Wednesday, 12 June 2019

Spearhead June 2019


Last Saturday, 8th June, I was fortunate enough to attend the first Mantic-run tournament for their tabletop skirmish game, Kings of War: Vanguard. I say 'fortunate' not only because it was a brilliant event - four great games against four great opponents - but because demand for tickets was very high, what with them selling out in a matter of hours!

The first two games were at 150pts, the second at 200. Scoring was kept simple, with 15tps for a win, 10 for a draw, and 5 for a loss. In addition to tournament points, however, players also accrued gold between games, rolling once on a d8 table, with a separate prize at stake for most gold by the end of the day. Those who wished to aim for this prize could choose to 'spend' their tournament points from the previous game for more rolls on the gold table. Prizes were awarded for 1st, 2nd, and 3rd in TPs, Most Gold, Best Warband, Most Sporting, and Last Place.

Both my brother and I planned to go, each of us bringing Abyssals to the table. Less fortunately, real life commitments forced my brother to relinquish his ticket around a month ago, diminishing by half the Scottish invasion of Nottingham.

My Warband

After backing the Vanguard Kickstarter, the one faction from among the starting four that I did not own was Abyssals (that one went to my brother). Therefore, when I won the Abyssal faction starter at Weight of Fire's Cry Havoc back in January, I knew they were going to be next on the painting table. At first I messed around creating some 'skew' lists (triple hellequins, succubus spam, etc.), but in the end decided to make a varied warband, cramming in as much of the different options in the Abyssal list as I could. One quick ebay trip for a Tormentor left me with the following 200 point list:

Tormentor,
Hellequin Bloodmask,
2x Abyssal Guard,
Succubus,
Flamebearer,
Lower Abyssal,
Imps,
Succubus Lurker,
Gargoyle.

No room for upgrades, but a good cross section of the toys accounted for (the rest of the faction starter was then donated to my brother's Abyssal Kings of War army). For the 150 point list I dropped the Lurker and Gargoyle, demoted the Bloodmask to a standard Hellequin, and spread a few items around that never came up in the games.

So, how did the list do?

Game 1 - Supply Grab vs Ogres

From memory, Saren's list contained three or four orge warriors, a captain, and three goblins with bows. Both of us sent our main fighting forces up the middle, going for that all important three point objective. I ignored the near one on my right, allowing two goblins to capture it, while on my left I sent the Hellequin deep into the opponents half, slowly moving my Flamebearer up to try and take the objective.

In the centre, I had placed my Tormentor open to a charge from one of the ogre warriors, which it took. One 'Demonic Roar' later and the proximity of my Succubus left the unfortunate orge needing 8s to hit. The 'furious' retaliation from the Tormentor went ham, scoring 11 hits after an 8 train, ending the ogre. This early luck swung things in my favour, allowing me to ultimately win the grind and claim the central objective. I even had time to send the Succubus after the goblins on the right. However, the little gits would not fall so easily, surviving the attack and killing her in retaliation! The objective would rightly remain theirs.

This meant it all came down to the left flank. My Hellequin had taken longer than he should have to kill the one goblin, and spent most of the game in a desperate fight with an ogre. He finally fell on turn 4, giving me one chance to shoot the ogre with my Flamebearer before Saren claimed the left objective too. I took the clear shoot with a boosted dice, and was able to knock down the ogre, preventing it from reaching the objective. A close win!

Game 2 - The Power Stones vs Elves

I was immediately concerned by Ben's list - three elf archers is no joke, the Prince is a beast, and, from playing Forces of Nature, I knew what a nightmare it can be to put down a Forest Shambler. I stuck to a similar plan as the last game, putting the brunt of my forces in the centre, the Flamebearer alone on the near flank objective, and sending the Hellequin up to contest the far one for as long as possible.

As it turned out, that was a long time indeed. The Hellequin tanked several rounds of massed shooting through sheer luck, holding on until turn 4, where its death ultimately meant little. The Flamebearer spent the game hiding behind its power stone, steadily gathering points.

As it would continue to be throughout the tournament, the Succubus's 'Fatal Attraction' rule was pivotal, tilting fortunes in the grind. While it took a lot of work dealing with the shambler, the Tormentor is arguably one of the best choices for the job, and eventually brought him down. I was also fortunate to have enough bodies in the fight that I could prevent the Elf Prince from using 'Battle Rage', as he was always stuck in with multiple attackers. In the end, and with more than a little luck from the dice, it was another Abyssal win.

Game 3 - The Dragon's Egg vs Orcs

Ahh, Orcs. In my practice games against my brother, I could never win when he took Orcs, and this time they would be controlled by Kev Honeyset, RC member and winner of Cry Havoc back in January. This was going to be a fight, all right.

We were now using our full 200 point warbands, but for me the general principals of my list remained the same. When my fighting force stuck together, I was confident that it could win most grinds - however, speed is key in this scenario.

With three scouts to my one, Kev had the initiative, even when I won the roll to go first. Keen to get into the action, I fatigued my Bloodmask, Gargoyle, and Lurker to get them stuck in with the skulks. The orc grunts proved tough to deal with, killing the gargoyle and holding my forces back. In order to buy time for his troll to make off with the egg, Kev threw everything into my tight-packed fighting force. Again, 'Demonic Roar' and 'Fatal Attraction' were huge, blunting the normally devastating orc charge and allowing me to quickly turn the tide.

By the middle of turn 4 Kev was left with his Troll and a single greatax, while I had only lost my gargoyle and lurker. I began moving my forces into position for a last ditch attempt to take the egg from the Troll, when I discovered that, since the turn would end with the egg in the Orc deployment zone, the game was over. Ah. Always read the scenario, kids! Loss for the Abyssals.

Game 4 - Capture the Portal vs Northern Alliance

Richard's Frozen-themed Northern Alliance was definitely among the best looking warbands at the event, and so it was a real pleasure to play against him. Richard certainly knew how to use the faction, too, consistently presenting options that would draw me into difficult situations. A few unlucky rolls early on convinced me that I had to stop trying to be clever and just swarm the portal, come what may. While Richard had the upper hand, it looked like it was still all to play for... until the end of turn 2, when the portal ate 4 of my warband. Uh oh. The loss soon followed.

In all honesty, I'm not sure it would have gone my way, regardless of hungry portals. Richard was playing a solid game where I struggled to come up with answers. I've often found the portal to be a tricky scenario. It favours bold play, I believe, and I perhaps spend the first round a little too hesitant. All a learning, to be sure!

Conclusion

As I said at the start of this post - four great games against four great opponents. What more can you ask for? I have to say, I'm loving vanguard, and from the way Mantic's second Spearhead tournament in November has also sold out (I was too slow for tickets this time!) it's clear I'm not the only one!

I believe the top four placing warbands were Orcs. The green tide is strong!

1st place went to Steve Pearce, 2nd to Mat Green, 3rd to Kev Honeyset, Most Gold to Ben Wright (my gold, you ask? There were a lot of 'Thieves in the Night' unfortunately!), Best Warband to Daniel Read, and Most Sporting to... myself! A pleasant surprise indeed.
Many thanks to all my opponents, and to Rob Burman at Mantic for running the event.

Finally, below are some pictures I snapped of the warbands, which I'm sure you'll agree were excellent. Apologies for the variable quality of the pictures themselves.
















Forgot to take one of Saren's warband, so I pulled this from the Vanguard facebook group

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Thursday, 17 January 2019

In Our Nature - Wordsmith Winner for Cry Havoc 2019



“No!”

She awoke with a start, eyes burning. The dream echoed along her consciousness, its final imagery seared to the forefront of her mind. Her senses, painfully alert, threatened to carry her away on a tidal wave of input: the cool air on her skin, the ancient songs of the forest, the familiar sight of her home. Driving against this torrent, the dream continued to ripple across her perception, its contradiction propelling nausea to every corner of her being.

Lurching to her feet, she stumbled out the open doorway of her wattle-and-daub hut, only to collapse once more to the moss-covered ground. She retched. Her body writhed in contortions of dry-heaving, and she strained for calm, grasping helplessly at the serene river bank that lay beyond the current. She closed her eyes, and all at once her training resurfaced. She stopped resisting, instead allowing the flow to carry her as she treaded her way to still waters. The nausea passed, the torrent abated, the dream released her from its grasp. She opened her eyes.

It was barely dawn. The tender circle of her glade was bathed in a blue-grey that shimmered with the morning dew. A narrow brook wound lazily across the periphery, and she crawled over, examining herself in the trickling waters. Hazel eyes shone back at her, set in a face of rich ebony, glistening with sweat.


She sat up straight, and breathed deeply. I have to be quick, she thought. Although still weak from the ordeal, she needed to discern the meaning before it slipped beyond her sight. Settling herself into a lotus, she closed her eyes and began to replay the dream, only this time as a detached observer, rather than a receiver of its horror.

Devastation. Degradation. Deforestation. A violation of nature’s balance, and laughing all the while. A destructive dance beneath offensive icons. And, in the eye of the beholder, a pitiless rage.

The sun was high in the sky when the Druid Haili emerged from her meditation. She glanced up at the illuminated foliage, and smiled. “Yes, my Lady.”

“It shall be done.” 

***
 
It was two days travel to the great cenotes. They were the ancient home to the Arddra tribe, native Salamanders of the forest. During the last few hours of her journey she had noted a gradual rise in temperature, and by the time she arrived, the flora and humidity more closely resembled the southern wetlands than the surrounding woods.

Haili approached the largest of the cenotes. Steam issued gently from within, a sign of the volcanic activity that simmered below the water. The Arddra were a small and seclusive people, rarely venturing far from the warmth of their karst home. Their honour was impeccable, however, and though the war had recently seen them sacrifice much in the Lady’s name, there was no question that they would once again rise to the occasion.

No sooner had she chosen a soft patch on which to sit when a four-clawed hand reached up, firmly grasping the pit’s edge. Its owner quickly followed, revealing a huge, green lizard, as tall as the largest of men, and with far greater muscles. A steel mace hung from the leather strap at its side, and it hefted a shield of thick stone. Though she had seen their kind many times, Haili could not help but marvel at such enormous strength, particularly for one so young. After the first came two more. The second complimented its shield with a crescent-headed axe, while the third appeared to have foregone defence in favour of a large two-handed sabre. They knelt before the druid, having recognised a representative of the Lady.


They were the brothers Nekaw, Thykch, and Raqz, and they were Unblooded.

“The Lady greets you, honoured sons of Arddra, and so do I.” Articulating the Salamander tongues was a nightmare for the mouths of other creatures, but she had long since perfected this most important greeting.

“Humbly do we welcome you, honoured emissary of She who maintains the Balance.”

Haili motioned that they should rise, and they did. Her knowledge of Arddran now exhausted, she drew on her gifts from the Lady to reach directly into their minds. Through image and emotion, she communicated their task.

Threat. Fire. Corruption.

She could feel their anger stirring, an indignation at those who would disturb the balance.

Consuming. Morphing. Destroying.

Their cold blood was beginning to boil, their ire to smoulder.

Duty. Task. Blooding.

The fire of their Salamander souls was now an incandescent blaze.

Where. When.

She withdrew from their minds, and watched. Smoke drifted from their nostrils as they contemplated the message, their eyes searing. They nodded as one.

We will be there.

Then they turned away, diving back down into the warm waters of their home. Haili smiled, before setting off to the west.

Would that her next task prove so straightforward.

***

There was a snap as the taught wire slipped free from its catch, and Ustara sighed. Niran warned her that the equipment was getting old, that they would soon need replacement parts. Ustara had demurred, hoping to wring at least another year’s use out of the contraption. It was gradually becoming clear, however, that her companion was correct. A pity, but she supposed that it had only been a matter of time before they were forced to go, one way or another. They would venture back out to the open sea, and gather the necessary materials. But not just yet. Not if she could help it. Ustara looked up.

The river Omocia, as it was known in the days of Primovantor, ran wide and deep. Over aeons it had carved its path with insistence and vigour, resisting the many tides of history, and surviving even Winter’s mark on the world. But now, nestled beneath the forest’s verdant canopy, the aged wanderer moved slowly, its gentle flow barely perceptible to those who gazed upon its surface. It had been their home for over two years, and Ustara scanned its familiar lines, aware that her partner was submerged in the depths.


She returned to her work, carefully drawing the wire back to the catch. The trap was set into the riverbank, on one of the usual paths that animals would walk when coming to drink. She had just finished hooking the wire in place when she heard an obnoxious croak emanate from her right. Ustara glanced over at the fat toad that sat atop a protruding stone, watching her. The pale creature was stippled with dark green spots, its skin glimmering with minor iridescence.

“Something to say?” she asked. It croaked again. She had snatched it from the water a little while ago, to ‘borrow’ a measure of its poison for her trap. Since then it had sat grumpily on its stone, staring at her with bulbous and accusing eyes. “You can hop along now, I’ve got what I…” Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Niran emerge ever so slightly from the water. Her partner was looking to the tree line behind Ustara, and the tip of her harpoon gun flickered beneath the surface.

Ustara’s hand flew to her own, and she attempted to spin and raise it in a single motion. The harpoon gun resisted, however, and she saw with astonishment that thick roots were curled around it, pinning it to the ground. 
 
“You won’t be needing that,” said a voice from behind her.

The roots began to snake up Ustara’s arm, and she released her grip, recoiling. The Naiad warrior stood up, and turned to face the tree line.

A human woman stepped forward from the shadows. She was draped in well-worn leathers, a pelt of brown fur slung about her shoulders. Her skin was dark, darker than any human Ustara had ever seen, and she bore a staff of intricately woven vine, curiously inlaid with an assortment of coloured glass. She was a druid, a representative of the Green Lady, and fearsome to behold.

Ustara steeled herself. They had hoped to avoid any run-ins with the Lady and her followers, but evidently it was not to be. She heard Niran raise her weapon, and saw the druid give a flick of her hand. There was a sudden splash as a wave lifted the naiad from the water, dumping her unceremoniously on the shore, her weapon thrown beyond reach. Ustara’s rage surged, and she was about to hurl herself at the druid when the woman spoke again.

“I come to you with words, daughters of Neritica, not fury.”

Ustara hesitated. The druid’s grasp of High Neritican was excellent, if a little archaic. “Speak, then,” she responded.

The druid waited for Niran to stand before she continued. “For two years, Our Lady has allowed you to remain in her woods. For two years you have hunted, you have sheltered, you have lived. Now comes the price.”

“We hold no fealty to your Lady, nor to any realm,” said Niran.

The druid raised an eyebrow. “Indeed. The Lady is well aware of your history with the trident kings. Neritican law holds desertion to be punishable by death, does it not?”

Ustara felt her eyes widen. They were near a thousand leagues from home. How could She know? 

“Anyway, it matters not,” the druid continued. “Your debt was made the moment you chose to reside in this place. Though you may not have known it, your coming here uninvited was a petition, one which Our Lady did grant most generously.” As if to give weight to her words, the forest groaned around them, and Ustara felt sure that the trees were tilting forwards, enclosing them in their domain.

“What does She require of us?”

“Only what any queen requires of soldiers. That you fight.”

“And if we refuse?”

The druid’s eyes narrowed. “Then you shall come to know another side of Our Lady. A less… generous side.”

The two naiads glanced at one another. It appeared they had little choice. “Whom would She have us fight?” asked Ustara.

“Does it matter?”

“I suppose not.”

The druid nodded, satisfied. “Then I shall see you in six days time, at the setting of the sun, where the river runs south beyond the forest.”

“We’ll be there,” said Niran, but the druid was already turning to leave. There was a croak from her left, and Ustara looked around to see the toad hopping past her. The druid stopped too, and watched as the fat amphibian caught up.

“Are you coming with me, little one?” she asked. The toad croaked lightly as she bent over to collect it. Then she straightened up, placing it on her shoulder, before departing into the shadows.

***

The eastern forest was a wound. Its anguish ran north to south along the entire frontier, a scab, new-formed and thin. All that remained of the once lush woodlands were the charred corpses of the trees that had formed them, their mutilated bodies strewn haphazardly across the scorched earth. Fog coated the landscape, floating like a haunting echo of the thick smoke disgorged by the fires. The sun was rising, and for those who walked through this murky prism, the brilliance of the light set the land aflame once more.

Haili moved with reverence across the battlefield, observing the silence with solemnity. It smelled the same as when she left, ashen and bitter. She had hoped not to return here, not yet. To first let the forest heal as it must. To let the ghosts find some peace.

Through the fiery mists the druid spotted the dull glint of weathered steel. She recognised the winged ornamentation of a Basilean shield and, as she drew closer, saw the bones of its owner protruding from the earth. His skull was half exposed, and a vicious-looking arrow jutted from above the socket of his right eye. Only a small portion of the dark fletching still clung it, but that was more than enough for Haili to recognise its origin – goblins. She crouched down to contemplate the remains of this foreign soldier, who like so many of his brothers-and-sisters-in-arms, had given his life for the balance.

A distant sound came to her from across the desolate earth, the dull thumping of heavy footfalls. It was a sound she knew well, and exactly the one she sought. She set off at a dash, leaving behind the unmarked grave to hone in on the steady rhythm. The sound stopped after a minute of pursuit. She continued towards the last pulse, and a shape grew gradually more distinct, a large and irregular silhouette. It began to move once more, its direction changed, shambling away from the approaching druid. She stopped running, and called out after it.

“Wait!”

The creature seemed to ignore her. She sighed, and set off once more.

“Stop! I just want to talk!”

It continued to lumber away, but Haili was faster, and soon caught up to it. Almost twice her size, the hulking form of animate timber was a formidable sight to behold. Its body mostly consisted of hardened oak, the ‘limbs’ stung together with thick and pulsating vines. In fact, its left arm was nothing but vines, a great tangle of them bound tightly together. Overtaking the creature, the druid planted herself directly in its path. She could hear the toad from inside her pouch, croaking with indignation at all the commotion.


“Long time no see, old friend,” she panted.

The shambler, whose name was Rodkimendwæra, didn’t so much as look at her, and she had to leap out of the way to avoid being trampled.

“Hey!” she cried, picking herself up. She began to walk alongside him, her pace quick so as to match his long strides. “Aren’t you going to say hello?” He didn’t respond. Not that she expected him to speak, exactly. Communication with these ancient spirits was more abstract, a deeper mode of relation than that which is carried by the air. But, in all ways, Rodkimendwæra was silent. She was bemused, and unsure how to continue. 
 
“What’s the matter? Why are you-”

Then she saw them, the gouges and burns that criss-crossed his wooden frame. It was incredible that he was still standing, never mind moving.

“You’re hurt. Let me help…” she said, reaching out to touch him. With alarming speed, he whipped around, swinging his vine-arm directly at her. She ducked under the sweeping blow, and heard the distinct whistle of iron cutting through the air. Jumping back, she saw that the vine-arm was wrapped around the crude and corroded head of a massive morning star. He had most likely taken it from a troll. Anger pushed aside her concern, and she was about to yell, to demand an answer – when she saw his eyes.

Pain. Fury. Loss. And a question. A question that a part of her had known he would ask. A part that didn’t want to hear, and so had made her deaf. Tears welled in her eyes at the sudden realisation, and she finally opened her ears.

Where were you?

“I… I’m sorry, I couldn’t-” he was walking away, and she followed. “Hold on, please! I know it was wrong, I know, but I had to get away, I had to find some peace after all the horror.” He didn’t so much as look at her, but she could hear him now, could feel his sorrow. The battle hadn’t ended, she realised, not for Rodkimendwæra. It was all he could see, all he could feel. As a druid, she should have stayed to help guide him and the others to peace, but after all the fighting…

She stopped. Amidst the pain of her guilt, the memory of her task reasserted itself. Perhaps I can still help him, she thought. Not in the way I should have, but in the way I must.

“Forgive me, old friend,” she whispered, and raised her staff. The vines that ran through the shambler’s body froze, paralysed and beholden to her will. She felt his rage flare as she approached, felt it sear through her being when she pressed her palm against him. Drawing on the primordial energies of the forest, she began to heal his wounds, to return vigour and strength to his body. But she did not heal the wounds of his mind. The battle would continue for Rodkimendwæra. His rage was left to fester, its focus redirected away from the torments of the past.

She released him, and he turned to face her, confusion clouding his eyes. He no longer knew her, an inevitable consequence of the mental manipulation. Stretching the limbs of his restored form, he set off, his fury taking him to a new battlefield. Taking him south.

Haili wiped the tears from her eyes. There was still one more she must summon, due to meet her here before the day’s end. She sat down on a harrowed stump, watching Rodkimendwæra disappear into the gloom.

***

The day arrived, and so did Haili. She had reached the place of gathering before the appointed hour, but only just. Much delayed by her wait in the east, she had spent the last few hours running through the glades. The one she was due to meet had not appeared, and by morning of the next day she could wait no longer.

The gathering was to take place at the forest’s southern border. She stepped up to the edge of the tree line, keeping to the long shadows of the late-day sun, and looked out at their enemy. It was a curious feeling, she reflected, the mixture of recognition and novelty. She had never set foot here, nor gazed upon this hateful view. Not with her own eyes, at any rate.

“So you came at last.”

The voice spoke in Basilean. She spun around, heart racing. From the darkness of the inner forest emerged a towering figure, hoofed and horned. It was a centaur, and not just any centaur, but the one she had awaited in the east – the Clan-Chief Inadru.

“And you came at all,” she answered in his people's language, willing herself to calm. It had been a long time since anything had managed to sneak up on her in these woods. Inadru tilted his head to one side, contemplating her.

“Yes… I apologise for not sending word,” he began, continuing to employ the golden tongue, the alien depth of his voice ill-matching his human features. “Although the Lady bid me join you in the eastern glades, I instead found myself drawn here.” He looked past her as he spoke, moving towards the tree line and gazing out beyond the foliage. She took a moment to consider the young chief. The rich auburn of his mane and beard contrasted gently with the pale mahogany coat of his horse half, and his sun-kissed skin suggested a life spent beyond the confines of the forest. A thick leather belt wound tightly around his waist, bearing a dagger whose craftsmanship resembled that of the distant southern elves. In his right hand he held an enormous bronze-headed halberd, which she recognised as an artefact of his tribe.


“I was sorry to hear about your father’s passing.”

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, as if she hadn’t spoken.

“About what?”

“Many things. The world. Its peoples. The balance.” He let the words hang in the air, and she waited, uncertain of how to respond. “I’ve been here for many days now,” he continued. “Watching them. Observing their… nature.”

She looked out once more beyond the tree line, her features cold. “And?”

“And, try as I might, I do not see my enemy.” He turned his head, sharp eyes boring into her. “Do you?”

“Yes,” she answered, without hesitation, her gaze unfaltering in its hate.

The land was a patchwork of wooden fences and stone walls, segregating the soil into plots of varying sizes. The farms had been well-worked, the harvest seeing their wheat bound together and their crops cut low. Beyond the agriculture lay the Basilean village that owned it, about half a mile from the edge of the forest. The druid could see signs of festivities in the community, and could hear the distant throng of joyous music and simple laughter. The young settlement, less than a year old, was populated by veterans of the war and their families, who had decided to forgoe the long march home in favour of a fresh start in these fertile lands.

“They’ve been celebrating for several days, now,” said Inadru. “Yesterday they brought offerings to the forest, scattered bread and produce from baskets.”

“And how was it?” she asked coldly. He gave a dry laugh, apparently missing her tone.

“Not to my taste, personally, but my friend here enjoyed it immensely.”


Haili looked around as the animal appeared from the bushes, moving to sit at Inadru’s side. It was a dog, one of the deformed creatures the humans liked to breed, its fur white with splashes of black and brown. She could smell it.

“This is Maximilian. I named him after a Genezan I met while visiting the port of Lantor.” He noted her look of disgust. “Does he displease you?”

“It is… an abomination,” she said, looking away. He was quiet for a moment.

“Perhaps. But he is also the most loyal creature I have ever met. Quite remarkable.” He looked down fondly at the hound, who was sniffing the air beyond the trees. “A human creation,” he continued, “and unquestionably a manipulation of the natural world. Yet the result is noble, and I find myself at a loss to condemn it.”

“So what are you saying?” she asked, straining to maintain a neutral tone. “Are you questioning Our Lady’s order?”

They locked eyes. “I suppose I am. I suppose that, after fighting the darkness alongside them, after travelling throughout their lands, I’m no longer inclined to spill their blood.” He looked back out to the village. “I suppose that I no longer understand.”

She followed his gaze. The humans had erected a great pole with ribbons trailing from the top, and now they danced around it, weaving the ribbons as they went. The steady rhythm of the music was punctuated by a collective clapping from the onlookers.

“They are capable of such beauty,” he said, watching the intricate steps of the dance.

“But never without cost,” said the druid. “You must have seen it in your travels. Their creation is unbalanced, it destroys far more than it produces. And yet they feel no sorrow, thinking only of their own selfish desires.”

“Do you truly think so little of your people?”

“They are not my people.”

“…No,” he responded. “No, I can see that.” There was a moment of silence, broken only by the sound of Maximilian scratching behind his ear. Haili turned away from the village.

“They will take and they will corrupt and there will be nothing left of nature’s balance.”

“But isn’t that simply their own nature? How can I judge them ill for how they were made?”

“This is not about judgement.” The chief’s words had unsettled her, and she was now speaking as much to herself as to him.

“The deer consumes the budding tree, snuffing out a nascent life. One does not judge the deer, for that is its nature. However, left unchecked, they will eat and breed and spread themselves far, and no trees shall grow. In time, they would be left with nothing, and would starve.” 
 
She waited a moment, but Inadru said nothing, and so continued.

“Yet this does not happen, for the wolf hunts the deer. Our hearts may go out to the deer, often a weak or young catch, since it dies a painful death. But it is a necessary death, for it maintains the deer as much as the wolf. It maintains the balance.”

At this she turned to face him once more, her conviction firm.

“We are wolves. They are deer. We do this for ourselves. And we do this for them.”

The chief’s features remained impassive, yet his eyes shimmered with tears. From within the woods came the steadily increasing sound of shambling footfalls, heavy on the forest floor. It was joined by further rustling as others converged on the gathering. They were almost here. Inadru turned to face the sounds, and nodded.

I understand,” he said, finally using the language of his tribe.

I’m glad. Our Lady bids you lead us, Inadru, son of Sayurn. All of us.She cast her hand over the assembled warband that was emerging into sight: the Salamander brothers, Nekaw, Thykch, and Raqz; the Naiad deserters, Ustara and Niran; the raging shambler, Rodkimendwæra; and even, she supposed, the chief’s companion, Maximilian, who was happily greeting the new arrivals, his tail wagging. Inadru stood tall, and addressed the gathered warriors.

“My brothers and sisters. Before us is not our enemy. Rather, it is our duty. What that word means for each of us may be as different as we are from each other. But whether it is honour, or obligation, or memory that has brought us here, I swear to you, as your leader, that I shall see this duty done. For the Lady. For the balance.

He turned to face the village, and signalled the advance. Large and small, water and fire, hate and sorrow, the soldiers of the Green Lady stepped out from the forest. They were wolves.

We are deer.

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Cry Havoc 2019: The Winter Vanguard

Last Friday my brother and I made the long journey south to take part in Weight of Fire's first Vanguard event, Cry Havoc: The Winter Vanguard. It took place on Saturday 12th Jan at The Forge in Manchester, a great venue with oodles of space for the 28 players in attendance. It was the first Vanguard 'tournament' to be run in the UK (and the world?), and was without doubt a huge success, as far as we're concerned.

Four games were played throughout the day, with a modified version of the campaign rules running between them - injuries were accrued, experience was gained, bonus gold awarded for killing certain units, and varying amounts of treasure were found (or lost) through an exploration table. This last part in particular gave luck a huge role in the final standings, which helped foster a less competitive atmosphere for the event, a good idea for a new system that many players still weren't fully familiar with.

I had four great games against four great opponents, each playing a faction I'd not faced previously. Let's take a quick look at the games!

Game 1: Supply Grab vs. Gergo's Northern Alliance
There were many great boards at the event, but Richard Heath's city and dungeon boards took the cake (blog), rightly winning a spot prize at the event.

The Supply Grab scenario was a great start for the event as it's very straight forward and familiar across a range of games, letting players get into the swing of things. I won the roll to choose sides and set up my Forces of Nature in three broad groups: my salamander grunts holding the near objective on the left, my shooting and tank (shambler) in the centre, and my fast units (centaur and dog) moving up the right. Gergo spread his (very lovely) Northern Alliance along the centre, giving him options to fan out.
The elevated position proved less useful than I'd hoped, with Gergo's ice elf scouts forcing me to pull my druid back. My centaur chieftain was able to take out one of them, while the dog proved to be very useful at disrupting the right flank, as his good speed and pathfinder allowed him to dance around the slower dwarf clansmen and huscarls.
Eventually the dog was able to weave its way to shutting down the remaining ice elf, while the shambler blocked off the snow troll from getting to my druid. My salamanders held the left objective, and the dwarf clansmen held the right - the centre was uncontested. Rather than throwing his huscarl into the fight against my centaur, Gergo made a break for it. Two of my salamaders moved to stop him, but were held up by a half-elf berserker. In the end a run of good luck allowed one of my naiad's to knock down the huscarl with shooting and, after finally finishing off the berserker, one of my salamanders was freed up to walk onto the objective.

Summary: Win, no injuries, no bonus gold, "Thieves in the Night" -2 gold, upgraded my centaur chieftain to +1 red power die

 Game 2: The Power Stones vs. Rene's Salamanders
The second game was played on a suitably verdant board. I again won the choice of table sides, and again went for maximum elevation. The scenario is similar to Supply Grab, only you score at the end of each round and certain models get bonuses for being near the stones.
Rene's list was combat heavy, and he took my forest shambler down to one wound at least twice. However, my tank held its ground, supported by the occasional heal from the druid.
The elevated position was very, very high, and we mistook how range should be measured, making the shooting much less effective. Haranak the gladewalker druid was able to fire off a couple of lightning bolts and tanglefoots, however, only killing one grunt if memory serves but continually disrupting other units. My initial speed in scoring on the stones allowed me to keep myself in the lead by the end of the game, although I think if it had gone on longer the salamanders would have quickly ground my forest-folk into kindling.

Summary: Win, no injuries, no bonus gold, "Hermit's Hovel" +1 gold, upgrade wild companion with 'stealthy'.

Game 3: Recover the Plans vs. Martin's Nightstalkers
Martin's nightstalkers were, among many excellent warbands, stunning, as I hope can be seen in this picture I snapped over lunch.
For game 3 it was all about speed, who could get to the plans first (wherever they ended up) and then keep them away from the enemy. My dog was able to immediately search the dead spy, and then I launched my force towards the board corner where the plans were discovered.
Martin sent a reaper after the plans, and then focused on surrounding my warband with his masses of spooky gribblies.
The fight was bloody, with my shambler finally succumbing after taking a beating from the banshee, who I took out in return with one of my salamanders.
My two druids proved pivotal, blasting lightning every which way, with a boosted area-of-effect shot single handedly clearing three models and wounding a fourth. In the end, however, the reaper that Martin sent for the plans, with support from the Mind-Screech, was able to lock down my dog and centaur, leaving neither of us with the plans.

Summary: Draw, suppurating wound on Shambler (-1 Ar), +1 bonus gold, "Village" +3 gold, +1 wound on the centaur (not actually legal since already upgraded his power die, my bad!)

Game 4: Secure the Portal vs. Iain's Basileans
Only one picture for this one, but in game four it was all I could do to remember the rules! Iain's Basileans were gorgeous, painted with a really interesting scheme, and to top it off I was playing on the fantastic city table again. I won the roll for side (think I won it in each game, maybe not in 3) and so chose the side I hadn't played on, even though the elevated side would probably have been the more advantageous choice. Like with the power stones, the portal gave you points at the end of each round, but with the added risk that your models could be sucked into the cold void.
Iain made great use of his sisterhood scouts and his abbess's ability to quickly dominate the centre of the board, and while my chieftain put up a valiant effort, he, along with two salamanders, was sucked into the portal for his effort! A very fun game and a great way to round out the tournament.

Summary: Loss, +1 bonus gold, "Silver Mine" +7 gold

Event Summary

With two wins, a draw and a loss, I think I've got the gist both of the game and how to use my warband. I'm guessing my gold from exploration was below average, meaning I ended 19th out of 28, but I also didn't do a great job going after the bonus gold for killing commanders etc.. But this way of scoring gave the event a really relaxed feel, which was invaluable I think for the first tournament for a new system.

It's possible that as time goes on players will hope to see the randomness lessened as the game's depths are explored, but I for one hope that some element will remain, and that vanguard will manage to foster a less 'hardcore' attitude to its events than, say, Kings of War (not a criticism, I love KoW and its scene).

Four games in one day may well prove fine as players become faster at the game, but I believe it was common on the day not to manage all 5 rounds. 3 of my 4 games ended after 4 rounds, I recall. Perhaps only 3 games with the possibility of a 6th round returning would be better, but it's early days.

My brother's warband - Melkahvyr's Raiders
My brother also had a great time leading his band of Abyssal Dwarfs. While most of the factions at the event were from the 'kickstarter four' (Abyss, Nightstalker, Northern Alliance and Basileans), there was a good number of other factions on the field, and it was orcs who won 1st place. All bodes well, methinks, for the future of Vanguard.

And so to the prizes! There were numerous awards up for grabs, including spot prizes for most injured model and most models sucked through the portal! Every award came with a heap of great stuff, even for 'Lower than a Goblin Slave' last place! Prize support was simply amazing, with goodies contributed by Mantic, GAMEMAT.eu and Deep Cut Studio. Everyone got three mercenary cards (two unique to the event), with another included in a set of, er, 'generic' red white and blue dice that could be purchased. I was fortunate enough to win two awards, the first for my warband background (all the entries were really interesting and are worth a read, my brother's 'Loyalty and the Lash' among them, check them out), and the second for best painted mercenary, for my rendering of Haranak the Elder. There were some amazing mercenaries out there on the field, so it was a pleasant surprise to win (although who can resist the allure of the greenfro?)

The haul
Mugs in pride of place
A fantastic event. Congratulations to the top three, bravo to everyone else, and a huge thanks to Andrew Sharp of Weight of Fire, to my four opponents, and to Mr. Ross Diggle for our lift in and out of Manchester. The inside scoop says Cry Havoc could be returning at a similar time next year, and with such a laid back atmosphere, superb venue and fantastic prizes, I would highly recommend any fan of good times and Vanguard attend. I know I will :)

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