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Author Topic: 'All that Glistens' - A Story/Bat Rep Project  (Read 47578 times)

Offline Von Kurst

  • Posts: 1415
Re: Story/Battle Report Project
« Reply #25 on: August 03, 2009, 03:03:07 AM »
I'm betting on the stalwart lads from Araby.
“Why is the rum always gone?” -Captain Jack Sparrow
"It is, it is a glorious thing To be a Pirate King."
 -Gilbert, Sir W(illiam) S(chwenck)

Offline cisse

  • Posts: 3896
  • let the wookie win!
Re: Story/Battle Report Project
« Reply #26 on: August 03, 2009, 06:52:08 AM »
Some bad luck with LD tests and outnumbering it seems (auto-flee when outnumbered by 1 is irritating I suppose  :wink:). Very nice report as always, and a beautiful story!
cisse

No matter how fast you run, your ass will always be in front of me...

Online Padre

  • Posts: 3467
Re: Story/Battle Report Project
« Reply #27 on: August 04, 2009, 10:49:08 PM »
Part Seven

Fourth and final part of the Battle of the Dunes

The Arabyan Crossbowmen had not the courage to charge the Zombies crossing in front of them, and so allowed the enemy to approach dangerously close to the mortar. The Agha’s Sworsdmen, however, proved less timorous than their detachment of crossbowmen, and continued their advance on the hilltop in the face of a cannon muzzle and its undead crew.


Perhaps a little unnerved by what was surely about to happen, the mortar crew failed to hit the Queen Bess a second time, and instead landed their grenado on the tower upon the other side of the stockade.
     Thodrin and his Dwarf Slayers could not believe how simple it was to hack the Grand Admiral Galdabash’s servants down, and before they had really begun to break a sweat the last of the zombies before them succumbed to their blades and pistols, as well as the ever weakening magic holding them together in undeath. Just as the dwarfs were thinking how easy the fighting was, the brave crew of the mortar found themselves facing a threat that they could surely not withstand - the three of them, one a boy armed with only a bucket and another a crippled man with a crutch in his left hand, were now charged by an entire regiment of shambling zombies. Other much larger bodies of men had fled from just such a foe, and yet here these three found the courage to stand and fight! (I could not tell you why.)


The rest of Gladabash’s forces attempted to close with the few enemies remaining on the field of battle: the hulks made their way towards the centre of the field; the dogs continued their rush to reach the Arabyan swordsmen (though their pace had now slackened somewhat because Gladabash had moved away from them and his power to urge them on had diminished due to the distance). The Vampire Lord had in fact moved away from his undead Ogres to make his own way across the field, so filled with rage he no longer sought the safety of numbers and desired only to close with the enemy quickly and personally, to sate the bloodlust that all his kind shared.
    The carronade upon the hill fired directly into the swordsmen advancing straight towards it and brought two down, but the zombie handgunners behind and above them failed in their own attempts so dramatically that one of the misfiring handguns felled the zombie carrying it.


Two of the mortar crew were torn apart by the zombies, and the last (the boy who due to his short stature had been overlooked by the dim witted unliving seamen) fled screaming away from them to drown in the sea. This left only one artillery piece on the field - the cannon on the Tabrizians’ far left, whose crew gave thanks to Manaan that they had been spared so far and now offered the promise of sacrifices and prayers if he would continue his protection.
    The Arabyan Swordsmen, unwilling to receive another carronade shot, now launched their charge at the little gun and its crew, even though their attack took them uphill and over quite a distance and thus might prove a dangerously long run. Their luck held, however, and they reached the little artillery piece before it could be reloaded.


The two zombies crewing it unsurprisingly proved little challenge for the corsairs’ deadly scimitars and they soon leapt over their now dead (rather than undead!) corpses to begin their dash for the hilltop. Once again whatever desert gods they looked to for good fortune smiled upon them and they managed to get right up to the stockade and charge into the zombie handgunners defending it.

Thodrin’s Dwarfs turned to face the hulking ogres shambling near them, and one or two looked up to watch the flight of the last cannon’s ball as it curled through air towards the Queen Bess. The crew’s prayers had been very well received, apparently, for Manaan himself must surely have carried the ball to its target. It scored a direct hit on the great cannon and damaged it badly. (Game note: 2 wounds out of 5, the ball being  D3 wounds light cannon ball.) The Arabyan crossbow and last unit of handgunners hoped to make their own contribution count also and shot every quarrel they had loaded into the Scurvy Dogs (Game note: being lower down all their ranks could shoot). It appeared that Manaan was too busy with the cannon ball for not one bullet or bolt pierced a single dog. Nothing could stop the dogs from reaching the swordsmen now.
      Galdabash and one of his regiments of zombies now chased away the last of the Tabizian handgunners (which was all they could reach), while the Scurvy Dogs hurtled up the hill to do what they had been trying to do for some time now - attack the Swordsmen.


The ensuing fight was bloody, scimitar against tooth, claw and musket butt, yet neither side could gain the advantage and the struggle went on. If they could not defeat the undead soon, the swordsmen feared that the daylight would fail and no doubt bring all sorts of new terrors to the field. Such fear was not helped by the fact that they were already tiring, nor the way they were terribly isolated up there on the summit.
     Down below Thodrin attempted to lead his Dwarfs in a charge against the Ogres, perhaps thinking he might at least keep their attention away from the hill, but his little legs proved too … well … little, and the charge failed to reach the foe before it petered out. All he could do was begin to re-order his warriors ready to try again!
    The cannon misfired, but the crew boldly set about reloading with the intent of shooting one last time before fleeing for the safety of the fleet. On the hilltop the fight went on: dogs rolling down the hill as they were hacked apart and zombies falling where they stood when the curved Arabyan blades cut deep enough. Yet the Arabyans were dismayed to find that the foe’s lack of fear, nor care for their own (un)lives, meant that they fought on regardless and relentless.
    It was beginning to look like the Tabrizians would not get to the Queen Bess, and that many men had died and were yet to die pointlessly that day. But then came the cannon’s last ball, an iron roundshot following exactly the same path as the previously successful one, and thus striking the Queen Bess square on. The huge but ancient and rusty warmachine could not withstand such a blow, so that it was shattered by the impact - it’s very barrel cracking open as the carriage collapsed. After countless years of service, both for the living and the undead, her majesty had finally died. Her last surviving crewman simply stood as he had before, yet to realise that his ward was destroyed. Strangely, he was joined in his lack of motion by the three Tabrizian crewmen on the dune, though their gormless stance was due not to ignorance but rather genuine surprise at what they had done.


It was almost a full minute before they snapped out of the shock induced by their success, then the gunner turned to his two matrosses and said simply, “That’ll do for today, eh?” They nodded in response, and leaving their own piece on the dune they slid hastily down the sand and bolted for the nearest boat.
     They were not the only ones to make this decision. Thodrin’s dwarfs saw no use in fighting on when the Queen Bess was destroyed and they too made dash for the beach. Theirs was a more orderly affair than the other Tabrizians around them, almost as if daring the foe to try to follow them. The Arabyan Swordsmen on the hill also knew that to linger was not only dangerous but utterly futile, and they began their own pell mell run all the way to the surf, dropping shields and casting off helmets that they might run that little bit quicker.
    Not one undead pirate pursued them, for their master did not will them to do so. He cared not which man or dwarf escaped this beach, for his mind was filled with another concern: If the Queen Bess was destroyed, how could he prevent the Tabrizian fleet from ascending the river? His own ships had mostly been destroyed in a recent storm, though this had not troubled him particularly - a mere distraction while his servants searched for the city of gold. His boats and wherries had been safe upriver during the storm, but were now much farther upriver searching. So he had nothing here at the river mouth to prevent the Tabrizians' ascent of the river. What now?
     A shimmer of heat haze obscured his blue-skinned body, yet every man, orc and dwarf aboard the Tabrizian ships somehow knew he was there and that his attention was upon them. The fury in his glare, the intensity of his anger not only stirred up the haze about him but poured out across the water to wash up against the ships - a palpable force of wicked intent which sent a chill up every spine. And the thought that crossed every one of their minds? Grand Admiral Galdabash had not finished with them yet.
« Last Edit: August 05, 2009, 06:50:25 AM by Padre »
Photobucket has now re-destroyed my pictures, so the first half of my collected works thread is no longer working again. To see my website version of the campaign thread, with fully functioning pictures, please go to https://bigsmallworlds.com/

Offline Von Kurst

  • Posts: 1415
Re: Story/Battle Report Project
« Reply #28 on: August 04, 2009, 11:36:36 PM »
Three cheers for the artillery!  (Although the boys from Araby almost had her done!)
Great report as always.  What will Grand Admiral Galdabash do now?  If only his fleet were nearby...
“Why is the rum always gone?” -Captain Jack Sparrow
"It is, it is a glorious thing To be a Pirate King."
 -Gilbert, Sir W(illiam) S(chwenck)

Offline Uryens de Crux

  • Posts: 3740
Re: Story/Battle Report Project
« Reply #29 on: August 04, 2009, 11:40:42 PM »
 :eusa_clap: :::cheers:::
We go to gain a little patch of ground that hath in it no profit but the name.
The Free Company of Solland

The Barony of Wusterburg

Offline Inarticulate

  • Posts: 1553
Re: Story/Battle Report Project
« Reply #30 on: August 05, 2009, 01:14:47 AM »
Aha, As I predicted ahem yes... The artillery carried the day! Huzzah!

Excellent stuff Padre, I wouldn't mind seeing some of your reports in the workshop, just to add some new material in there.
I for one welcome our new flying cat overlords.

Offline cisse

  • Posts: 3896
  • let the wookie win!
Re: Story/Battle Report Project
« Reply #31 on: August 05, 2009, 08:57:05 AM »
Wow! Some seriously good luck with that cannon indeed. I thought you were in a bad shape when your right flank was hacked apart and many of your infantry brought down, but there you go... A surprising end to the battle in any case!

Great report as always.  What will Grand Admiral Galdabash do now?  If only his fleet were nearby...
Yeah I'm going to keep checking this thread, a most enjoyable read as ever, great work Padre!
cisse

No matter how fast you run, your ass will always be in front of me...

Offline Acadian

  • Posts: 403
Re: Story/Battle Report Project
« Reply #32 on: August 05, 2009, 09:09:36 AM »
nice story, nice battle, nice pîctures,...
erm nice thread,
nicely done...

Offline Inarticulate

  • Posts: 1553
Re: Story/Battle Report Project
« Reply #33 on: August 06, 2009, 02:44:33 PM »
Any messages in bottles come back from the fleet to Tabriz yet, Padre?
I for one welcome our new flying cat overlords.

Online Padre

  • Posts: 3467
Re: Story/Battle Report Project
« Reply #34 on: August 07, 2009, 10:19:04 PM »
The City of Amon
Northern coast of the Gulf of Medes

After his disastrous expedition to Marienburg, the Prince Sadrin al Marwan (nephew of the grand Sultan of Amon) had returned home with little to show for his efforts. He still had a good half of the men he set out with, as well as nearly all the ships, but nothing in the way of profit. There was one thing, though, he had achieved - proof that Amon was willing to assist the city’s merchant houses as an ally and close business partner, earning the city a reputation that would lead to some very favourable trade deals with the Marienburgers for years to come.
     The Prince, now well past a score years in age and widely expected to be thinking about settling down to take up some of his political responsibilities, nevertheless remained restless, gripped by a yearning for one more adventure: something that would make his name and enrich him at one and the same time; something that might earn his uncle’s everlasting favour and thus ensure his inheritance of the rulership of the great city of Amon. He was tired with merely seeing the wide world, and now hoped to see things that other men had not looked upon, to be so blessed with such sights and experiences that he would emerge as a ruler of truly mythical status. Yet these ambitions seemed to be nothing more than fancy … until this particular day.
     It was midday and he was sitting in his presence chamber, consulting with his officers concerning the continued existence of the army, their re-equipping, training, pay and such like, even though he had little interest in such affairs while the army served no purpose. His most senior adviser, the wizard Zadra ibn Borhasa, stood to one side, apparently quite bored of such conversation, but it pleased the Prince to have the man attend even if the business was not to his liking!
     Then came one of his most trusted sheikhs, clad in the white robes of a warrior of the desert, who craved an audience. This was granted. The Prince was intrigued to see that the sheikh had with him a scholar of some repute in Amon, a wise man who had once taught the Prince himself concerning foreign tongues.
     Bowing low, then indicating the man with an exaggerated gesture of his arm, the sheikh explained his presence, “Great prince, I have brought this teacher to speak with you of his scholarly findings. I believe what he has to say might be of interest to you.”



The Prince studied the scholar, noting how age had taken its toll since he last saw the man, and how he wore stained travelling clothes as if he had just returned from a journey through the desert.
     “I remember you, teacher. I have no need of more lessons, so tell me, why are you here?”
     “Good master, great Prince, you were always a good student, and you did indeed learn all that I could teach you. Since those days however I have studied for many years to learn of the lands to the south - the vast green jungles and swamps where lizards walk upon their two hind legs, the high mountains and their forgotten dwarven fastnesses, the long and broad rivers wending their way for many hundreds of leagues before emptying into the ocean.”
      The Prince rolled his eyes to the ceiling, “What care I of swamps and rivers? Of mountain dwarfs? I have no wish to have a lesson in geography from you.”
      “Forgive me mighty prince,” the scholar answered calmly, as if he had no idea it could prove dangerous to displease the Prince. “These things were not the true goal of my studies. That, my prince, was the whereabouts of several ancient jungle cities, told of in myth and legend but unknown to any man alive.”
     Now this very much intrigued the Prince, who put down the golden goblet that up ‘til now had been clutched in his left hand whilst re-filled regularly by a servant. Ancient legendary cities, he thought, would suit his plans perfectly.
    The scholar continued. “They have of course been given many names over the centuries, very often - as far as I can ascertain - being renamed by whomsoever found them for want of any knowledge of their true names. Some of the stories one can dismiss as lies, mistranslations of similar or even the exact same texts, or derivative works of fiction. But some, my prince, are worthy reports, and through hard work, good fortune and what skill and attention to details I could bring to the task, I have correlated and combined facts to ascertain verifiable truths which I am certain are …”
     “Stop!” said the Prince, bringing a sudden end to the monologue. “Cut to the quick - have you found one of the cities of gold?”
      The scholar nodded, “I have, my prince. Gold in such great quantities that it forms the roofs of temples, being fashioned into spires, canopies, balustraded balconies, and even - if I may be so bold as to suggest - the very paving of the streets. Furthermore, and may this please your excellence, the one such city I have identified is perhaps the largest of a chain of such cities belonging to an ancient and long since extinct civilisation of jungle creatures.”
     “Jungle creatures?” asked the wizard Zadra.
     “Yes, master - snake-like creatures with thorny excrescences running the length of their limbless bodies, as well as brightly feathered birds of gigantic stature and, I have every reason to believe, purple hued beetles of quite enormous proportions, indeed of a size that would rival the largest of goats, that spurt a glutinous poison from their eyes but which are terrified of iron, rather in the way that they say forest spirits in the north are so frightened of the same black metal.”
      The Prince looked at Zadra, then when he saw a smile playing on the wizard’s lips, he laughed. “Ha! Jungle monsters. I am sure bullet and bolt can lay low any such beetle, and bring down any bird whatever it’s shade, and my war elephants could crush a snake without knowing what they had done.”
     “I am sure they could, great prince,” stammered the scholar.
     The Wizard Zadra was the first in the chamber to recognise the implication of the Prince’s words. “Do you intend to find the city, great prince?”
      “Perhaps, if it is possible to take an army there. I am no fool and I know such a place could never be reached and then successfully returned from without great force to drive off not only any jealous guardians but all those enemies that would bar the way.” He then looked at the wizard and asked, “What think you, Zadra?”
     Zadra stroked his chin in thought, then (as if this action was not enough to gain full insight) pushed his tall, yellow and black striped hat back a little from his forehead to rub at his temples. Suddenly his fidgeting stopped, and he addressed the scholar.
      “Tell me, can you provide the maps and charts that might take us there? Do you know exactly which river to ascend - what latitude. And then how far to travel. And can you tell us how we might avoid the plague of pirates that are meant to swarm upon those shores?”
     “Ah, I cannot, for the map I have fashioned from the accounts of ancient travellers and more recent slavers, shows not the western coast and river mouths, but the mountainous spine of the continent.”
     “You would have my army travel so far over land?” asked the Prince, bemused. “I know my desert warriors and their mounts are renowned for their stamina, but I could not expect them to cut their way through swamp and forest for months on end. I am a commander of some experience, having knowledge garnered from campaigns in the real world and not mere forays into dusty tomes and crumbling scrolls. There is more disease prevalent in such jungles and swamp than in the slums in plague time, and much of the no doubt bountiful fruit and berries are surely poisonous. I will not embark upon a fools errand.”
     “My prince, if you would forgive me my boldness, I have discovered that there is a way - a route down the western side of the mountains. I admit, it is most surely now broken in places and in others overgrown, perhaps little more than a path for many leagues, but it is above the jungle, upon the foothills and slopes of the mountains and no more difficult I am sure than the paths through the desert hills to the east and north of us.”
     Now it was the wizard Zadra’s turn to laugh. He was one of the few that could dare to do so in the presence of the Prince; one of those who had grown up with the Prince and shared a familiarity with him that had even included drinking in his company in the taverns and alehouses of a variety of ports in the Old World.
     “And why would there be such a convenient road laid out for us, one which would take us in such an easy manner to a fabled city that no-one else has found? This is more preposterous than your tales of poison eyed, purple beetles!”
      “I beg your pardon, great Prince,” said the scholar, sounding suitably contrite, “but the road in question is not easily found, for it’s northern stretch was deliberately destroyed. It was once, in long past times, a dwarfen road, leading to their hold of Karak Zorn. I do not claim that the road will be easy - there may well be parts which delve underground and are surely now collapsed; but these could be circumvented, meaning your army would only have to traverse the jungle in short stretches. The road in many places is little more than a marked route, once thought sufficient to serve as a road. Once you are west of the city, and have found the streams leading to a particular river, then the course of the great river so formed will take you to the golden realm. That part of the journey will surely not be easy, but may be made somewhat more feasible if rafts and such like are fashioned to carry your army. They will surely be needed to bring your army and the gold back.”
      The Prince seemed completely lost in thought, but suddenly snapped out of his reverie and spoke to his advisor, “Zadra, you will go with this man and look at his maps and all the evidence he has to make such bold claims. Good sheikh, you shall go too and take your soldiers with you, for I would not have this man harmed by my enemies nor would have him reveal what he has said here to anyone else.”
     The two men bowed, and then escorted the scholar from the chamber. Prince Sadrin al Marwan picked up his goblet again, drank a deep draught of wine, then let his head fall slowly backwards as he considered all that he might do to better his chances of success. If this city could be found, it would surely sate his need for adventure, and without a scintilla of doubt it would enrich him beyond all the rulers in the known world.
« Last Edit: April 12, 2011, 08:04:56 PM by Padre »
Photobucket has now re-destroyed my pictures, so the first half of my collected works thread is no longer working again. To see my website version of the campaign thread, with fully functioning pictures, please go to https://bigsmallworlds.com/

Offline Inarticulate

  • Posts: 1553
Re: Story/Battle Report Project
« Reply #35 on: August 07, 2009, 10:26:41 PM »
Ooh, a new player! excellent.

Padre, do you have like a miniature version of Hollywood in your house? You seem to have all the right props!
I for one welcome our new flying cat overlords.

Offline Von Kurst

  • Posts: 1415
Re: Story/Battle Report Project
« Reply #36 on: August 08, 2009, 02:34:50 AM »
Vampires! Pygmies and Elephants! Oh my!

Padre thanks for a new twist!
“Why is the rum always gone?” -Captain Jack Sparrow
"It is, it is a glorious thing To be a Pirate King."
 -Gilbert, Sir W(illiam) S(chwenck)

Offline Kriegspiel

  • Posts: 149
Re: Story/Battle Report Project
« Reply #37 on: August 08, 2009, 08:34:40 PM »
Ive been away from the boards for a while , I come back and what do I find ?

Padre has started what looks like another cracking thread ! 

:eusa_clap: :eusa_clap:

Looking forward to see how this develops.

Offline Fandir Nightshade

  • Posts: 10067
Re: Story/Battle Report Project
« Reply #38 on: August 10, 2009, 07:21:38 AM »
Padre this is made out of pure win, just sell your rights to the White Dwarf and that magazin might be worth its money again!

Such a story over 5-6 white dwarves spread would be made of pure awesome.

Online Padre

  • Posts: 3467
Re: Story/Battle Report Project
« Reply #39 on: August 10, 2009, 06:37:49 PM »
The Bent Cutlass Inn
[Port of Tabriz Pirates’ Commonwealth

For several weeks Grijalva had been in a good mood, so much so that his customers now had longer tabs than ever before and none had been threatened into settling their accounts. He spent most days singing and occasionally (to everyone’s surprise) breaking into impromptu jigs, and most nights dreaming of the wealth that would soon be his when the fleet returned. Although he had not sailed with the fleet, he was still due his share, in fact a double share - for with Captain Bartholomeus’ encouragement the Council had unanimously agreed that he should be well rewarded. After all, it was he who had found the golden token around Webbe’s neck, it was he who had recognised it for what it was, and most worthy of all, he had chosen not to keep its existence a secret but had told the council of it immediately.
      Even more, Grijalva looked forward to the rewards his true master would surely gift him for having been instrumental in the birth of this enterprise. There was in his mind little doubt that there would be magical artefacts by the chest-full in such an ancient and golden city. Once his master Scholten and the god he served were truly ascendant, then he and the others of the Trusted Six would surely rule Tabriz, and go on to rule much, much more. The world would be his oyster, and he would be so wealthy that even the riches of a fabled city would seem paltry to him. In the meantime, however, he liked the sound of a double share.
     Now he sat in his chair in his withdrawing room at the back of the inn, and looked once more at his copy of Webbe’s scribbled map, idly pricking at the supposed location of the city with a pin as if by doing so he might somehow urge the fleet on to that same location. His musings, however, were brought to an abrupt end when his servant Goncalo Po came bursting into the room.
    “You’d better get yourself out here, master, and quick,” Goncalo said.
     Grijalva simply frowned at the man. He had heard no racket, no tumult, no shouting, no gunshots, not even the clash of steel. So how could there be trouble?
     Goncalo Po recognised Grijalva’s frown for what it was. “It’s Bertrand Le Bourreur - he’s back. He’s heard about the golden city and he demands you speak with him.”
      The innkeeper now understood. Captain Bertrand was a member of the Pirate Council and had been admiral of several Tabrizian fleets in the past. He was successful, powerful, lucky - not a man to be kept waiting. And if he had heard of the city of gold, he would be (as any pirate) somewhat miffed that he should miss out on such a rich haul.
     Grijalva cursed, for such as Captain Bertrand had low cunning enough to turn mere knowledge of the expedition somehow to his own profit and damn all the rest. Worse, he was not one of the six, and with his reputation in the past of fighting as a privateer for the more civilised realms of the north such as Marienburg, it was highly unlikely that he could ever be tempted to join them. Considering these things, Bertrand was a danger, so Grijalva hid the map in his shirt and headed towards the door, a plan already forming in his mind.
     He stepped into the tap-room to discover that unsurprisingly Bertrand was not alone. He had with him his old bo’s’un Nicolas Bruggeman, carrying the multiple barrelled musket known throughout Tabriz to be deadly ( though many an argument had raged over whether it was more deadly to its target or its wielder). Behind him stood one of his younkers who must have been a new recruit - yet even he, clad in but a shirt and breeches, without even stockings or shoes, had an air of threat about him - helped by the fact he was clutching a pistol. The famous Captain Bertrand was dressed as always in a scarlet shirt, his short buff-leather waistcoat and a wide brimmed hat in the fashion of a Bretonnian sea-farer, matched by his neatly trimmed Bretonnian style moustache and beard. His cutlass was unsheathed, the blade well sharpened and oiled so that it glinted in the light coming from the high windows. To unsheath it was a breach of all normal alehouse etiquette, but Captain Bertrand was not the kind of man to care about rules when he wanted to make a point, and the naked blade was very persuasive.



Considering those he could call on to back him up, Grijalva was not exactly reassured by the odds. Goncalo Po was still in his office, no doubt preparing the blunderbuss so that he would be ready to lend aid should Grijalva call. Apart from this one ‘heavy’, the only other person Grijalva could possibly expect help from was Corine Lagerwerf. She stood over by the large casks of beer, dressed in her yellow bodice, as sultry and confident as ever, hands on hips whilst grinning suggestively at Captain Bertrand. Grijalva knew full well just how dangerous she could be: how often she had ‘disarmed’ enemies of the Six and so allowed them to be dispatched with ease; and how she had used her reputation as a cunning woman to steal away so many supposedly still-born babes from their ignorant mothers in the service of Scholten’s god. But hers was a particular kind of ‘dangerous’, one that did not exactly lend itself to being able to deal with three well-armed and purposeful men. In their current mood they were very unlikely to succumb to her charms.
      “Good Captain Bertrand!” began Grijalva. “It’s been so long since you graced my humble inn, nay the entire town, with your presence. I hope fortune has smiled on thee many times since we met last.”
      “Not as much as fortune seems to have smiled upon those who were here when Webbe’s gold was found,” said Bertrand.
      “Ah, such news carries fast. Aye indeed, but my friend all Tabrizians shall share in the profits - even those here will have their chance at dice and cards to make a tidy sum when the fleet returns.”
      Bertrand was smiling, but there was little friendliness in the expression. “I do not intend to wait for them to return. I shall follow them, and have my share at the source.”
     “Of course, good captain,” said Grijalva, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “I should’ve known that a noble Tabrizian such as thee would see it as thy duty to go to the assistance of thy friends.”
      The Bretonnian captain’s smile widened. “I knew you would understand. Of course, there is the matter of learning where exactly they have gone. And as you yourself were the first to learn of the secret, then I can safely presume that you have the most perfect knowledge.”
     “I ain’t so sure, good captain, that I understand.”
    “You are the wellspring through which the secret sprang,” explained Bertrand, somewhat poetically.
     Grijlava shook his head. “Nay, you have it wrong. Webbe was closest to the secret, I only discovered he was hiding it.”
      “Do not be so modest, master innkeeper. You were there from the start. You heard every word that Webbe spoke. I know you were present at the council when his secret was revealed, and at the meetings afterwards. And he was lodged here with you until they took him aboard ship and set sail. You must know where the city is.” He paused a moment and began to study his blade as if searching for imperfections, then continued. “Aye, you must know. I’d bet your life upon it.”
     Grijalva realised the threat was coming before it had even been delivered and had already prepared his reply. “I shall not shirk from helping a bold captain such as thee. I will do my best and shall ask only a modest recompense of thee for my service.”
     This last touch was a gamble by Grizalva, an attempt to make his words sound sincere by giving the impression he expected payment for the information. Apparently, however, Bertrand had not really heard that part, for it was something else which irked him.
     “Your best? Have you not a map you can give me?”
     Grijalva tried to look as if the thought had not occurred to him. “A map? No, not I. I saw the chart drawn up by Webbe, and heard him tell of the sights to be seen on the way - capes and river mouths and rocks and such like. But I myself have no map.”
      “Where is it, then?”
      “With the fleet o’ course, as is Webbe.” He put his finger to his mouth as if pondering something. “I s'pose I could draw what I remember for thee.”
     “Good enough,” said Bertrand. “Be about the business immediately, I have little patience.”
     “O’ course, you’d not want to be considered tardy by the fleet. Come, friend, I have paper and ink in my room. I shall fashion thee up a map you can be proud of.”
      Grijalva led the way, making sure he called loudly for Goncalo Po even before reaching the threshold saying, “Goncalo, the good captain and I are to come in. Be so kind as to find us out some paper.” This was his way of forewarning his servant to put away the blunderbuss.
     Bruggeman halted outside the door, like a guard keen to ensure those within were not disturbed, but Bertrand and the boy followed Grijalva inside. The innkeeper was soon busy scratching out a fictional piece of coastline upon a sheet of paper, waxing lyrical about the features that might be seen there and how to spot the right river mouth.
      Suddenly Captain Bertrand spoke, addressing the young seaman by his side. “It occurs to me lad that having never been to Tabriz you would not know Goncalo here. Let me introduce him to you, Goncalo is one of our host’s guards - without the likes of him poor Grijalva would be at a considerable disadvantage in this town. His customers, being fellows of a rough disposition, would no doubt take liberties. I intend to take just such a liberty, so please, lad, if you would be so kind.”
     Grijalva had ceased both drawing and babbling, his mild confusion turning suddenly into fear. Goncalo on the other hand never got to feel fear. He had not got past confusion when the younker’s pistol ball smashed through his forehead and out the other side, taking much of his brains with it to create a grisly decoration upon the wall surrounding the spot the ball had finally buried itself.
     Very calmly, Bertrand went on, only just loud enough to be heard over the ringing in Grijalva’s ears.
     “That’s a pretty map indeed, though I think it not just fancy but fanciful. I know the western coast of the Southlands, and there is no such stretch as you have committed there to paper. Now, you see from poor Goncalo just how strongly we feel about obtaining the real map. I know you have a copy, for who but a fool would watch a fleet set sail to its potential doom and allow the map to be lost with them. I suggest you show me the map now, otherwise I might have to see if mine own pistol is as reliable as Adriaan’s, then have a look around this room myself.”
      All thoughts of trying to trick Bertrand had fled Grijalva’s mind. All that was left was a rather large thought concerning how to stay alive. The first part of the answer was obvious - he would have to part with the map. He put his hand down the front of his shirt and pulled it out.
      “Wouldst thou believe it?” he said, his pretence at humour failing due to the tremor in his voice. “Here it is. How foolish I must appear ... to ... to have thought to outwit thee. B-believe me when I say I have learned my lesson well here today, and will from this day hence speak always honest with thee captain. Of course, I expect no share of thine own profit from the city of gold, for I am ashamed to admit I have no right at all to ask it of thee.”
      Captain Bertrand thought this suitably contrite, and could think of no reason to kill the innkeeper now. Grijalva had been caught out in a lie to a captain of the council, and his man had suffered for it. Apart from that he had done no wrong. Bertand took the map, bowed a little and left. His lad lingered a moment, looking at the bloody stain on the wall, then he too left. Finally, Bruggeman’s face appeared in the doorway, peeking in. He looked at Goncalo and the wall above him and said,
    “All that mess and with just one little bullet. Makes you wonder what would have happened if I had entered with the captain.”
     With that he hefted his terrifying piece of personal artillery onto his shoulder, and marched away to join the others.
     Grijalva sat at his desk, trembling. He did not really notice when Corine entered, nor how she crouched beside Goncalo to stare at what had once been his face.
    Slowly but surely a thought pushed its way to dominate his consciousness - revenge. One day, when Scholten and the Six and the god they served had finally wrested control of Tabriz, he would start his own rule of terror by seeking out Bertrand and making him as afraid as he had been just now. Then it would be Bertrand Le Bourreur's turn to struggle for excuses to save his life.
« Last Edit: April 22, 2011, 04:45:04 PM by Padre »
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Offline Von Kurst

  • Posts: 1415
Re: Story/Battle Report Project
« Reply #40 on: August 11, 2009, 02:10:44 AM »
More players in the game!  Where does Bertrand fit in?  Were he and the Prince comrades in Marienburg?
“Why is the rum always gone?” -Captain Jack Sparrow
"It is, it is a glorious thing To be a Pirate King."
 -Gilbert, Sir W(illiam) S(chwenck)

Offline cisse

  • Posts: 3896
  • let the wookie win!
Re: Story/Battle Report Project
« Reply #41 on: August 11, 2009, 08:26:27 AM »
Splendid! Can't wait to see the story unfolding (and some bat rep's of course...).
cisse

No matter how fast you run, your ass will always be in front of me...

Online Padre

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Re: Story/Battle Report Project
« Reply #42 on: August 11, 2009, 01:27:44 PM »
The Captain’s Cabin
Aboard Captain Bertrand Le Bourreur’s Ship ‘Sea Drake’
In the Bay of Tabriz

Here is the captain’s table just after he cleared a space to lay down the map and peruse it.



I know what you are thinking. You want a better look at that map. I can hardly blame you for that - but should I show it to you?

The map was drawn by a pilot in Tabriz with some skill in cartography. He took Webbe Nijman’s description of his river journey and the coast near the river mouth, as well as his account of where exactly the river mouth lay in relation to Hurry By Island, and then combined it with an existing chart of the region to fashion this particular map.

Can you keep a secret?

Oh, go on then - you’ve twisted my arm. Here it is …


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Offline Inarticulate

  • Posts: 1553
Re: Story/Battle Report Project
« Reply #43 on: August 11, 2009, 02:10:33 PM »
Wow, that is pretty impressive.

I spy bone dice!

Oh and from the map, i'm guessing this story takes place in the Southlands. Excellent choice!
I for one welcome our new flying cat overlords.

Online Padre

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Re: Story/Battle Report Project
« Reply #44 on: August 11, 2009, 02:21:54 PM »
@ Inarticulate: It does indeed take place in the Southlands.

And yes, they are my bone dice - three of them. Just enough to play the old buccaneers' game of 'passe dix' (not sure of spelling).
« Last Edit: August 12, 2009, 05:57:38 AM by Padre »
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Offline Inarticulate

  • Posts: 1553
Re: Story/Battle Report Project
« Reply #45 on: August 11, 2009, 04:00:43 PM »
@ Inarticulate: It does indeed take place in the Southlands - the first post mentioned in the title that Bubaqua Isle was off the western coast of the southern Southlands. And of course if the arabs are going to get there down the mountains on a ruined road to Karak Zorn, then definitely the Southlands.

Don't rub it in that I need visual aids! :D
I for one welcome our new flying cat overlords.

Offline cisse

  • Posts: 3896
  • let the wookie win!
Re: Story/Battle Report Project
« Reply #46 on: August 12, 2009, 06:30:39 AM »
Wow Padre, you continue to impress. Those pictures with the map on the desl are stunning! Lots of pirate-y goodies there, too.  :wink:
cisse

No matter how fast you run, your ass will always be in front of me...

Online Padre

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Re: Story/Battle Report Project
« Reply #47 on: August 12, 2009, 03:49:44 PM »
The Grand Palace
Inner Quarter, The City of Amon

“What say you, then?” asked the Prince Sadrin al Marwan as soon as the wizard Zadra returned to his presence. “Are the man’s claims true?”
     Zadra nodded. “He appears to be not only truthful but correct in his findings.”
     “How is it that no-one else has discovered what he has found?”
     The wizard smiled, “Oh, they have, your highness. There is every indication that the great Sultan of Lashiek once learned of its existence, not more than a score of years ago, and that he went so far as to send a fleet secretly to find it by the sea route and upriver. No ships returned, and not one man. The whole affair was considered an embarrassment, and it was claimed the fleet, nothing more than a slaving expedition destined for the coast south of the Gulf of Medes, was lost in a terrible storm. The Sultan seems also to have had the records of the city destroyed, or hidden, for he jealously wanted no one else to learn of it and perhaps profit by what he could not obtain.”
      “But not all records concerning it were destroyed, eh?” suggested the prince.
      “You are wise as ever, your highness. Our scholar found works that mentioned the city that even the Sultan did not know of. He also studied all that he could find concerning the Dwarven realm of Karak Zorn, and indeed has evidence that in years gone by it conducted trade with the southern desert tribes. Once and only once, a sheikh was permitted to take a great train of camels and mules south along the dwarfen road, and lucky for us he wrote of his journey. From his words, and those of slavers who have made efforts to learn of the tribes and geography of the eastern jungles closest to the mountains, our scholar has ascertained his route, and from the written words of one very ancient traveller, he has cleverly discovered the location of the golden city in relation to this route.”
     “You believe him them?” asked the prince. “You would stake you life on it?”
     Zadra grinned, for between the prince and he this was no threat but an old joke. Then he looked more serious. “I believe him, my prince. I cannot say that the route is passable, nor that the dangers upon the way are surmountable. But I believe that the city is there where he claims.”
     Prince Sadrin laughed.
     “Let me concern over how we might get there. If it exists upon this world, then it can be reached. Consider this, how could a city be made that could not be reached by those who made it? We can cut through jungle vines, or burn down forests. We can make rafts for swamps and boats for rivers. And we can fight as only the warriors of Amon can fight against all that would stand in our way.”
       For the next hour the wizard Zadra had little to do, for the prince busied himself with ordering his commanders and clerks to prepare the army and supplies that would be needed.

PS: Uryens, it you’re reading this, don’t read the next bit until after our battle!

Prince Sadrin’s Army of Amon  (An Empire roster)

Characters
General: Prince Sadrin al Marwan
Camel (as warhorse), Sword of Justice, Dawn Armor, Holy Relic
Captain: Agha Qilij ad-Din an-Nasawa (Standard Bearer)     
Heavy Armour; Battle Standard = Griffon Standard
Battle Wizard: Zadra ibn Borhasa
Level 2; Rod of Power; Sigil of Sigmar
Battle Wizard: Mukri al-Hajib
Level 2; Talisman of Protection, The Silver Horn

State Troops
25 Spears of the Desert (Full Command) with 10 [Det] Crossbowmen
25 Spears of the Middle Palace (Full Command) with 10 [Det] Crossbowmen
25 Royal Guard Swordsmen (Full Command)
10 Handgunners with Musician & Marksman

Militia Troops
20 Northern Tribe Archers with Marksman

Tribal Warriors (as DoW ‘Vespero's Vendetta’ Special Choice):
10 Tribal Warriors

Cavalry both as rare choices
10 Camel Cavalry (as DoW Heavy Cavalry):  (Full Command), War Banner
10 Desert Riders (as DoW Light Cavalry): (Full Command)

War Engines:
2 Great Cannons & 1 Mortar 

Subtotal = 2462 points

Plus (this is not army list legal like all of the above, but rather is ‘flufftastic’)
War Elephant (as Stegadon without giant bow)

Total = 2697 points
« Last Edit: August 13, 2009, 07:06:15 AM by Padre »
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Online Padre

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Re: Story/Battle Report Project
« Reply #48 on: August 12, 2009, 07:39:13 PM »
Where does Bertrand fit in?  Were he and the Prince comrades in Marienburg?

You'll find the answer here: http://www.marienburgcampaign.com/forum/index.php?topic=414.0
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Offline Inarticulate

  • Posts: 1553
Re: Story/Battle Report Project
« Reply #49 on: August 12, 2009, 09:36:29 PM »
Wow, you have one amazing Arabyan army. I'm just wondering what else you have tucked away!

So do these events take place before the CiM or afterwards?

Uryens, don't read this next bit.

Oh and those Vespero's, do they include Vespero himself, or just his Duellists?
I for one welcome our new flying cat overlords.