Newsletter June 2001

Next meeting:

Saturday June 9^th 2001, at St. Johns Church Hall, Norrie St., Drury, starting at 9a.m.

Games arranged:  

Morning session: 9.30 am to 1.00pm

Afternoon session: 1.30pm to 5.00pm

If you can't make any of these games let me know - Kevin 2670319

Copy for the Newsletter

Copy for the news letter needs to be to me by week before we meet .- Kevin

The Pete-House Forum!

After a month or two of absence, you lot get to suffer my ramblings once more… you have my deepest sympathies. Okay, how to start this, uhhhhhhm… Straight into rumours? Why not!

Okay, lets play around with 40K rumours then:

Good news for Chaos types. They may be getting new models for Thousand Sons, plastic, which pretty much guarantees multi-pose models. If they’re as good as the bezerkers were, then this should be pleasing to the Chaos players. The big shake up, however, is with the imminent release of Codex: Tau or whatever it’ll be called. A little while off, but not that far really. Combining a brilliant model range with what sounds like a pretty powerful army, this could quite possibly end up being an army almost as common as those untold millions of F*&#^^! Marine armies!!! Sorry, Beekee overload… (someone who isn’t a space marine give me a game, please!) Back to the topic. Tau standard weapon is a rapid-fire, 32"range, S5 AP5 pulse-rifle. Ouch! Their tank has a rail gun, with S9, AP3, Heavy3, it sounds to be most unpleasant The three troop types of the Tau that I’ve heard of are Path finders (scouting type guys), basic warriors (no name yet), and Fire Caste Warriors (wearing big battlesuits with options and firepower and supposedly jump packs!). The Path finders get a 5+ save, the basics get a 4+, and the Fire Caste get 3+. But I could be misinformed Funny thing for their hired grunts, the Kroot: if they win a combat and break their opponent, they must pass a leadership test to pursue or consolidate, otherwise they just sit around eating the fallen enemies (and probably fallen friends too, horrid beasties that they are)And the Kroot may get something a bit like a giant gorilla thing with an up-market version of the Kroot Longrifle mounted on its back, with another Kroot riding it. We’ll see

 Now onto Fantasy

The Vampire Counts are FINALLY released here in New Zealand! I wish that G.W. could release their things globally, instead of having separate release dates for different countries! Next on the agenda is the Dark Elves, who I have already written a fairly large amount about so we all know pretty much what they’ll be like. After that comes the wonderful High Elf chaps Fun news is that the elven characters (both High and Dark, and also Wood I presume) all get toughness of 3 The Repeater Bolt Thrower for High Elves is getting a new model, hopefully they don’t bugger it up Also, I believe the Silver Helms may be released as a plastic boxed set. And another plastic set will give the option to arm the High Elves in it with either spears, bows, or both to make Sea Guard. Here’s hoping for some HE armies to be formed soon Also to appear in the none-too distant future, is a world-wide campaign much akin to the Armageddon3 campaign. This one will occur in Albion, and the objective is something about ‘new magic’ Keep your eyes open for this, it may turn into something rather interesting. 

 And now a few words:

First off, the actions of individuals at Games Club. In light of the cost of the models, and all-round general expense of this hobby, I ask that everyone acts in some semblance of a civil manner, which includes NOT THROWING THINGS, and NOT RUNNING, and generally not doing anything that unnecessarily dangers other peoples property. 

Next, I want to run a Mordheim campaign at the club, and away from it, wherever two players will play. I encourage you all to have a go at the game to see how it works, and see if you enjoy it I can provide you with all necessary information, and all necessary models for the campaign, so you need not pay a single cent for the games at all. And as the games don’t take long to play, you can have one while you wait for your next opponent to finish his game. I’m hoping to have a few more players

And lastly, BATTLE REPORTS!

A lot of good games happening, and no-one to sing the glories. You don’t need to write pages of story at all, just write down what happened, highlights, who won, that sorta thing. Short ‘n’ sweet is probably best, even though I am yet to realise that And, by custom, the club enforces the ‘History Is Written By The Victor’ method, meaning if neither player wishes to write the battle report, the responsibility falls upon the Winner of the game. Not too hard, write your reports, gloat a little, and everyone goes home happy…ish

Thank you for your patience

-Peter

Battle Reports

Nick Williams (Midnight Marines) beat Paul Kravenko (Dark Angel)

This Battle started with me destroying Pauls land raider with a lascannon, and killing his terminator captain with my vindicare assassin. Then he fired his demolisher cannon and killed 2 of my terminators. A third was killed by a shot from a plasma gun.The dreadnought killed my landspeeder. Itook out a ten man tatical squad with a 5 man assault squad and killed his termies with my command squad (no casualties). His dreadnought and vindicator where killed by crack missiles, and the last of my terminators was killed by bolter fire, and my assault squad and librarian where killed by his second tactical squad, who where then killed by my chaplain and tactical squad.I lost most of my scouts to his scouts, but the command squad came in and killed them all.

Peter Colson (Middenheimers) beat Damien Neems (Undead)

"Captain Odin sir, there’s… something, up ahead"

"Can you make them out, Hamish?" Odin Alfather, captain of the Wolfbrothers mercenaries, shouted to the man on the ruinous second story of the building the rest of his men were standing around "The way they move… from the looks of it I’d say they’re the living dead, sir" Hamish called down to Odin, while scratching at his bristling beard. He had good eyes, had Hamish, and could see far and in low light quite well. "Bloody oath!" Captain Odin muttered under his breath. "Get up there, Kurt, we’ll want one or two of them down, or at least slowed, before we have to hack at them. Your crossbow is needed, man" Struggling to find a hold in the wall to climb it, Kurt grumbled to himself and assured Odin that he was trying. He had never been the best of climbers, but his hands were steadier than most, and many a man had be dropped a hundred paces off before he’d have a chance to hit anyone with a sword. That’s why Kurt loved his crossbow so dearly. The others claimed he had already bedded the crossbow at times…

"Will, Jack, you two take the bridge and bait those cold blighters… Brena, you tag along with these two, they’ll show you how to dance with steel" Brena Odinsdottir, Odin’s daughter. Had about as much fighting prowess about her as a dead fish, but when she landed a blow, it was usually strong enough to knock a man clean off his feet. The other two, ‘Black’ Jack and Willhelm, highly proficient swordsmen in their own right… rowdier than a tavern full of drunks at the best of times, it was a pity Jack could only afford to own a dagger as yet. "Right you lot, Kurt and Hamish stay up there and take pot-shots at anyone you can hit without getting one of ours in the back to do it, the rest of you can come with me." Odin smacked his gauntleted hands together, getting down to business, picked up his axe and sword, then set off at a trot towards the river bend, with the rest of his group following close behind. Brena ran along behind the building the marksmen were holding, behind Jack and Thom, and headed towards the bridge. After several attempts, Kurt managed to haul his way up to the top level of the building, amid much grumbling, and decided to get a rope and hook when he can afford it, it had to be better than skinning his fingers on another bloody wall! As he ran towards the river, Odin Alfather leapt across it, landing firmly on an island in the river bend, showing great agility for one of his age. Three of his men jumped onto the small river-island with him. To the sound of a tremendous splash, he spun his head around to see nothing more than ripples in the water, and then a head springing up, gasping for air, and cursing a blue streak that made even the seasoned mercenary cringe! "Damnit Althalus, this is no time for a bath, as badly as you need it" Odin jeered. Althalus muttered and cursed something blessedly inaudible. "Ghouls" Will stated, watching the shadows emerge from the coaching inn. Behind him, Brena whimpered. "Well, nothing for it but to meet them, aye lass" Jack assured her, while holding her shoulder firmly, as much to keep her from running as to comfort her. Kurt advanced into the open, readying himself to receive the charge, while Will and Brena crept closer in the darkness. Grunting and growling unintelligibly, the ghouls raced towards black Jack, as he stood with his sword readied in his hand, deflecting the blows skilfully but desperately, finally succumbing to weight of numbers. Brena foolishly charged in to avenge, as Will crept around the melee in case more arrived…

"Blood of Ulric! They’re already engaged!" Odin shouted in shock. "Quick, across the bridge!" Odin raced towards the bridge, looking back to see that his men were following, and then raised his head in time to see his daughter being savaged by four ghouls, her dress being torn to shreds along with her tender young skin. He screamed, heavy with rage and loss. Will cursed as Brena was torn to shreds by the hungry ghouls, strips of flesh devoured by the debased fiends, cursed as he could do nothing to help her. He couldn’t even pay her much mind as he struggled desperately to stay the blows of the vampire that had leapt out of the shadows in an effort to drain his life-blood in a cursed kiss. It wasn’t long before he fell to the blows of von Carstein’s minion. "KILL!!!" Shouted Erik as he began to froth at the mouth, and charged headlong towards the zombies and the vampire that had just taken down Thom. "All the bloody Norsemen in that inn, and I had to hire the bloody bezerker" Odin muttered to himself as he strode across the bridge, Althalus squelching along behind him, trying to stamp the water out of his boot. With a scream of sheer unrelenting rage, Erik charged the first zombie he could find, swinging his halberd around in a wide arc, severing the rotting head from the rest of the foul body. Eyes glazed with a bloodlust only more battle could sate, Erik met with the lithe and deadly figure of the vampire Xim von Carstein. The sword of the vampire traced silver patterns in the air, each blow being deflected by the dark iron haft of Erik’s halberd…‘Old’ Thom, Thom Merrilen, crossed the bridge with a determined look in his eyes… Those that knew him knew that was a dangerous look. The old man had been quite close to Brena. He could remember when she was still in her swaddling, and when he used to bounce her on his knee. Uncle Thom, ‘Old Thom’. The old man was going to take blood in debt to her loss. Jaw set, he raced off into the darkness, black coat flowing as he ran…

Testing his footing, Ketill reckoned the width of the river. He was to take the tomb-rot by surprise while they were busy with Odin and the others, a good plan, but it meant he had to contend with another bloody river jump. Looking up, he watched in horror as old Thom ran straight into the biggest group of zombies and ghouls. "The old fool’s going to get himself killed!" Ketill exclaimed. Vaulting with the haft of his halberd, he leapt across the river, topknot of hair waving atop his shaven head, and streaked to the aid of his old companion. He’d lost too much money to the old fool to simply let him die without a chance of winning it back now. Between them, the two halberdiers managed to cut down most of the ghouls and zombies in front of them, ghastly bodies falling to their heavy blades. Sighting a lone zombie, Althalus gathered up the courage to stand idly by and watch it stumble around a bit… The only thing worse than being wet, he reasoned, was being wet and dead. As Erik and the vampire continued the deadly dance of blades, Odin strode into combat, more than matching the blows the vampire could afford to direct at him. Pressed in on both sides by large and angry men, the aristocrat of the night melted into the shadows and called his minions back to the lair. Odin watched them shamble off. In Mordheim, those who pursue their enemies often return to find the land they’d fought over, in the hands of another. He had a burial to arrange.

Damien Neems (Undead) beat Paul (Clan Eshin)

Secreted deep in shadows, the short, black figure raised its head. Squeek, assassin adept of clan Eshin sniffed at the air. "Yes-yes, dead walking, they come, they come" He skittered off into the darkness, keeping close to the buildings to melt into their shadows. "OOOooooaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhng…" the mindless moaning filled the air as the zombies slowly shuffled about in the moonlight, aimlessly it seemed. Muttering dark curses, Igor Rottman stalked up behind them, driving them forward with his will alone "Insufferable. Utterly insufferable." He grumbled, straining to guide the walking dead. Streaking through the darkness and shadows, the assassin adept ran. Darting this way and that with his pack, Shredder and the Gimp, his black skaven seconds, and his verminkin warriors, and finally Verschtuffit, the hot-blooded night runner. Leaping the small river easily, the assembled skaven huddled around the old watch-tower, looking up the street to see the stumbling zombies…

The vampire ran with supernatural speed, the ghouls trying desperately, and failing, to keep up with him. Even Old Yeller, the dire wolf, couldn’t keep that pace. The smell of sulfur wafted through the air, as a single point on the paved street began to glow, gradually growing in intensity, and a single lick of flame rose from the cobblestones. Suddenly the flame roared, and shot off in eight different directions, the points of a damned star. Flames spreading to form a fractured octagon, the ground at the centre opened with a tremendous CRACK! And accompanied by the tortured screams and moans of penitent souls, a Bloodletter of Khorne rose from the flames, and bellowed in rage! "Glory to Lord Khorne, may blood polish my blade" the daemon hissed as it leapt towards a group of ghouls…

As the skaven slingers, and a night-runner with his prized throwing stars, watched over the battlefield, they noticed a blur of motion, lost to sight as it dived behind a building. Raising slings, they attempted to down zombies, and failing that, set their stones to loose at the approaching ghouls and dire wolf… also to no effect. Squeek surveyed the street ahead of him, sniffing out the scents of the zombies and the humans with them, easily spying on them with his night vision. Skaven can see excellently in the dark, not in the day, and it’s just as well that often as not, the streets of Mordheim are in perpetual darkness. "They are close, yes, close, charge, now-now ratlings, charge now!" Squeek commanded The black skaven Shredder and Gimp complied unquestioningly, screaming into combat and smashing withered limbs with flail and fighting claws. However, Verschtuffit, the sword-bearing night runner, and the verminkin in their armour and spears, thought better of it, and stayed back, assuring that it was only to guard their leader. The Bloodletter halted in midstride, raising it’s head, seemingly to sniff at the air… or to listen.

"Battle" it rasped, a sadistic grin spreading across it’s horrid, spiked face, and it turned to lope off towards the faint din of combat. Much to the relief of the ghoul pack. Xim von Carstein sped into the open, as Old Yeller, the faithful hound, charged full-boar into the hapless and unfortunate skaven slinger on the street, tearing its throat away in a manner of seconds, and feasting on the remains. The hound raised its head just in time to notice the rat man safely on the second floor swinging his sling and quickly releasing a stone, catching the hound between the eyes and knocking it senseless. Verschnikkit, the enthused night-runner, skipped to the side of the building, took careful aim with his throwing star, and missed the vampire completely. Within moments, the vampire was upon him, leaping the wall eerily, and slashing at the insolent rat-spawn with his twin blades. The skaven fought desperately for his life in what seemed like an eternity of spining blades, but it was painfully short, and he lay bleeding at the foot of the cursed lord of the night. "Too easy" the vampire muttered, matter-of-factly The black skaven fought in a frenzy of claws and muscle, but were being forced down by weight of numbers. Again Adept Squeek ordered the attack, and as the night-runner and two verminkin crashed into the undead, his quick strides subsided into a stumble, and then a full stop, cowering bravely behind a wall…

"Nnnnnnnnnnghoooooaaaaaaaaaa!" the cries of the zombies bubbled out of their throats as they struck at the skaven, slowly but surely bettering them through sheer unliving determination. The dregs struck quickly with cudgel, axe, and spear, their weapons bearing the blood of many flesh wounds. The Necromancer watched on half interestedly, now glad for the odorous company of the zombies. Yes, they had their uses now and again. The Bloodletter leapt across the river. It was close. Battle. Bloodhsed. The daemon was invigorated by it, the beautiful voilence, oh how he savoured it! Not long, not long. His blade will sing praises to Lord Khorne, the Lord of Battles! After attempting to scrabble up the walls to reach the skaven slinger, Old Yeller finally gave up that idea. Paws were not meant to climb. After a final menacing growl at the slinger, Old Yeller dashed off to the bridge, there were others on the ground he could bite. The ghouls, free of the pursuit of the Bloodletter; they didn’t know where it went, and frankly didn’t care, so long as it wasn’t chasing THEM; ran across the bridge. Warm flesh, steaming blood, they could smell it, taste it! It was all so close, so close now. Feast…

Xim von Carstein wiped his bloodied blade on the slightly less bloodied cloak of the unfortunate Night Runner. Remembering something, the vampire turned around. Ah yes, the other rat. It had completely slipped his mind. Another dance of blades. This won’t be long…

Squeek raised his head over the wall. It looked like his side wasn’t faring too badly. The Verminkin had helped a bit, and it LOOKED like they were winning… perhaps now it was safe? Ah yes, an isolated enemy, excellent. With a determined squeek, Squeek charged in to assault the lone enemy he had spotted, managing to knock him down. Yes, now for the killing blow! Wait, something tingling at the back of his head…

Old Yeller raced across the bridge. An isolated enemy! With strange green swords, but a isolated enemy, easy pickings, the hunger, feed! Turning his head, Squeek saw a blur of black fur racing towards him- Hunt! Lone enemy! KILL! Squeek squeeked alarmingly, and defecated noisily as a furry mass of muscle and fur barrelled into him…

The squeek of terror was a delight to Old Yeller as he barged into the rat, knocking it flat on the ground…

As Squeek’s head crashed against the cobble stones, all went black. "Battle. BATTLE!" The Bloodletter raged, rushing through the buildings. Suddenly bursting through a doorway out into the street, it identified the closest conflict, and charged headlong towards it, a bestial roar emitting from it’s throat! "FOR LORD KHORNE! Rrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-UGHK! Gnnngglll…" the war cry cut off abruptly from an arrow shaft protruding from inside the mouth of the red fiend, as it collapsed to the ground and decayed in no more than a minute Levelling a gaze of contempt at the ashes that were the only remainders of the former Bloodletter, the necromancer Igor Rottman lowered his bow. "Shut up" he said, and then permitted himself a chuckle, then drew the zombie’s limited attentions away from the bloodied and battered skaven bodies. They were no longer a threat.

 Peter Colson (Middenheimers) beat Wade Mitchell (Orcs)

"Ho! Stranger!" Shouted the mercenary captain Odin Alfather "Do not trouble me, good sir, please leave an old pedlar be. I am no danger to you, and my wares are damnably poor" the stranger called back in a wavering voice "Baaaaah! Do you not recognise good cheer when you hear it, friend pedlar? We just wish to speak with you!" Odin assured, a wide grin splitting his beard "Men talk with daggers too often for my liking, good sir" the pedlar called urgently as they began to approach, and then fingered the scar on his cheek. "Too often" this time quieter "Stranger, you would not fear us if you knew us. We are of Middenheim region, men of Ulric. Soldiers, not cut-throats, my good man. We have no hold with the Trickster nor the Murderer" Ranald, patron of thieves in the Old World, and Khaine, god of murder. "Perhaps if we were no longer strangers, hmm? "I am Odin Alfather, captain of these brave men. This is the norseman Erik, an honourable man though. Beside him is Althalus, and Hamish and Kurt, their crossbows aren’t strung, worry not. Ketill, old Thom, Jack, and Willhelm. And what of yourself?" The pedlar looked unsure, but then relented with a sigh. "I am Fain. Padan Fain. I don’t know why you persist, I have less than rags to offer you." "I told you I wish to talk, freemerchant, not barter. Word of mouth is worth more than gold some say. I say it is worth an escort to a safe inn. Now I wish to talk, and I suspect you wish safe passage. I hear there is enough stone to build a house in these parts. Is there any truth to those claims?" Fain snorted derisively. "There’s stone. Surely, there’s stone up there, for what good it’ll do you" He began a screeching laugh at some joke that the others had all seemingly missed "But you have as much chance of carrying it off as I have of burning my hands on the stars" the pedlar cackled, raising his hands and holding them before him. They were charred and scorched with festering burns, the skin partly flayed away. He reached upward, towards the brightest star, and his hands burst alight, showering flames around him. As the fire slowly crept over his body, consuming, he could be heard weeping the words "We are eternal, all this pain is an illusion…"

Odin ran, with his warband. No need to be around a madman any longer then necessary, he’d always told himself. That madman had better be right, Odin thought to himself. He was counting on that deposit of stone being there to help cover expenses. That bloody marksman, the nerve! Charging a full 15 gold crowns salary, and a 30 gold crown retainer! That bloody stone better be here. He froze suddenly still. He was sure he heard something. Ah, there it was again! "Oi boss, it ain’t here neither!" the voice wavered and was muffled by distance, but he knew immediately what it was. "Orcs" he muttered with a curse. "Filthy bloody green-skins!" He knew an orc when he heard it. He hadn’t spent half his life in the Imperial Army being ignorant. "Men, we’ve got orc hostiles to take care of" he called to his party Ketill, Old Thom, Hamish, ‘black’ Jack and Willhelm all raced towards the bridge, gaining a clear view down the street. Kurt climbed to the second story of the nearest building, get a clear field of fire over the immediate township, while Franco Lorenzo, the flamboyant Tilean marksman, took cover behind the ruins of a wall of the same building Kurt was occupying. Odin, Erik, and Althalus all readied themselves to jump the rivers. It was then that Odin noticed the glow. Up in the third story of that tavern there was a soft green glow, reflecting off the walls. Something was up there. The stone, he realised excitedly! And in the coaching inn too, just a soft light through the window. And in the house with the joining bridge too. And on one of the islands in the river, right in front of him! "Men, get the stone! With luck, we can snatch out right out from under those green oafs without them knowing we were ever here! Thom, Will, you and your lot take the stone up in the tavern, third floor, and in the coaching inn, the very top. I’ll take care of the rest. NOW! GO!" Old Thom quickly scrambled up onto the upper levels of the coaching in, with Jack trying to follow, but failing to get a good foot hold in the wall. Ketill raced towards the tavern, and with an incredible display of agility, managed to climb right to the top in one attempt, leaping onto the precious wyrdstone shard. One secure, at least. Odin leapt across the river and snatched up the shard of Wyrdstone on the island there. "Brilliant! Two down, two to go. Thom, over in the far window!" Odin shouted. "Right, now to get the last piece from the long building with the… orcs in it DAMNIT!" With that exclamation Odin suddenly alerted the orcs to their presence, and a hail of arrows was sent flying his way, only one managing to hit, and luckily ricocheting off the gold medallion bearing the stylised wolf-face of Ulric. With a shiver, he decided that discretion may be the better part of valour, and leapt back across the river. A motion caught Hamish’s eye, and he levelled his crossbow, and fired. Perfect shot! An goblin fell over, knocked down by the force of the crossbow bolt. Now if only Jack were adept at climbing as Hamish was at shooting…

A burly orc stepped out into the street, and ran toward the wall of the coaching in, attempting to climb. Seeing this, Jack thought better of his swordsmanship than his ability at climbing. A good killing should pick up his spirits and stay the insults he would otherwise receive for having as much ability climbing as a geriatric goldfish The orc felt a tapping on the shoulder, and spun around in time to see a sword get thrust into it’s throat As the orc leader bounded across the bridge, and a number of Squigs and goblin Prodders and the Fanatic converged on the tavern, Odin ordered a full defence of the tavern until the stone could be evacuated. Seething in rage, Erik the Viking began to foam at the mouth, eyeing up the orc leader, and bellowing obscenities as he charged forward. Odin quickly slipped inside the tavern, awaiting Ketill to climb back down. The shaggy figure of Willhelm the swordsman stepped into the tavern to hold the door until Ketill could get down. It wasn’t long before a goblin prodder decided to charge the armoured swordsman, and a swift and bloody combat ensued, with Willhelm emerging the victor over the body of the poor gobbo. The other gobbo decided he couldn’t see Willhelm, and therefore couldn’t charge the big man guarding the door. Erik fought in a frenzy of blade-strokes, striking with the point, blade, and haft of his halberd, knocking down the boss orc, fanatic, and squig all facing him. They couldn’t land a blow on the massive norseman. Leaping across the rivers, the orc shaman was immediately peppered with bolts from Kurt’s and Franco’s crossbows, so much so that the tough old orc more resembled a porcupine. Getting up and pulling the shafts of the crossbow bolts from his shoulders and arms where the bolts had embedded themselves, the orc raised it’s head with barely enough time to register the men in wolf cloaks, bearing a halberd and the other a double-handed hammer, leaping across the river to cut him down. At this point, the orc boss exercised its better judgement, and called a rout while it still had at least one shard of the precious wyrdstone in its possession. Looks like I CAN pay off my debts, Odin thought to himself. Who knows, maybe I can hire a lively lass to lighten my demeanour. He handled the shard of wyrdstone with fondness, and a smug grin upon his face.He barely seemed to notice the way it burnt his hand…

 Damien Neems (Undead) beat Wade Mitchell (Orcs)

"Urg.... Orks..." muttered Xim Von Carstein from the shadows of the underpass where the rest of his mostly deceased warband stood. It's not like  It was hard for him not to notice the greenskins, he could smell them from a  mile away, hell, even those puny humans, even though they lacked the  delicate senses of a higher being such as himself, could smell them from  that far. Xim's trusted advisor Igor broke the silence that followed, "Are  we sure we should go through with this master? What if that merchant was  lying about that treasure chest?". Xim's raspy reply was quick to follow, "Humans tend to tell you the truth when you threaten their lives in a vain  attempt for mercy...still, you think they would learn that they're still   going to die if they speak or not. And the unwelcome addition of those greenskin pigs further proves that there is something here." Moments after he uttered those last words the Vampire drew his two blood stained swords and with an unnatural speed sprinted over the bridge which separated the two
warbands. Xim could hear the warbands faithful hunting dog, Ol' Yeller, right on his heels as he sprinted over to a ladder nearly ten meters away from the bridge.
Meanwhile the bulk of the warband followed slowly behind. The warbands clan of Ghouls making their way across the bridge and around a burnt out building into the main square where, waiting for them were a couple of squat greenskins, armed with spears, prodding small red, pink and blue balls of teeth towards them. Their zombie allies soon joined in after two had fallen for no loss to the greenskins. The two Goblin prodders however, were enjoying themselves immensely as they were watching the Undead getting the snot beaten out of them. That was until they remembered that they were actually supposed to be fighting too. As one of the warty little buggers charged headlong into the fray a fetid pungent odour could be smelt near the second on as the prospect of fighting something that was swinging it's own
arm as a mace didn't seem that appealing to it. This was followed by a deep fear inducing howl as the enemy's deceased dog charged straight into him, the Goblin only having enough time to utter the words "Oh zog..." before being torn asunder by the large wolf.
As Xim hauled himself up over onto the second level of the building he took a look around at the immediate area, his troops were staring to gain the advantage below him, thanks to one of Xim's chosen slaves Grrrg. He also noticed Igor Rottman aiming his bow at one of the ball and chain armed Fanatic from over the their side of the river...only to have the arrow smash into a nearby raven, killing the scavenger instantly. "Damn Necromancer can kill a Daemon with that damned bow but can't even hit a lowly Goblin" Xim uttered under his breath as he spotted movement directly in front of him. Within seconds he was upon the Ork warrior hiding in the shadows. The burly monster barely had time to look up as Xim brought the hilt of one of his swords crashing into the Ork's thick skull, dazing the beast. As the Ork staggered back, reeling from the blow, the Vampire then swung his other hand making contact directly in the centre of the ugly things chest, sending him flying backwards into the wall of the building with a bone crunching thud, not to rise back up. Xim then turned his attention over the building to his right, to see his other servant Finneus plunge his axe blade into an Ork shamans shoulder, sending green blood spraying up into the air as the spell caster went down. The unliving lord, grinning his approval dropped down from his perch sending a small dust cloud rising into the Mordheim night air as he landed to see the Ork's retreating. He looked over at his own warband to see three of his Ghouls in three times as many pieces and Another Zombie with it's head caved in due to the ball and chain wielding fanatic. As Xim
arrogantly strided back to his men he noticed something shining in the pale moonlight. On closer inspection, after moving several large planks of wood and assorted debris the shining came from a treasure chest...the treasure chest. The whole purpose of tonight's skirmish. Xim's face opened up as a wide grin came across his face, showing his razor sharp elongated canines and he spoke to himself softly again, "Oh yes...Lord Vlad is going to be pleased with this...very pleased indeed."

Club Information

This newsletter is edited by Kevin Carberry so anything you would like included in the newsletter should be sent to me at 48 Beaumonts way, Manurewa, South Auckland. Phone 2670319, kevin@profax.co.nz

Robert "Dictator" Davies is the Club President so any queries, problems, issues or suggestions about the club should go to him at 14 Grebe Street, Manurewa. Phone 2670899.