla Brightsoul killed 3 points Dwarf supply wagon looted 1 point
Victoria Seacrette drew the whetstone slowly down the edge of her axe in a smooth, rhythmic movement. Below the palisade, Braghafen still flickered with lantern light. Men hammered fresh planks into place with shaking hands. Old Marta Brehm carried buckets of arrows from the fletcher’s shed, while boys scarcely old enough to shave dragged barrels of stones to the wall. Someone was praying loudly. Someone else was drunk already.
Victoria stared silently over the wall, scanning the horizon for signs of the orc army heading towards Braghafen. Funny, she thought, how protective she had become of these simple frontier folk. Years ago she would have laughed at the idea. Back then she had only cared about freedom—freedom from clever men with promises, freedom from being told where she belonged, freedom from every soft-handed fool who thought a woman should live small and quiet. Adventuring had given her that freedom in full. The road had been hard, dangerous, lonely—but honest. You lived or died by your own hand.
Now, somehow, she had become one of those hard-eyed wanderers the villages relied upon. The scout who knew the hills. The ranger who returned with warnings before dangerous foes came screaming from the trees. She had forged a bond with these people. A bond that would not let her abandon them to their fate.
The eastern horizon had just begun to pale. Dawn was coming, and with it, the orcs.
She had seen them herself yesterday from the ridgeline beyond the Black Alder woods. Not a rabble. Not the usual green tide roaring and fighting amongst themselves. They marched in ranks. They posted scouts. Officers saluted each other with snapped fists to breastplates hammered from stolen iron. And they had a trebuchet.
Victoria stopped sharpening for a moment and frowned into the dark. “Who taught the orcs to build a trebuchet?”
No answer came save the creak of timber and distant hammering below. The thing that bothered her most was not the machine itself; it was the organisation. Patrol routes. Campfires placed sensibly. Advance outriders. Someone was teaching them. Or something….
She rested the axe head against her boot and rolled her broad shoulders beneath her weather cloak. In the end, she decided it did not matter. Tomorrow Braghafen would survive. And if it did not— Well. Victoria Seacrette had chosen her own road long ago. She intended to walk it until the very end.
The rain came down in greasy sheets, turning dust to filth and filth to sucking mire. The camp of Chief Ironfang sprawled across a low ridge of broken stone, lit by guttering fires. Orcs huddled in ramshackle huts and tents, faces glum, as they tried to keep out of the incessant rain. The weather matched the mood in the orc encampment.
Into this walked Timinus Blacksoul.He did not belong. That much was clear. Cloaked in red, a cap of curled horns upon his head. His boots unsoiled by the mud, clothes untouched by rain, eyes glinting with a cold and knowing malice, he walked straight through the camp as though the staring orcs were no more than shadows. A few noticed. One tried to bar his way. The orc never finished the gesture. His tusked grin froze as black shadows crawled over his face, entering his mouth, and choking the very life out of him. He toppled, stiff as iron. Word spread quickly.
By the time Timinus reached the central fire, Chief Ironfang was waiting. The warlord was huge, even for an orc. Clad in rusty black armor, his missing left tusk crudely replaced with a metal one. He sat upon a rough wooden throne covered in fur pelts, a crude collection of wooden poles and canvas cloth keeping the rain off. Ironfang gnawed on something that might once have been a goat.“You got guts, humie,” Ironfang growled, tossing the bone aside. “Or you got a zoggin death wish.” Timinus inclined his head slightly. “I have a proposition.”A ripple of laughter passed through the gathered orcs. Slabgut, Ironfang’s lieutenant, stood close by—thick-necked, watchful, one eye milky with an old wound. He spat into the mud.“Humies don’t make propositions,” Slabgut muttered. “They squeal.”Timinus ignored him.“There is a village,” the wizard continued. “Braghafen. Small. Poorly defended. Within it resides a sage—an old man with knowledge I require. You will take your warriors, seize the village, and bring him to me alive.”Ironfang leaned forward, grinning wide. “And why don’t we just smash yer skull and take whatever shiny bit you’re after?”“Because,” said Timinus calmly, “you do not know what you’re looking for.”That earned a pause.“The sage possesses information regarding an artifact,” the wizard went on. ” A relic of considerable power. Dangerous power. Beyond your comprehension.” Ironfang’s grin returned, wider than before. “Power I don’t understand still sounds like power. Maybe I’ll just take it.”“You would die before you touched it.”
That did it. The warlord rose to his full height, towering over the wizard. Around them, the orcs fell silent, sensing blood.“I don’t like yer tone, humie,” Ironfang snarled. “You come into my camp, tell me what I can’t do—”“And yet,” Timinus cut in softly, “you are listening.”For a moment, the only sound was the rain. Then Ironfang laughed—a booming, ugly sound. “Alright. I’ll play. What do we get?”“Gold. Weapons. And the opportunity to serve a purpose greater than pointless raiding.”That last part was a mistake. Ironfang’s laughter died instantly. His eyes narrowed to slits. “Pointless?”Slabgut shifted, sensing the change. The surrounding orcs began to edge closer.“Every raid is a test,” Ironfang growled. “Every fight makes us stronger. That’s purpose.”“Primitive rationalization,” Timinus replied. “You mistake noise for meaning.”The warlord’s hand tightened around his cleaver. “You think you’re better than us.”“I know I am.”The first blow came fast. Ironfang swung his cleaver in a brutal arc meant to split the wizard from shoulder to hip. Timinus did not move—until the last instant. Then the world turned white. A crack like the sky itself breaking open split the air. Lightning, unnatural and searing blue, leapt from Timinus’s outstretched hand and struck Ironfang square in the chest.For a heartbeat, the warlord stood frozen, every muscle locked. Then smoke began to curl from his armor. His jaw opened in a silent roar. He collapsed, dead, before he hit the ground. Silence fell across the camp. Even the rain seemed to hesitate.
Timinus lowered his hand slowly, as though the act had cost him nothing at all. His gaze swept over the stunned orcs.“Is there another who would negotiate?” he asked.No one moved. Slabgut stared at Ironfang’s corpse, then at the wizard. His good eye flickered with something dangerously close to thought. Around him, the tribe shifted—leaderless, uncertain.Timinus’s gaze settled on him.“You,” the wizard said. “You have enough sense to hesitate. That is rare.”Slabgut bared his tusks. “You killed the boss.”“Yes.”A long pause.Then Slabgut shrugged.“Boss got killed,” he said. “Means he weren’t strong enough.”A murmur of agreement rippled through the orcs.Timinus allowed himself a thin smile.“You will lead them now,” he said. “You will be my general.”Slabgut tilted his head. “And if I say no?” The air grew colder. Faint sparks danced between the wizard’s fingers.“Then you will join your former chief,” Timinus replied.Another pause. Longer this time.Slabgut looked around at the watching orcs. He could see it in their faces—the expectation, the hunger for direction, the simple, brutal logic of their kind. Strength ruled. The wizard had proven his. Slabgut grunted.“Fine,” he said. “We smash yer village. We grab yer old git. But if there’s a fight—”“There will be,” said Timinus. Slabgut grinned, wide and ugly. “Good.” The wizard turned, already losing interest in the conversation.“Ready your warriors,” he said. “We have much to prepare”Behind him, the orcs began to stir—grabbing weapons, shouting, shoving one another back into motion. The tribe had a new master, whether they understood it or not. Slabgut lingered a moment longer by Ironfang’s body. He nudged the corpse with his boot.“Should’ve zoggin ducked,” he muttered. Then he turned and bellowed orders into the night.
Far away, beyond the rain and mud, the village of Braghafen slept easily—unaware that something terrible was already reaching for it.
The cave stank of wizards incense, wet stone, and smoke.Timinus Blacksoul stood at its mouth, his red robe imaculate despite the filth of his surroundings. Outside, under a bruised sky, the Orcs labored. Crude voices barked and snarled as they hauled timber, lashed sinew, and hammered bone pegs into place. The trebuchet—his design—rose like a skeletal titan against the horizon.He allowed himself a thin smile.“Savages,” he murmured, though there was a note of pride beneath the contempt. “Yet so easily guided.”Behind him, deeper in the cave, something pulsed.Timinus turned. Resting upon a jagged stone altar lay the Demonicum. It was no mere box. It devoured the light around it. Black beyond black, its surface seemed carved from a substance that refused the world’s laws. Runes crawled across it—never still, never fully readable. Looking too long made the mind itch.
He approached slowly, as though greeting an old friend. Or a patient master. His fingers hovered, then settled upon its surface.Cold. Not the cold of winter, but of absence. Of void. The whispers came, as they always did and with them, memory.
Warm spring air drifted through the open windows of the tower, carrying the scent of pine forests and fresh rain from the hills below. Birds called from the trees beyond the cliffs, and golden sunlight spilled across the tower that clung to edge of the cliffs.
At the top of the tower, beneath a ceiling painted with faded constellations, the twins stood before their father. They had only known him for two years. Before that, they had lived peacefully on a small farm tucked deep within a quiet valley far from the great roads of the Empire. Their mother, the daughter of a humble farmer, had raised them alone all their lives. She rarely spoke of their father. Only that he had once arrived at the farm during his travels many years ago seeking shelter from a storm. He had spent a single night sleeping in her father’s barn, were they shared a night together, before continuing on his journey at dawn. From that brief encounter, the twins were born. For most of their childhood, Adhumla and Timinus lived happily among rolling fields, livestock, and endless summers beneath open skies. They worked the farm, raced through forests, and learned the rhythms of ordinary life. Then the powers began. At first the signs were small. Lights dancing above their fingertips,strange music echoing through empty rooms with no musicians nearby, objects moving when neither boy touched them. Their mother tried to dismiss it as childish tricks until the day Adhumla knelt beside the family’s dying sheepdog. The old animal had barely been breathing adhumla cradle the dog , tears in his eyes, golden light spread from Adhumla’s hands like warm sunlight. Moments later the dog stood again healthy and wagging its tail.
Timinus’ powers came differently. When anger seized him, doors slammed on their own,plates rattled across tables, farm tools floated into the air around him without warning. The local village bullies came to fear him when he almost choked one to death without every laying a hand on the boy. As the boys grew older, stories of the strange twins spread beyond the sleepy valley despite their mother’s efforts to keep them hidden. Eventually the rumors of these extrodinary boys reached the ears of an ading wizard. The wizard pieced tge evidence together and travelled back to valkey he had once visited as a young man. The moment he saw the twins he knew he was thier father. He persuaded their mother reluctantly — and with no small amount of fear — to allow the boys to leave with him. Without guidance, he warned, their gifts would only grow more dangerous. For the last two years he had tried to teach them discipline and how to utilise their natural talent for magic.
“Again,” he instructed calmly. Though old, there was strength hidden beneath the grey beard and weary eyes. His robes were lined with protective runes, and arcane power seemed to hum quietly around him like heat before a storm. Adhumla stepped forward first, he closed his eyes, steadied his breathing, and raised one hand. Fire curled around his fingers before gathering into a smooth orb of flame hovering above his palm. Controlled. Focused. Their father smiled faintly.“Good. You’re learning restraint.”Timinus rolled his eyes.“Restraint is slow.”With barely a gesture, violet sparks burst from his fingertips and whipped wildly through the room before crashing into the far wall in a shower of energy. Books tumbled from the shelves. Candles flickered out. Their father frowned, though there was still admiration in his gaze.“You have immense talent,” he said. “Both of you do. But talent without discipline is destruction waiting to happen.”Timinus barely listened to his father’s lecture.His attention drifted instead toward the black box resting in the corner of the study under a magical cage of light.
The Demonicum. Timinus was fasicnated by the strange black box with its metal work carved with intricate, horned, demonic the box seemed wrong. Candlelight dimmed around it. The twisted runes etched across its surface shifted when seen from the corner of the eye. Adhumla hated looking at it. Timinus could not stop.Their father noticed immediately.“You are never to touch it,” he warned sharply.“Then why keep it?” Timinus asked.The old wizard’s expression darkened.“Because it cannot be destroyed.”He stepped slowly toward the force cage housing the Demonicum.“When I was young, my companions and I found the Demonicum beneath a ruined temple in the Border Princes. Entire settlements had slaughtered themselves under its influence. Men killed their own family simply to possess it.”His voice lowered.“It whispers. It tempts. It corrupts.”Adhumla felt a chill despite the warm evening air.“But if it is so dangerous,” Timinus pressed, “why not bury it somewhere no one can find it?”“Because there are always those who search for power. My companions and I swore an oath to guard it until death.”The old wizard fixed both sons with a hard stare.“And neither of you will ever open it.”Timinus said nothing his eyes lingered on the box long after the lesson ended.
That night the tower fell quiet beneath the soft sounds of spring wind brushing through the trees. Moonlight spilled like silver across the study floor as Timinus creeped up the spiral staircase alone. The Demonicum sat waiting in the darkness. The whispers began the moment he approached. Not words at first, promises, power beyond imagination, freedom from weakness. Timinus reached toward the force cage almost unconsciously. The instant his fingers brushed the cage it’s powerful magic dispated under his more powerful natural talent. Hidden runes beneath the Demonicum noticed the loss of the cage immeditaly. The magical rune alarm made no sound gave Timinus no warning but in his bed chamber below Timinus’s father awoke with a start. The whispers grew louder.His breathing quickened. The study door burst open.
“Timinus!” his father strode into the chamber. For a brief moment genuine fear crossed the old wizard’s face.“Step away from it. Now.” Timinus spun around, startled but angry “why should I?” The old wizard lifted his staff carefully.“Leave the box and walk away.” Timinus turned vack to the Demonicum and layed a hand on it. He could feelthe power huming through the artifact. He could hear the whispers offering him so much power. “You hid this from the world, you’ve kept this power locked in a cage, you are a fool.” The old wizard shook his head sadly “I protected the world from it. I protected you and your brother from it.” “You feared power” spat Timinus. “I don’t fear power I crave it ” Arcane energy crackled violently around Timinus’ hands.
The old wizard reacted instantly. Silver chains of magical light erupted from the tip of his staff and lashed toward Timinus, wrapping around his arms and chest.“Do not force me to bind you!” he shouted. Timinus roared with fury raw power exploded outward in a violent shockwave that shattered the bindings and blasted books from the shelves. His father grimaced.“You are not in control!”He slammed the base of his staff against the floor.Runes ignited across the chamber walls as invisible force crashed down on Timinus, trying to pin him in place. For a heartbeat it worked. Then Timinus unleashed a bolt of crackling violet energy directly at his father.The old wizard barely raised a force shield in time. The blast smashed into him hard enough to drive him backward across the room.“Timinus, stop this!” he shouted. Timinus attacked again immediately, hurling wild streams of destructive magic without hesitation.The old wizard fought defensively, weaving barriers and binding spells, trying desperately to subdue rather than harm his son. Bands of blue light coiled around Timinus’ legs.A cage of force formed around him.Timinus tore through both with brute magical power alone. Furniture splintered apart.Windows exploded outward. Arcane energy flashed through the chamber like lightning. Their father’s breathing grew heavier with each spell.Timinus saw it and pressed harder.“You should have taught me everything!” he shouted.“I tried to teach you wisdom!”“I don’t want wisdom!” Timinus roared. “I want power!”He hurled both hands forward. A massive bolt of black energy struck the old wizard square in the chest, shattering his protective barrier completely. The magical bolt hurled him violently against the stone wall. His staff cracked in half and he collapsed hard onto the floor.For a moment the room fell silent except for ragged breathing.The old wizard looked up weakly at his son pain and heartbreak filled his eyes more than anger. “Timinus…” he whispered. Timinus hesitated only briefly before unleashing another bolt of energy .The impact struck the old wizard directly his body went still .Silence consumed the study.
The sound of footsteps running up the spiral stairs , to the study, broke the Silence .Adhumla burst into the chamber bare footed and wearing only a his nightshirt and bare. He froze instantly their father lay, motionless, beside the shattered wall. Timinus stood above the body clutching the Demonicum.“No…” Adhumla whispered. His voice cracked.“Timinus… what have you done?” Timinus turned slowly.“What was necessary.”“You murdered him!” “He was weak.” Anger flooded Adhumla’s face a scream of pure rage left his throat. Fire erupted around his hands.He launched forward first, hurling a blazing wave across the chamber.Timinus countered with crackling violet force. The two spells collided violently in midair, exploding outward in a burst powerful enough to shake the tower.
The brothers attacked relentlessly. Adhumla fought with fury sharpened by grief, his flames burning hotter with every strike.Timinus answered with raw destructive power, uncaring how much damage he caused. Arcane blasts tore chunks from the walls, shelves collapsed, Glass shattered. Adhumla drove Timinus backward with streams of roaring fire, but Timinus unleashed a crushing wave of force that hurled his brother across the room.Adhumla slammed hard against a pillar. At that exact moment a lantern crashed from a broken shelf. Oil spilled across the floor. Flames ignited instantly. Fire spread rapidly through the study catching the curtains and spreading up the ancient wooden beams overhead. Smoke filled the chamber.
Timinus spoke words of power summoning a swirling blue vortex .A teleportation spell.“No!” Adhumla shouted, struggling to rise.Timinus looked down at him coldly.“You were always weak brother you could have taken thopis power for youreslf but you never had the strength .” Timinus stepped into the vortex with a thunderclap and a burst of warped light, Timinus vanished.
The study burned around Adhumla as flames consumed centuries of books and climbed the tower walls.Coughing through the smoke, he crawled to his father’s body and lifted the old wizard into his arms.For several moments he simply knelt there while the fire crackled around him.Then slowly, grief hardened into resolve. Tears streamed down his face as he looked toward the place where his brother had vanished.“I swear it,” he whispered hoarsely. “I will find you, brother.”The tower groaned as burning timbers cracked overhead.“I will avenge our father.”His grip tightened.“And I will reclaim the Demonicum… no matter where you hide.”The flames reflected in his tear-filled eyes.“That evil will never be allowed to poison this world again.”Outside, the peaceful spring night gave way to rising smoke as the tower burned against the stars.
The cave returned. The Orcs still labored. The trebuchet creaked as its frame took shape.Timinus withdrew his hand from the Demonicum.“Soon,” he whispered to it. “The old sage will speak. He knew my father’s secrets. He will tell me how to open you.”Outside, an Orc bellowed in crude excitement as a massive beam locked into place. War was coming to the little village of Braghafen and with it, the key. Timinus glanced toward the cave entrance, as if expecting someone.“Brother,” he said softly, almost thoughtfully. “If you still live… I wonder which of us will reach the truth first.”The Demonicum pulsed once like a heartbeat.
The village of Braghafen clung stubbornly to the ragged edge of civilization, where the last banners of the Empire gave way to the lawless expanse of the Border Princes. Timbered houses leaned into the wind, fields stretched thin across rocky soil, and every man, woman, and child knew how to grip a blade when needed.
Thomas knew it better than most.He stumbled through the village gate at dusk, boots caked in mud, cloak torn by brambles, breath coming hard. The watchman barely had time to shout before Thomas pushed past him, heading straight for the council hall. Inside, Mayor Grunchild sat hunched over a rough-hewn table, arguing in low tones with Captain Gunter of the Braghafen militia. Both men turned as Thomas burst in.“Orcs,” Thomas said, not bothering with ceremony. “A warband. Big one.”Silence fell like a hammer.“How big?” Gunter asked, already rising to his feet.“Hundreds. Maybe more. A few days’ march, no less.” Thomas swallowed, then added, “They’re not wandering. They’re building something.”Grunchild frowned. “Building?”“A war machine. Big as a barn. Looks like a trebuchet.” That drew a curse from Gunter. “Since when do orcs build siege engines?”“That’s not the worst of it,” Thomas said quietly. “They’re organised. Scouts posted. Patrols moving in formation. Someone’s leading them.”The mayor leaned back slowly, his face pale but composed. “Then we leave.” Gunter snapped toward him. “Leave?”“We take what we can carry and head into the hills,” Grunchild said firmly. “Hide until they pass or lose interest. We cannot withstand a siege engine, Captain. Not with farmers and hunters.”“And if they don’t pass?” Gunter shot back. “If they burn Braghafen to the ground anyway? You’d have us cower while they smash our homes?”“I would have us live,” the mayor replied, steel creeping into his voice. “A dead man defends nothing.”“And a man who runs defends even less.”Their voices rose, tension coiling tight as a drawn bowstring.“Enough,” Thomas muttered, though neither listened.
Then the air changed. A chill swept through the room, though no wind stirred. The lantern flames flickered, stretching unnaturally, and a faint shimmer gathered in the corner—like starlight caught in water.From that shimmer, a man stepped forward.He was tall, pale, and clad in robes of deep blue that seemed to ripple like the night sky itself. Tiny points of light glimmered across the fabric, shifting as though alive. His eyes were calm, but ancient in their depth. Gunter’s hand went to his sword. “Name yourself.”The stranger inclined his head. “Adhumla Brightsoul.”Grunchild blinked. “A wizard?”“A practitioner of the magic arts , yes,” Adhumla said. His voice was smooth, measured. “And a friend, if you will have me.”Gunter didn’t lower his hand. “Convenient timing.”“I go where I am needed,” Adhumla replied. “And you will need more than steel and courage to face what comes.”Thomas stepped forward. “You know about the orcs?”A faint shadow crossed the wizard’s face. “I know enough.” Grunchild studied him carefully. Fear warred with hope in his expression, but in the end necessity won. “If you truly mean to help us, then you are welcome in Braghafen.” Gunter exhaled sharply but gave a curt nod. “We’ll need every advantage we can get.” “Then prepare your people,” Adhumla said. “Fortify what you can. Gather your militia. When the greenskins come, they must find not prey—but resistance.”The mayor straightened. “Very well. We stand.”Gunter allowed himself a grim smile. “Good. I was getting tired of arguing.”
Orders began at once—bells ringing, villagers gathering, tools turning into weapons. Fear spread quickly, but so did resolve. As the village stirred into motion, Adhumla stepped quietly outside, away from the noise, into the dimming light of evening. He stood alone beneath the first emerging stars, his gaze fixed on the distant hills.“Timinus…” he murmured.The name tasted bitter in his mouth .His twin brother. His opposite. Where Adhumla’s magic shimmered with clarity and purpose, Timinus Blacksoul reveled in shadow and ruin. If Thomas spoke true—and Adhumla had no doubt he did—then this was no mere orc raid. Greenskins did not build machines of war with discipline and foresight. Not without guidance. Not without manipulation.“Why here?” Adhumla whispered. “Why Braghafen?”No answer came, only the cold hush of the frontier. But he knew one thing with certainty: whatever his brother sought, it mattered. Timinus never acted without reason—and never without cruelty. Adhumla’s jaw tightened.“Then I will deny you,” he said softly. “Whatever your purpose… it ends here.”Behind him, Braghafen prepared for war. Ahead, somewhere in the darkening wilds, an army gathered and between them stood a single village—and two brothers bound for collision.
The rain came down in cold needles from a slate-grey sky as twelve dwarfs trudged along the muddy road to Braghafen. Their mule carts creaked beneath loads of iron ingots, copper ore, kegs of blasting powder, and finely worked tools bound for the human settlement. Ten hard days they had marched from the Ironpeak Mine through bitter wind and ceaseless rain.
At their head strode four veterans. Jorgun Hammerson led them, broad as an ale barrel and twice as hard. His rune-carved axe hung at his side, and the younger dwarfs watched him with quiet respect. Beside him marched Snorri Whitebeard, ancient even by dwarf reckoning, his beard tucked into his belt and his sharp eyes missing nothing. Hortek Stonebrow oversaw the supply carts and muttered constantly about wheel wear, weak axles, and human roads. Bergan Shortbeard, youngest of the four leaders, commanded the rearguard and kept the younger warriors in line with insults and the occasional cuff around the head.
The remaining eight dwarfs followed behind in two orderly ranks, mail shirts clinking softly beneath heavy cloaks. Some carried crossbows over their shoulders while others rested hands upon axes and hammers polished by years of use underground. By dusk they reached Braghafen.
The village crouched beside the river like a frightened dog, timber houses huddled together beneath curling chimney smoke. At its centre stood the Golden Goblin Inn, the only place in the settlement large enough to host twelve dwarfs with beer on their minds.
Inside, the dwarfs filled nearly half the common room. Humans glanced nervously at the heavily armed company as they crowded around long tables near the fire. Ale arrived by the pitcher. Dain Redpick took one long swallow, stared into his mug, and frowned deeply. “By Grungni’s beard,” he muttered, “this tastes like rainwater left in a boot.”
Laughter rumbled around the table.“One mug of Bugman’s XXXX would shame this whole barrel,” Bergan said with a grin. The younger dwarfs burst into laughter again.“Aye!” one shouted. “Bugman’s has more strength in the foam alone than this human swill!”Another sniffed suspiciously at his drink. Even Jorgun allowed himself a faint smile as he lifted his mug.“Careful,” he rumbled. “If the innkeeper hears you, he may charge us extra for insulting his bathwater.”The dwarfs roared with amusement while several nearby humans pretended not to listen.
Then came the bells. A frantic clamour erupted outside. The inn fell silent save for the distant ringing and the scrape of chairs across wooden floors. Villagers rushed toward the windows in panic.“Orcs!” someone shouted. “Orcs in the hills!” The room exploded into chaos.
Jorgun rose immediately while the other dwarfs instinctively reached for weapons. A terrified villager stumbled past, and Bergan caught him by the shoulder.“How many?” the dwarf barked.“Scouts saw dozens—maybe more!” the man stammered. “They’ll be here by sunsrise!” The dwarfs exchanged grim looks. Outside, Braghafen had descended into panic. Men dragged wagons into the streets to build barricades while women hurried children indoors. The village bell rang without pause beneath the gathering storm clouds.
Back inside the inn, the twelve dwarfs gathered around their tables. “We should leave now,” said one of the younger warriors. “Pack the carts and return to the mine before the greenskins cut the road.”“Aye,” muttered another. “This is no concern of ours.” Snorri Whitebeard slowly set down his mug.“Everything greenskins do is our concern.” Silence settled across the table. The old dwarf looked toward Jorgun.“Your grandsire died in the Black Crags fighting orcs. Your father swore the Blood Oath against the greenskins.”Jorgun’s jaw tightened. “And when he fell,” Snorri continued quietly, “that oath passed to you.” The fire crackled loudly in the silence that followed. At last Jorgun stood.“We do not flee from orcs.” Every dwarf around the tables looked up immediately. “We are sons of the mountain,” Jorgun growled. “If greenskins come to this village, then they’ll find dwarfs waiting for them.” A fierce grin spread across Bergan’s face.
Axes were lifted from beside benches. Crossbows were checked. Mail tightened. The twelve dwarfs marched into the chaos outside and made their way to the village square, where Captain Gunther of the militia shouted desperate orders to exhausted townsfolk.
“Move those barrels, you idiots!” Gunther barked at a cluster of villagers struggling with a cart. “And get more men to the southern wall before I throw you there myself!” The captain spun around as the dwarfs approached.“Well?” he snapped. “If you lot are planning to stand around gawking then make yourselves useful and—”
He stopped abruptly. For the first time he properly looked at them.Twelve armed dwarfs stood before him in heavy mail, rain running from helms and axe heads alike. Jorgun alone was nearly eye-level with the captain despite dwarf stature, built like a fortress wall wrapped in iron. Gunther straightened immediately, colour draining slightly from his face.“Master Dwarfs,” he said quickly, suddenly far more measured. “Forgive me. The situation has…” He exhaled sharply. “…strained tempers.”Hortek grunted.“Humans panic loudly.” A few younger dwarfs chuckled into their beards.
Jorgun stepped forward.“You’ve greenskins coming,” he said simply. “We’ll help hold your village.”Relief washed over Gunther’s face so fast it looked as though his knees nearly buckled.“You have my thanks,” the captain said. “The southern wall is our weakest point. It’s old timber, half-rotted in places, and the barricades aren’t finished.” He pointed through the rain toward the far edge of the village.“If the orcs hit there hard enough, they’ll break through.” Jorgun nodded once.“Then that’s where we’ll stand.”
Gunther gave rapid orders at once. “Bring timber to the southern wall! More nails! Rope! Move!”The dwarfs marched through the muddy streets as frightened villagers hurried aside to let them pass.When they reached the southern defences, the problem became obvious immediately. The wall was little more than sharpened logs hammered into muddy earth, reinforced with wagons and loose stone. Thin. Weak. Human work.
Hortek spat into the mud.“This wouldn’t keep out drunk goats.”“Then we’d best improve it,” said Snorri calmly.The dwarfs set to work without hesitation.Some hauled wagons into stronger positions while others reinforced the barricades with iron chains from their supply carts. Crossbowmen climbed onto nearby rooftops and watch platforms while Bergan organised firing lanes across the open ground beyond the wall. Jorgun himself helped drive support beams into place with thunderous hammer blows.Slowly, beneath the rain and torchlight, panic gave way to grim preparation.
Beyond the dark hills surrounding Braghafen, unseen in the storm, the greenskins drew closer.
I started painting miniatures for this project this time last year and after a lot of painting I decided it was time to get some of the miniatures on the tabletop and roll dice.
I threw together a quick scenario. Somewhere in France late August 1944 Kampfgruppe Steiner a mixed bag of Fallschrimjager and Luftwaffe A/A units is tasked with holding rearguard position at a small village to give other German units the chance to retreat further west. In the meantime 7th Battalion, Hampshire Regiment, with tank support from Sherwood Rangers Yeomanry, have been ordered to seize the village and its crossroads in preparation for further advances. Victory conditions were a German win if they still held the village after 10 turns anything else was a British victory.
I threw together some scenery from what I had ( I need to work on my 20mm scenery collection) and had at it. The Germans fought very badly (so many poor dice rolls) and broke on turn six. The only real highlight for the Germans was their 75mm A/T gun ambushing and destroying a Sherman on their first turn after that it was down hill all the way. The 88mm was the biggest culprit despite having plenty of shots it didn’t even manage to damage a single British tank.It was a really fun game though and once I got the hang of the rules the game flowed really well.
My first Royalist unit for my VBCW project. The Royalist army of South Wessex is based around regular military units based in barracks at Winchester ( KRRC and the Rifle Brigade) while these give the Royalists a core of well trained infantry they lacked cavalry for scouting and raiding. The 13th Duke of Wybourne a rich cad, and firm Royalist, offered to raise a unit of volunteer cavalry to support the Royalist cause in Hampshire. The Duke has designed a special, and very flashy, uniform for his cavalry unit. The same cannot be said of the men the Duke has recruited which are a mix of sociopathic aristocrats and the scum of the earth. In general the Duke’s men prefer raiding undefended Hampshire villages and robbing unarmed civilians to actually fighting for the Kings cause.
The miniatures are basically kitbashed from some left over plastic Napoleonic French lancers from Warlord Games. The heads, rifles and the officers pistol coming from a Warlord Bolt Action sprue and wargames Atlantic plastic WW1 British.
It’s been a while since I lasted posted I haven’t been idle on the hobby front I’ve just been remiss on posting updates. After my Birthday haul from Entoyment in August I’ve been in full on new project mode. The new project being A Very British Civil War (VBCW). For those not in the know VBCW is an alternative history based around Edward the VIII choosing not to abdicate, marrying Mrs Simpson, the subsequent political fallout then sees the Government resign, the Archbishop of Canterbury split from the King and eventually Edward installing his friend (and Fascist) Oswald Mosley as Prime minister the resulting chaos ends in a late 1930s British Civil War.
I plan to use a modified version of Neil Thomas’s one hour WW2 rules (with some units from WW1 rules imported in) which means I need around 6-8 units per faction. I’m hoping to paint up three factions to represent local groups in Hampshire taking part in the Civil war. Royalists based in Winchester, Socialist/Communist forces in Southampton and Anglican forces under the bishop of Winchester in the countryside of eastern Hampshire.
The first faction I’ve been painting up are the Anglican league under the Bishop of Winchester and loyal to the Archbishop of Canterbury. The Anglican forces are made up of 4 militia battalions forming two small brigades, a number of independent cavalry troops, an independent artillery company, a company of Ex royal navy sailors, some armoured cars, and the 4th company of the Canterbury Rifles sent by the Archbishop to protect the Bishop of Winchester. In addition every village and town in the area controlled by the Anglicans has set up Local Defence Volunteers (LDV) to defend their local area.
A ong time ago I started a 2nd edition Warhammer Fantasy Battle Oldhammer project. The idea was to collect the original pre-slotta Perry sculpted Fantasy tribe/early C series orcs. In the end I had to add a few newer Kev Adams sculpted C series orcs and a few new oldhammer style orcs to finish the army.
This weekend I finally finished up the last miniatures for the Army and I’m calling it done. These last miniatures were three armoured orcs to add to a unit of armoured orcs, a unit of Orcs with crossbows and two wolf chariots (modern miniatures from Old school miniatures but with old citadel orcs as crew) two add to one I had already painted up.
At some point I will hopefully take pictures of the whole army together but for now here are the latest miniatures I’ve finished up.
It was my birthday recently, which happened to coincide with a short break down in Dorset with my wife. After spending a lovely couple of days around Dorchester I managed to convince my wife to stop off in Poole, on the way home, allowing me visit the New Entoyment store and spend my Birthday money.
When I was a wee lad, just starting out in wargaming, I could visit at least three model or hobby shops, that were within a bus ride of my home, as well as a Games workshop store and the factory shop of the venerable Miniature Figurines Productions (Minifigs). Sadly these days other than Games Workshop (sorry I’m not calling them Warhammer stores) I rarely find such shops and when I do they are normally small, musty places with limited stock. I miss the days of going to a hobby shop. Online shopping has it’s advantages but it doesn’t have the same thrill as going to a bricks and mortar shop. Given that when I spotted Entoyment in my goggle maps, and with birthday money burning a whole in my pocket, I thought it was worth checking it out.
I wasn’t really sure what to expect from Entoyment but turns out this place is pretty amazing. Without trying to sound like an advertisement if you are a gamer, and happen to be in Poole, you should definitely check this place out.
The shop is based in a warehouse type facility on an industrial state and it’s big. In the shop they have a gaming area full of tables, a card game area, a roleplaying room, a painting area, a cafe and a very large retail area.
in the retail area you can find historicals, Fantasy and sci-fi from all the big names Perry, Wargames Atlantic, Warlord, Gripping beast, Victrix, Games Workshop plus a whole load of others and a book corner full of historical and Roleplaying books.
Basically I was like a child in a sweet shop. After buying my wife a coke and KitKat, to go with her book, to keep her entertained, I set about spending the next hour blowing my birthday money. I got some Epic Hail Caeser to go with my Wargames Illustrated free sprues of celts. I also invested in a bunch of Wargames Atlantic and Bolt Action stuff (for a little VBCW project I want to do) and left a very happy lad. If I’m ever back in the area I will definitely pop back in.
For months (seems like years) I’ve been painting WW2 Germans I was on the cusp of finishing them. I was halfway through the last models, a couple of artillery limbers and crew, when I just couldn’t muster up the enthusiasm to see them through. They just sat there on the painting desk glaring at me for a couple of weeks. On a whim I picked up some old Citadel miniatures, from the early 1980s, on eBay, among them were some Fiend Factory monsters. To get my painting mojo back I cleared off the last of the Germans from my painting desk and painted some nostalgic old lead. I had a blast painting these and now hopefully I can start to be a bit more productive in my painting again. Sometimes I think you just need a change to get the hobby juices flowing again.
As for the miniatures I don’t really have a plan for these guys yet they were more about getting some paint on something fun. Just for reference we have a Manticore, a Wyvern, a Chimera and two Harpies all from the Citadel miniatures early 1980s Fiend Factory range though a number of them later ended up in Citadel’s early C series Range. Below is one of the early Citadel catalogue pages with hand drawn images.
Its been a while since I lasted posted. A combination of really life issues and not having much worth posting. A lot of my time has been taken up on re-landscaping the back garden and the recent hot weather has put a really dampener on my hobby out put. I find it really hard to paint productively in the hot weather a combination of tiredness and agitation do not make for a good painting session. On top of that work dropped the redundancy word on my team so it has been a rather stressful time lately. Going through pooling with all the meetings with management and HR that entails all while competing with your work colleagues to try and keep your job. This has finally been resolved and my job is now safe after my work colleagues and I put forward a proposal to keep everyone’s job by all of us reducing hours from September.
The new work situation means I will have more time on my hands but a lot less hobby budget to buy new toys. This has prompted me to look at my unpainted hobby stash ( six large storage boxes of miniatures and scenery) and start a process of deciding what projects are feasible and what should be sold off to help fund the feasible projects. On the plus side I probably have enough unpainted miniatures to keep me going for some time and with only working a four day week, for the foreseeable, more time to hobby.
In the mean time, despite everything,I have managed to paint more Germans for my Rapid Fire Reloaded project and now have an almost finished late war German infantry regiment with just a few small bits until the whole project is completed.
so here are some Ready to Roll resin Marders with some Raventhorpe crew from the the Divisional A/T battalion to support the regiment.
And here is some regiment transport to tow the regimental A/T and infantry gun companies. These are again metal Raventhorpe and a resin Ready to Roll truck
last up the Regimental HQ Valiant miniatures and Britannia resin vehicles.
All I have left now is a A/A truck for the Regimental HQ and a battery of 105s from the Division artillery battery to paint up and this project is done. After that it will be time to really dig into my hobby collection and decide how I proceed with my future hobby projects.
I’m still working my way very slowly through my late war German infantry regiment for Rapid Fire Reloaded things have slowed down a lot due to undertaking a rather full on relandscaping of the back garden project which has been (and will be taking up) a lot of my spare time. I have everything I need for the Germans built and ready to go it’s just painting everything up that is proceeding at a snails pace. In the mean time I realised I hadn’t shared a couple of German self propelled 37mm A/A guns I finished a while back. Again these are cheap Chinese 4D puzzle vehicles they didn’t come with crew so I added some Britannia miniatures gunners from a variety of German packs. The vehicles are sdkfz 7 half tracks. The Germans apparently gave a number of these vehicles armoured cabs and 37mm guns to provide mobile A/A for panzer divisions and Luftwaffe A/A units. As I had two I’ve painted up a Heer one, for a panzer kampfgruppe, and a Luftwaffe one to support my Fallschirmjäger Kampfgruppe. Here are a few photos plus a couple of my garden that are blocking my hobby time 😀
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