Sunday, 29 June 2014

Graboid a load of this.

Well, after a productive couple of days 'off the field' as they say I have a few pics of my new space-worm for you.

To the left,

to the right,

step it up,

step it up, s'alllright.

The model is a bendy so and so which made focusing on it tough so I have layered on a few effects with picasa, a bit like ink washing over a mini. Still, you get the idea. It's a bones Great Purple Worm (who names these things, seriously) and it was my first time working with the material. It works fine with something this size and this solid but I'll not be buying humanoid miniatures made of the stuff. There is a single irritating mold line that I just couldn't erase, another criticism I've heard is common, but frankly everytime I look at it I think of the price (under £2) and instantly feel a lot better.

Size-wise, that is a 28mm GW tank crew model in the fourth picture for comparison. It'll do great as a nice 'fun' surprise in RT games. I still harbour a deep desire to pick up the £50+ Forge World Dread Maw though, probably as a result of playing too much Mass Effect.

Thanks for stopping by!

Saturday, 28 June 2014

The Aftermath.

A sequel to yesterday's post, not for everyone I'm afraid, just the initiated few. Casual readers please accept my apologies and my assurance that normal service will be resumed tomorrow with a picture of my new space-worm.

My recent 'political' post was a good idea it turns out, I felt better for having written it and I got some excellent public and private messages as a result which meant a lot.

Obviously it may take some time for the message to filter out that I am no longer the enemy to those upon whose toes I stepped when I laid out my thoughts about philosophy, censorship, ownership, commercialisation and management. In the mean time I am simply taking the water off a duck's back approach and hoping to smile(y) my way through any problems.

One thing that cropped up yesterday was the issue of my now legendary public fall-out with the forum. It has been referred to as a 'failed takeover'. Now, let me approach this without any confrontational nonsense. I'm ok with all this being public, because if any resentment lingers amongst those who subscribe to this idea then I think it's important I make at least one effort to address the issue.

The concept of a take-over, or coup, means we have to acknowledge the existence of someone from whom it is possible to wrest control from. I would appreciate clarification on this matter, does anyone claim ownership? Products are being made and sold, miniatures are in production, Oldhammer is a search term on ebay. I make my living in property, boring stuff but it allows me to spend time with my son and wife while paying the bills. I wouldn't know where to start making money out of Oldhammer personally but I would like to know what the future holds for brands like 'Antiquis Malleum' and 'Oldhammer'. Who's the owner/inventor? It is only right that Zhu, author of the Oldhammer Contract, is acknowledged for his part in all this, also those who started the BLOOD forum back in the day deserve our thanks. BLOOD stands for bucket loads of old dice by the way, it was a proposed retro-clone of early edition Warhammer that became superfluous at some point.

I, and many others I sense, credit a small group of high production value blogs for banging the Oldhammer drum and luring them into the scene. These blogs include Realm of Chaos 80s, Warhammer for Adults, Somewhere the Tea's Getting Cold and Erny's Place amongst others. I started up a blog and let my BLOOD forum membership grow very stale indeed in the early days, because this for me was where the action was, the blogosphere. Where then does this leave Oldhammer? The message was starting to change, Zhu's contract and the BLOOD forum were about an ethos from a certain period in British wargaming, whereas the blogs pulling in crowds were concentrating on classic miniatures associated with that period. Blogs are, after all, best when used as a platform for visual information (wry smile).

So, acknowledging our past, where does this leave the subject of ownership? Please let me know if there is one, or if there is likely to be one as it would clear up a lot of confusion. I am very curious, even if I don't have the time (or the required military strength apparently) to run it myself.

Before we go any further, it seems wise to acknowledge that though there are candidates for the role of Oldhammer El Presidente, there is a reluctance to form a consensus of opinion on the matter. Forgive me for stating the obvious.

Moving back to my failed take-over (if only it had worked, think what I could do with over a thousand miniature enthusiasts!), the idea touches on something I mentioned yesterday. The vast majority in the community are looking for easy, user-friendly access to a community that appreciates a mature attitude to gaming and miniatures and don't want to do boring stuff like mod a forum or admin a Facebook page. I'm no different, but I recognise the need for someone to do it and three times now in my life I have accepted a minor role in site management when asked for help. That's not too far onto the megalomaniac scale now is it? Really? If I had an appetite for power I would stand for election against my thieving MP who rode the expenses scandal like a rodeo star thanks to his roots in the community. I am not, however, in this for the power believe it or not.

But what of the evidence? Yes, I associate myself closely with certain people in the community and I am in easy reach to be contacted by them and I never hesitate to offer them support or advice. This is what it means to me to be a friend and I won't change. Does this make us a clique with block-voting power? I've too much integrity for that, as anyone who truly knows me will attest. How do I prove my integrity? Anyone can contact me publicly or privately here, via email or on FB and I will answer any questions they may have. If you can't find a reason to distrust me after we've spoken then I would ask you to give me your trust moving forward.

Thanks for stopping by!

Friday, 27 June 2014

The Politics of Oldhammer.

This is one of those, fraught, protracted wordwalls of a very Oldhammer-specific nature that will interest only a very small group of people. Please consider yourself warned!

I recall seeing an episode of Borgen, a Danish political drama telling the story of Birgitte Nyborg who, against the odds, becomes her country's first female Prime Minister. It reminded me of Oldhammer, well, this particular episode anyway. You see, a brand new political party had been founded from scratch. As a result though it was new, exciting and full of energy it lacked identity. People from across the political spectrum clamoured to be a part of this new 'movement', whether from the left, centre or right, whether disenfranchised, optimistic, ambitious or exhausted by the status quo, the prospect of something new reinvigorated the jaded and excited everyone with it's freshness. Like I said, the new party lacked identity as a result. This particular episode Has Birgitte call everyone's attention to the ideas board in the party HQ and she goes through it with them. Everywhere there are different and often contradictory or mutually exclusive ideas for a party manifesto. Clearly, the attempt to blend political ideals from all quarters isn't working and quite a bit of nonsense from the extreme left and right doesn't have any chance of implementation in a month of Sundays. Birgitte concludes by saying that crunch time has arrived and sends everybody home. Not all of them will be invited back.

So, what does this have to do with Oldhammer beyond one or two vague parallels?

Oldhammer doesn't have an identity. Not once in it's first years of growing publicity or in the wilderness years before that has anyone been able to define what Oldhammer means to other people, to themselves, but not to others. Oldhammerers appear to lack empathy.

"No identity or empathy?!" I hear you cry, "surely it's not all bad?!"

No of course not, but things aren't all great if we're honest either. I'm not implying that Oldhammer is the wargaming equivalent of a political party, though once I foolishly wished it could be capable of changing make-believe wargaming for the better, but I am suggesting it is the chaotic HQ that was heaving with competing ideas and boundless enthusiasm before Birgitte took charge and cleared the room. Our problem is that so many of us seem to harbour the desire to categorise Oldhammer, pigeonhole an inherently anarchic concept, bringing order and discipline to a chaos-fuelled riot. When we do this, we change Oldhammer back into what we already had, what we were so bored with that we rebelled. Whereas Birgitte's party needed her leadership at that moment, we don't, we should all hope to preserve the bubbling primordial pool of creativity that has been revealed to us. That much is clear, but we have to accept that as a consequence friction between members or (dare I say it) factions within Oldhammer will give rise to negativity and conflict. This negativity needs to be dealt with in an adult way, even if this is the internet and not a medium conducive to grown-up behaviour.

Having reached this conclusion, I find myself with a few things I need to get off my chest so that I can be seen to practise what I preach. (We all know you love it when I preach).

First, the forum community really annoyed me a while back. When things needed to get done and things needed to be said the vast majority just put their head down and kept quiet. Anything for a peaceful life, just here for the minis thanks. Well, someone has to do all the technical work (for free) and others have to offer themselves to that person and do their dirty work, perhaps even acting as a lightning rod, so in future perhaps you should do a bit more to contribute or at least slow down and try to understand those who do. Worse, a small minority were outspoken in pushing their own agenda (on both sides) and often spoke rashly from a position of ignorance.

That said, I apologise for the mistakes that were made and my part in them and forgive all things.

Second, wargaming can be very crass sometimes. Whether it's the insidiousness of Pony Wars (which as a rational human being and wargamer is a game I choose to despise) on the Oldhammer forum, the preponderance of WW2 German armies weighed down with SS Tigers at my club or the grotesque glee I witnessed recently as a miniature woman clutching a baby was killed in a game of Warhammer I GM'd, the hobby can stray into areas that offend to some degree. Perhaps be aware of this just a little bit, it may be your God-given right to be ignorant and uncultured but if that's so then it's mine to point it out. That said, if ever I do take offence you may be sure I will forgive and forget very swiftly, moving on to deal with the world as it is, not as I would wish it to be.

Third, my involvement in the online gaming community has been one of the most positive boons to my life, outdone only by my marriage and the birth of my son. However, I have also met some rather awkward fellows who have tried my patience to it's breaking point. I have tried being nice to all of them, most blank me now but one in particular contents himself with being snide and provocative at every opportunity. I will continue to recognise my failings and apologise for any offence I have caused, I will not vent my frustration publicly any more so as to avoid hypocrisy and I happily forgive them utterly. You sir, have a clean slate. Yours to do with as you wish.

All of this means what exactly? Beyond a catharsis for yours truly? Initially it will merely herald my return to the Oldhammer forum to finish my commitments regarding the Trolltooth Wars. Long term, hopefully it will be the first, small step on the long road to a contented Oldhammer community and a reunion of the developed cliques which have sprung up. Please don't mock me for trying! I just want to be one of those wiser, cooler heads instead of part of the problem. There is a long way to go before any understanding is reached within the community regarding what is 'allowed' and what is 'forbidden' but I think that I want to be one of those who expresses a lot of positives and no negativity, hence my own personal exorcism which is the permission I grant myself to be a better Oldhammerer.

Borgen actually translates as 'castle' or 'citadel' funnily enough.

Thanks for stopping by!

Thursday, 26 June 2014

Grav-shuttle, acquisitions and head-scratching.

Here's what I've been working on lately for Rogue Trader (apologies for spelling it correctly, it's a compulsion).

Daemonscape Casevac vehicle, re-purposed to be a more generic shuttle.

It has been a tricky WIP actually. Being a self-taught painter I tend to experiment and take risks and this doesn't always pay off. It took a bit of time to get the project back on track and though I still wouldn't call it finished, it is tabletop ready.

The base worked ok though, a bit bushy on reflection but it is detachable which allows the shuttle to land for  game purposes.

In other news, I heard on the jungle drums that EM4 had some new/old Spacelords stuff available if you emailed a request.

Needless to say, I emailed a request fairly sharpish. I'm a little predictable in that regard. Here they are.

These will occupy me for the forseeable future along with a few other half started models that I want to have available for BOYL '14.

I wonder if any of you can help me out. I have been having a real problem getting hold of a statue for the Wolftime (the Chapter Approved RT scenario). It is one of the many issues holding up play (friend's wife currently has broken collar bone also) and I'd like to get it resolved.

I've knocked this up but it doesn't really channel the vibe I was looking for.

I was kind of ok with this one at first, it does look like a Space Wolf statue that has had an Ork augment with the spanner representing a bone in the mouth perhaps as a jibe, but it's not quite right and it doesn't feel RT enough.

In the scenario the statue is a former human one (slightly buddha-esque) that has been defiled by Orks. Now, call me a prude but I have no desire to obtain a religious icon and vandalise it for a one-off wargame but I have not been able to come up with an alternative despite trawling thorough local garden stores, DIY stores and online. Suggestions welcome.

Thanks for stopping by!

Friday, 20 June 2014

The Battle of the Burning Tower. 14/6/14

A 'Warlord Paul Presents' production.

When luminaries of the retro-revival scene join forces for a big retrosexual get-together good things are bound to happen. The latest chapter of my ongoing campaign to revive the fortunes of global gamesmastering saw Orlygg of the Realm of Chaos 80's blog ally with Steve Casey of the Eldritch Epistles blog (also your friend Bridgend Steve on eBay) and take on Thantsants of the Somewhere the Tea's Getting Cold blog. The legendary Nik Dixon brought his classic Wood Elves along to add an unknown third element to the proceedings.

Look at that happy face! He loves it!

First of all please allow me to introduce and thank our hosts, Slayer Gaming. Stepping in as a free venue at short notice they exceeded all expectations and couldn't have been more friendly and accommodating. I hope those of you who enjoy reading these retro after action reports will take a moment to pop over to their Facebook page and give them a like as it will not only show the community's appreciation for a FLGS that welcomes the retro scene revivalists but also will be useful for hearing about updates on new events and how we are being perceived in 'modern' wargaming circles. They also have some mighty impressive discounts available on their webstore by the way. I have no shares in SG (regrettably) but it's the least I can do to return the awesomeness shown to us.

Slayer Gaming Facebook page.

Slayer Gaming home page and store.


On with the show. If you've missed any of the intro narrative or build-up games it is worth a search through this blog to familiarise yourself with the protagonists.

At the beginning of the game it was explained to the players that Baron Kraust (Thantsants) had detected his pursuers and left the Elven Road to take refuge in a small, renegade fiefdom run by a petty warlock. The fiefdom was accessible only through a narrow pass guarded by a watch tower and accompanying toll booth. The force present in these buildings was unknown and the three independent parties pursuing Kraust (Orlygg's Ulther Deathfist, Steve's Carnivale and Nik's Elves) would only have a small unit of scouts available at first. the objective was to penetrate through the fiefdom's defences and obtain information on Kraust's whereabouts.

A deceptively peaceful scene at Deadwood Pass. Igor the road warden is cheerfully extorting monies from a trader at the red-roofed toll booth while two Dark Elf mercenary crossbows prowl the tower battlements.

A kinband of wild Wood Elves accompanied by a Zoat mage enter the pass using stealth to cover their approach. They are able to slink past the local guards and take up a commanding firing position in one of the patches of petrified forest that give the pass its name. Along the way, they trigger a magical trap left by the wily Baron Kraust, sword-trees! Tree limbs bearing magical blades lash at the unsuspecting Elves, unused to fearing the forest one of their number succumbs to the onslaught.

Next to arrive is a Dark Elf mercenary guard with two prisoners from the Carnivale. Swiftly following them comes an unsubtle Khornate 'reconnaissance in force' led by Grimgrunt, one of the Deathfist's Lieutenants. The Beastmen's noses twitch uncontrollably at the smell of magic on the guard, and Grimgrunt is about to order an attack when more strangers arrive from the travelling circus troupe offering an alliance. An accord is struck (after some role-play) and the Chaotic efforts become more coordinated.

As the large Khorne scouting party is spotted they come under fire from the watchtower. One of the mercenaries runs downstairs to alert the Orcish tower commander Gruntslahg (seen here on the road to the right of frame) before returning to the battlements to add his crossbow fire to that of his comrade's. Gruntslahg is not the bravest of Orcs and didn't rise to his position by carelessly risking his life in combat, he orders Fikskul the Ogre mercenary into the Chaotics while supervising from a safe distance. The Kinband's Zoat casts a dispiriting spell on Igor the road warden and the weak-minded unfortunate is utterly stricken. He seals himself in the toll booth and goes downstairs to his underground hovel where he drinks heavily before taking his own life (it really was a very poor magic saving throw result). The mercenary guard with the Carnivale prisoners stops to talk to Gruntslahg, asking if it might be worth fetching that Baron Kraust to help defend the pass, as he is a right tasty Necromancer, and where might he be? The Orc ignores the suggestion and orders the chagrined merc to dump his prisoners in the watchtowers oubliette and join his comrades on the battlements.

The Kinband are set up in ambush further up the toll road. As a messenger from the watchtower carrying a heavy bag of documents flees up the road he is peppered with arrows and slain. The unfortunate trader who fled from the toll booth at the approach of Grimgrunt's force was also attacked by the indiscriminate Elves but due to errant shooting from the Wood Elves his mule was killed in his stead allowing him to make progress toward the thatched hostelry. Not to be deterred by his comrades inaccuracy, the Zoat mage attacks and kills the innocent trader by hitting him with a big lump of metal up close and personal, 'just in case'.

The Carnivale arrives in full, gleaming, painted wagons rolling toward the fracas developing by the toll booth. Fikskul kills a Thug while another has fallen to the Dark Elven marksmanship from the watchtower. Grimgrunt bellows a challenge in the Dark Tongue at the Orc commander who promptly flees toward the safety of the watchtower leaving Fikskul to his fate.

The two Dark Elves atop the watchtower don't recognise the approaching guard, he must be one of Dinuvial's lads, they ignore him and continue to add their fire to the combat below.

The guard ignores his orders to throw the prisoners into the oubliette, instead he frees them once inside the watchtower and works with them while they search the lower floors for clues. They only give the Orc's desk a cursory glance however, missing an important note. Heading to the top of the tower the 'Dark Elf' reveals himself to be none other than the famous Great Nint'hen-doh, illusionist extraordinaire and star attraction of the Carnivale. Pushing up his sleeves, he unleashes a trio of fireballs at the Dark Elves' backs with a flourish of his hands. Unfortunately, one of the barrels of oil stored here to deter attackers is caught by a fireball (What are the chances? About 16.7% as it goes...) and explodes spectacularly. Both Dark Elves are killed either by the fireballs or the accident while a shocked Nint'hen-doh and his comrades are wounded but on their feet still.

Down on the Toll Road, Fikskul finally succumbs to his multiple opponents. The final blow comes from Grimgrunt himself who very carefully planted his axe in the Ogre's spine while he wasn't looking. No doubt the tale will be somewhat different once retold at the campfire.

Nint'hen-doh, Klynt and Clyde escape the watchtower as the fire spreads, quickly engulfing the building. They are rather singed and a little embarrassed too.

The rest of the Carnivale, they don't really need to know the full details of the accidental arson supposes Nint'hen-doh. They make progress through the pass unopposed thanks to the erupting chaos all around. 

The watchtower is soon merrily ablaze. All paperwork therein pertaining to the whereabouts of one Baron Kraust becomes so much ash. Nint'hen-DOH!

The Carnivale/Khorne alliance is able to coalesce and head up the pass following the death of Fikskul, the destruction of the tower and the flight of Gruntslahg. Nobody is sure exactly where they are going unfortunately. After some role-play, it is finally revealed to the players (Nint'hen-doh resumes his magical disguise and talks once more to a cowering Gruntslahg) that the Orc is fleeing towards the hostelry in the hope of meeting Kraust there. Another magical trap is triggered en route, this time summoning skeletons bound to a runestone, which impedes the Chaotics momentarily.

Armed with the knowledge of the location of their quarry at last, Grimgrunt sounds a daemonic horn (not magic, daemonic) which summons his master, Ulthur Deathfist, through a portal to a ridge on the south side of Deadwood Pass.

The Horde of the Deathfist, arrayed for battle once more.

The Deathfist's personal banner waves proudly over his elite bodyguard which he leads into battle, hoping to avenge his previous misfortunes.

Out of the dust, skeletons begin to draw themselves upright, jaws clacking maniacally as if some memory of hunger for the enemy's blood is driving them into a frenzy. The road beyond the thatched hostelry is flooded which is why Baron Kraust has been forced to rest here. Now roused to anger he is not without defences, his powerful necromantic magic assembles a large army in moments with which to oppose the Deathfist.

The Battle of the Burning Tower is about to begin. The board is set, the pieces are moving.

The battle begins as the Deathfist's Chaos Dwarves unleash their awesome firepower on the Undead. Kraust responds by sending a Bone Giant and a lethal unit of Death Riders towards the missile troops of his enemy's exposed right flank.

The Chaotics seek to encircle and trap Kraust, though the rune-bound skeleton trap is still causing problems. Klynt and Clyde, unable to face the Undead, flee back to safety leaving Nint'hen-doh alone and unguarded. The Zoat mage is drawn into a protracted struggle with some of the skeletons. Disturbed by the turn of events the Wood Elves attempt to cause as much carnage as they can while preparing to withdraw to safety.

The Bone Giant is diverted towards a unit of Minotaurs while the Death Riders plough unhindered through a copse of petrified trees. Grimgrunt's scouts and the Carnivale form the Deathfist's left flank which presses towards the hostelry. The Carnivale desperately wants to retrieve a stolen relic and avenge a murder. Ulther personally leads the centre with his elite Chaos Warriors and some Beastmen. On the right the Minotaurs steel themselves to face the towering Undead horror while the Chaos Dwarves in the rear try to fire as fast as they can.

A bone-chilling sound comes from the Death Riders as they come within range of the Chaos Dwarf crossbows and their pace picks up speed.

Ash, stone and burning wood falls onto the Chaos Warriors but they do not flinch for a moment. The Carnivale's wagons steer wide around the inferno.

The Death Riders take terrible casualties from crossbow fire as they ride up the ridge to confront the Chaos Dwarves but get their revenge by slaughtering the diminutive marksmen. The Bone Giant is heavily wounded and lurching unsteadily after a combat with the Minotaurs but nevertheless it routs the brittle bull-men, sending them fleeing over the ridge and off into oblivion. The relatively intact (but freshly painted...) Chaos Dwarf crossbows are allowed a special GM's last chance to rally in a field (just off-table) but fail (with a double 6 no less) and are never seen again.

A chariot smashes into the Beastmen of the Deathfist's centre sending limbs flying as its scythes do their deadly work. Nint'hen-doh is to be seen in his true form (purple and yellow robes) finally in this scene and faintly in the previous image.

The fight between the chariot and the Beastmen is a vicious one, both Undead steeds are destroyed as is one of the crew but one Skeleton refuses to embrace death a second time and eventually the Beastmen lose their nerve. The victorious Skeleton leaps from his wrecked chariot and lustily pursues his foe.

Two Carrion dive onto Grimgrunt's warband who have Nint'hen-doh and his spells in support. Above this conflict, a second unit of Death Riders appear on Kraust's right flank and burst through the Wood Elves who are forced to scatter and leave the field. These Death Riders move on to attack the Carnivale.

The crucial point of the battle is nigh. The Deathfist's forces are in retreat and disarray all across the field of battle and his own bodyguard is flanked thanks to the gap left by the Beastmen. Victory or defeat turns upon the elite heavy infantry being able to overcome the panic caused by the sudden appearance of hostile forces on their exposed right. They hold, just, and use their superior fighting abilities to chop down the Skeletons one by one. Emboldened by the certainty that flight is impossible, Gruntslahg joins the fray and finds himself face to face with death incarnate. After a brief struggle, Ulthur beheads the Orc and roars his defiance. 

It is as if Ulthur's personal triumph is a signal that ripples out all over both armies. Having reached a high tide, Baron Kraust's army is suddenly hurled back in all quarters as the magic binding his force together begins to unravel. The Carrion are pulled from the sky and trampled by Grimgrunt's warband, The mortar and bazooka crews defeat the Death Riders, the Bone Giant loses its final wound to the trick-shooter Klynt, Kraust himself is beset by debilitating spells and almost assassinated, his legion attacking the Chaos Warriors crumbles and is destroyed and he is forced to summon a desperate rearguard while he flees clasping the stolen relic. His army's sudden collapse is as swift as it is total.

Only one last action is played out, The Death Riders responsible for routing the Wood Elves plough into the Carnivale, all but Leon and his devoted Christina flee from their hideous approach. Fur sprouts and muscles bulge as Leon transforms into a mighty werewolf. With Christina clinging to his hairy torso (Franzetta-style) Wolf-Leon tears the last remaining Undead apart, scattering their component bones over a wide area before selecting the choicest and settling down to allow Christina to scritch his ears.

Kraust paused in his ascent to glance back for a brief moment. He wrang out his robes once more but it couldn't help him shake off the chill now. Behind him no sign of his army could be discerned at all, it had been wiped out utterly. No matter. Though being forced to wade through that cursed flood was a nuisance he had survived and what's more he had all he needed to create a new phylactery. Once that was complete, all would bow before him once more! All he needed was rest, a little time and shelter. The local ruler had been most accommodating thus far, he would continue to be no doubt, despite this little upset on his borders? And surely those circus fellows would give up the chase now that their Khorne allies had got their petty victory and toddled of home, wouldn't they? Yes, just a little time and a quiet place to conduct rituals, not to much to ask...

Having all gone badly, or at least a little bit meh, for the Deathfist the sudden turnaround was rather spectacular. It happened so fast over a single turn that the excitement can hardly be captured with photographs, I hope the way I've portrayed the battle in the narrative gives you at least a hint of the tension that built and the abrupt u-turn.

Many, many thanks to those who traveled (some distance) to Mansfield and took part. It is always a pleasure to roll dice with you gentlemen. Thanks once again to our hosts, Slayer Gaming, and thanks finally to the bakery around the corner for supplying me with a most excellent bacon cob.

Thanks for stopping by!

Thursday, 12 June 2014

Carnivale! Allies for the Deathfist?

The illustrious Mr Casey, bearer of the Yellow Fleece of Doom, will be joining battle on the 14th at Slayer Gaming with us and has requested a bit of narrative for his force, a travelling show with a Warhammer twist.


When they come, they ride into a village upon a bow-wave of fevered excitement. Days before they arrive it begins, a trepidatious buzz that whips an otherwise staid and drab populace into a fierce hysteria. The buzz is a word. Nobody ever knows who heard it first or who brought the word, but one word always leaps from one mouth to another like a scalded cat. That word? Carnivale!

The posters appear next.

Marvel at Fingers the unfailing knife-thrower and see his beautiful assistant Cristina risk her life for your entertainment on the Wheel of Death!

Peer in stupefied confusion at the impossible accuracy of Klynt Westwood the sharp-shooting bounty-hunter turned trick-marksman!

Goggle wide-eyed in wonderment at the Wild Man of the Forest, a fearsome, brawling primitive from a lost epoch! Pay a copper penny and take your lady for a peek or impress her by brawling with him for the stake of a mere silver piece!

Stare in awed tremulousness at the act of the legendary beast-trainer Alfredo and his monstrous companion, Buster.

Gawk in perplexity at the Great Nint’hen-doh, an incomparable illusionist who will astound you and leave you gaping open-mouthed with his ‘Magick’.

There are cheered as they march in, tickets are always sold out, audiences are always given a show to remember for the rest of their lives and the troupe never lingers past their welcome.

Something happened to change this easy routine. Just last Hexenstag Leon, the circus family's hunter and chief night watchman, discovered one of his night guard comrades brutally slain in the curio museum caravan. For a moment his visage twisted in anger and he barely looked human at all but then a soft hand caressed his shoulder. His lover, Cristina, had sensed his anguish and awoken. Having rushed to his side she calms him and he begins to look for clues. An ancient relic is missing! This affront against the circus family cannot go unpunished, for though the pull of Chaos is weak at best on the souls of these merry troubadours in happy times, vengeance can be the bellows that fans any small flame into an inferno.

At Leon's behest the Carnivale's Gypsy peers into her ball of polished crystal and flinches not as the souls of the dead appear to torment her. After a lengthy struggle of wills that would stop the heart of of an untrained medium they finally submit to her and a name is revealed, the thief, Kraust.

As he builds his phylactery anew, the necromancer may have crossed the wrong freaks.

Information is so much bread and butter to a travelling carnival and by moving day and night it is not long before they have the old soul-stealer cornered. Unfortunately, they aren’t the only ones seeking revenge on Kraust. Will striking a bargain with the Deathfist be the answer? Or even possible?!

Thanks for stopping by!