A Renaissance Fantasy Wargame Campaign
Wargaming and Fantasy Role Playing in a Quasi-Historic, Though Semi Imaginary World of Britannia, Scoatia, and Hibernia.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Dungeon World Campaigns Is Finally Finished, yeeeeey!!!!!
The Clean Up Crew in Dungeon World:
In many Underdeep complexes throughout the known (and sometimes unknown) worlds of fantasy, there are some usually parasitical monsters who are part of what are affectionately known as `clean up crew`. These wandering monster types move through a complex, eating anything they find on their travel through the tunnels.
Gelatinous Blob
Evil Trapper
The Gelatinous Blob is really nothing more than a stomach which slithers and slides through the dungeon tunnel complex, often filling out to fit the dimensions of the walls, scraping clean and digesting anything it makes contact with. It is said there are few things in the world the Blob cannot eat, given enough time for its digestive acids to get to work.
The Trapper is an evil entity. Only semi sentient, yet possessing enough reason to position itself in prime position (alone or in groups) where it can detect nearby movement... at the last minute lashing out with its long sticky tentacles, ensnaring a victim and pulling it into its ravenous maw.
Floating Squids normally roam the dungeon in small groups. When they encounter living (or recently dead) matter, they phychically suck its energy to a dry husk, leaving little left but a pile of dust. Its simple throat and small red mouth makes a shrill keening sound when threatened or a food source is close.
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*sighhhhs* Now to take a break.... a busman`s holiday finally to finish off painting the rest of my monsters.... hundreds down, only hundreds more to do.
Let The Games Begin!!!
You Shall Not pass!!!
Monday, May 9, 2011
Making My Own Dungeon Table To Use Alongside The Pendraken Dungeon Tiles
The Pendraken Miniatures resin Dungeon Tiles are a Godsend to the 10mm gamer wishing to pursue role playing in this wonderfully petite game scale. But sometimes... just sometimes, the dreary monotony of miles and miles of endless tunnels, passages and chambers gets a little same-y (I guess if these fantasy worlds really existed, there would be a syndrome for this kind of mind numbing claustrophobia "Tunnel Phobia... Underworld Fatigue" or some such medical condition - hmmm now there`s an idea) :-\
Patience
... Not Always My Most Developed Virtue
Lines Upon Lines
She`s getting There
Ooo... More Lines Of Tiles. Ain`t It Pretty :-)
Aaaah, More Like It!
Varnished
Drying Nicely
Open... OPEN!!
Not Bad... Even If I do Say So Myself!!!
Can use the board in any rpg game, like a D&D mat to place your figures on to describe the action taking place... or to use as a large Dungeon World chamber in it`s own right.
Not finished yet, could go on for ever improving it. But anyway, you get the general idea.
The party looked down into the vast chamber below, and eyed the scene before them with critical eyes.
"Well how the hell are we supposed to get through that lot. There must be a dozen of those things moving about down there?" Drover Warsong stated anxiously.
Below where the four fearful companions perched looking into the chamber, many foul oozing Slimes slithered hither and thither among the remains of the last party of unfortunate victims who had NOT successfully made it across the open ground... to the portal on the far side! Patches of blood and gore seeped into the cracks in the stones and gathered in macabre pools of rapidly drying crimson.
Yentala The Thief looked around frantically, using her keen eyes to search out the edges of the chamber for a safe passage through the large expanse, to the stone carved door on the far side. But all she could see was a group of hungry Giant Rats lapping at the gore and nibbling on the last remains of the previous adventuring party.
"No use for it, we HAVE to go through the Slimes. Our quest lies beyond those far doors!" Bjorn The Bold announced in an agitated tone.
"Don`t they spit acid?" Mikus The Mage enquired with a slight quiver in his voice.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
The Battle (of Cley Fields)
The 1st Company of Foote, under the command of Sir Stephen Gilbert (currently led by Lieutanant Wesley Winthorpe) rushed to set up defensive positions along the dry stone walls near Cley`s South Field Farm. The excited anticipation for the fast approaching battle caused the men to chatter and spark as adrenalin and nervous energy coursed through the veins of each man present.
Soon, the chorus of voices fell silent, as each prayed to his God for victory and personal safety throughout the coming endeavours.
The sergeants licked their lips and prepared their rnen as best they could.... for the enemy they faced was not an undisciplined rabble. This would not be like quelling unruley street rabble or policing the streets of Norwich at times of civil unrest; they were facing battle hardened Orc and Hobgoblin warriors - fat from the spoils of their recent raiding antics... who knew far more about the art of war than any of the assembled soldiers could possibly comprehend at this stage in their training. This would be a hard testing time for the 1st Company of Sir Stephen`s 1st Regiment of Foote.
With a howl of embittered hatred, the enemy began their long charge towards the soldiers.
(In a decisive morale check, the soldiers roll a Perfect success.. their courage and resolve stiffened by their leaders... while the Orcs roll a Fail and find themselves retiring from the wall just as the Hobs had done only minutes earlier).
A ragged cheer goes up from the soldiers defending the wall.
The cannon is rolled up to the wall, and prepares to fire at the enemy - at short range.
The result of the ensuing cannon fire has a devistating affect on the Hobs....
.. and they turn and rout back to the woods.
The Orcs reluctantly retire, hard on the heels of their lesser hearted cousins.
The evening fades and turns to night.... victory falls to the 1st Company of 1st Regiment of the Foote.
Soon, the chorus of voices fell silent, as each prayed to his God for victory and personal safety throughout the coming endeavours.
The sergeants licked their lips and prepared their rnen as best they could.... for the enemy they faced was not an undisciplined rabble. This would not be like quelling unruley street rabble or policing the streets of Norwich at times of civil unrest; they were facing battle hardened Orc and Hobgoblin warriors - fat from the spoils of their recent raiding antics... who knew far more about the art of war than any of the assembled soldiers could possibly comprehend at this stage in their training. This would be a hard testing time for the 1st Company of Sir Stephen`s 1st Regiment of Foote.
The Cannon has a commanding view of the open ground between the village and the woodlands beyond.... good! The Orcs and Hobs had delayed their attack long enough for the soldiers to set up an adequate line of defense along the walls.
The cannon roars loudly, and the battle is underway. Muskets take aim... and fire a few well aimed volleys into the fast approaching enemy.
A few hobgoblins fall screaming to the ground, but they rush forward unperturbed... a small unit of Hobs on the far let flank let fly a few volleys of arrows in return, and a couple of soldiers fall gurgling to the ground... clutching wicked barbed shafts which protrude from their bodies with deadly fatality.
With a snarl of haterd, the Hobgoblins reach the wall, and close combat ensues. Behind this first wave - a second line of Orcs waits impatiently to get to grips with their loathed enemy.
The fight is firece and terrible - neither side gaining a clear advantage over the other. The dry stone wall proves difficult for the Hobs to cross, and cold steel and raw courage from the soldiers proves a stiff challenge even for this veteran horde to overcome.
The small reserve line of soldiers is thrown into the fight to stiffen their resolve.
Eventually, the casualty toll begins to tell on the Hobs, and (after failing a morale check to see whether they can sustain the attack) eventually they are forced to retire some paces from the wall , but still in fairly good order.
The dead litter the ground; and the wounded on both side of the wall lay prone and bleeding, many are groaning upon the blood soaked grass.
The Orcs grip their weapons firmly and with a huge battle roar - they charge the soldiers still valiantly defending the walls.
(In a decisive morale check, the soldiers roll a Perfect success.. their courage and resolve stiffened by their leaders... while the Orcs roll a Fail and find themselves retiring from the wall just as the Hobs had done only minutes earlier).
A ragged cheer goes up from the soldiers defending the wall.
The cannon is rolled up to the wall, and prepares to fire at the enemy - at short range.
The result of the ensuing cannon fire has a devistating affect on the Hobs....
.. and they turn and rout back to the woods.
The Orcs reluctantly retire, hard on the heels of their lesser hearted cousins.
From the edge of the trees, a large, very nasty looking Hobgoblin cheiftain roars a defiant curse upon the heads of the soldiers still defending the village... and then he vanishes into the undergrowth like a ghost.
The evening fades and turns to night.... victory falls to the 1st Company of 1st Regiment of the Foote.
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