Black Steffan
Skirmish Battle
As the gloom descended, Pieter's mood descended with it. A bruise of yellow-grey clouds had been swelling in the northern sky all day, and now the air felt heavy with the threat of rain. The tension in the air matched the growing disquiet in Pieter's heart. It had been ten days since the column had marched north and taken the bulk of the watchtower's garrison with it, leaving Pieter in charge of a bare dozen men. He gazed up the road whence the column had gone, following it as it turned about a shoulder of bare rock jutting clear of the copses of blackened pines on the northerly march. The bare boulders sported two gibbets that hung bleakly in the heavy air, and the only movement came from the carrion crows that made their evening meal of the desiccated bodies within. On a brighter day, Pieter would have been comforted by the familiar sight of Morr's chosen messengers about their work, but today he could not shake the thought that the carrion birds cared little for who it was they fed on. The heretic and the hero tasted just as good to a hungry crow.
"Two men." The words came from Gundermann standing at his side. The veteran idly fingered the talisman on the stock of his longrifle as he cast his view through the sighting apparatus along the weapons spine. These were the first words Gundermann had spoken in the six hours of their watch. Like many of the older members of the regiment, Gundermann followed the old ways. Pieter, like many recruits sworn to service since the ascension of Karl Franz to the throne, were Sigmarites. Not that Pieter was a particularly devout or zealous warrior. He had long suspected that the gods were far too busy to care about the insignificant doings of mere mortals such as himself, and he had never seen anything to convince him otherwise. He had always found those devoted to the worship of Morr a little too preoccupied with death, and as he watched the crows feed he couldn't help but feel such preoccupations courted trouble. As it happened, Gundermann's talisman was a crow's claw.
Even with unaided sight, Pieter could now see the two figures through the gloom. Both were armoured, although one figure stumbled and limped as if wounded. He walked ahead of the second man, who seemed little concerned with his companion's injuries. As they approached the gate to the watch house, Pieter yelled down to the two men he had stationed there to be on their guard. "Keep them in your sights" he ordered Gundermann, and hurried to the trap door leading back down into the watch house without waiting for a reply. Normally, Pieter would trust that his gate guards would handle any traveller, but now with the garrison so short handed and the fingers of tension gripping his thoughts, Pieter wanted to handle it personally, if only to feel like he had some sort of command over events.
The two men approached slowly but not warily. The grinding and clacking of their heavy plate was accompanied by gruff orders from the second man, and the occasional complaint from the first. Clearly they were in the middle of an argument. Whatever the cause, it resolved with the second man giving the first a hefty kick to the back, which sent him sprawling upon the heavy flagstones before the gate in a snarl of curses. Pieter could see the man's armour was ornate, no doubt forged in the workshops of Nuln to the south, and would have cost a pretty penny. Sigils of Morr were graven in cold steel to contrast the black enamel, and his head was bare save for a ring of silver fashioned in the shape of ravens wings about his brow. But the man's hair was dishevelled and his beard unkempt. His hands were bound in heavy cord.
"If that one so much as breathes, kill him!" came a cold voice from the second man. He was likewise in heavy plate, but where his captive's armour was ornate and black, the man's armour was dull metal, pitted with age and use and splashed with dried blood. A shattered skull was bound to his hip, alongside a heavy book whose red leather matched his trailing tabard. About his shaven head sat a ring of bronze, and in his hand he bore a great hammer, inlaid with a golden skull device and trailing wisps of parchment held with tattered wax seals from its massive head. Mud and grime told of a hard journey.
"Who goes here?" Pieter gathered his wits and asked.
"I am Frederic, sworn brother of the Priesthood and last survivor of the Raven's Nest!" the man stated, firelight glinting in his eyes,"And this," he spat on the man at his feet, "is Captain Steffan Rafenschwartz: a coward."
"Last survivor!" Pieter started, "What of the column?"
Whatever reply Frederic was about to give was savagely cut short as a ragged, broad headed arrow burst from his throat. The priest gurgled, clutching at his throat. The look of anger and fear in his eyes was something Pieter would carry to his grave. More arrows, some afire, began falling among his men, one glancing off his helm and finally starting him into action.
"Alarm!!" he cried, as if it were necessary. The sharp report of Gundermann's long rifle sounded, and Pieter's jerked his gaze to the tower. Several arrows were embedded in the ornate timber and daub panels between the stonework, and flames were beginning to catch. As he watched he saw the veteran sergeant struck and go down, and heard a guttural cry from ragged throats as red figures emerged from the tree line.
Battlefield
The battlefield is a 4x4” table with the watch tower and one or two other buildings alongside a wooded road.
Armies
Armies are selected according to the skirmish rules with the Empire receiving 100 points and Chaos 120points. Black Steffan is free.
Deployment
The Empire forces deploy first, in or within 6” of the watch tower., with Black Steffan deployed out the front of the watch tower.
First Turn
The Chaos player has the first turn.
Victory
The game lasts until Black Steffan leaves the table or is killed. If he escapes then the Empire win – all other results are a Chaos victory.
Special Rules
Black Steffan has the profile of an Empire Captain. His hands are bound, but he can run! He is at -1 WS due to the fact he is unarmed, but has his plate armour (4+ Armour Save) and his enchanted laurel (5+ Ward).
"Two men." The words came from Gundermann standing at his side. The veteran idly fingered the talisman on the stock of his longrifle as he cast his view through the sighting apparatus along the weapons spine. These were the first words Gundermann had spoken in the six hours of their watch. Like many of the older members of the regiment, Gundermann followed the old ways. Pieter, like many recruits sworn to service since the ascension of Karl Franz to the throne, were Sigmarites. Not that Pieter was a particularly devout or zealous warrior. He had long suspected that the gods were far too busy to care about the insignificant doings of mere mortals such as himself, and he had never seen anything to convince him otherwise. He had always found those devoted to the worship of Morr a little too preoccupied with death, and as he watched the crows feed he couldn't help but feel such preoccupations courted trouble. As it happened, Gundermann's talisman was a crow's claw.
Even with unaided sight, Pieter could now see the two figures through the gloom. Both were armoured, although one figure stumbled and limped as if wounded. He walked ahead of the second man, who seemed little concerned with his companion's injuries. As they approached the gate to the watch house, Pieter yelled down to the two men he had stationed there to be on their guard. "Keep them in your sights" he ordered Gundermann, and hurried to the trap door leading back down into the watch house without waiting for a reply. Normally, Pieter would trust that his gate guards would handle any traveller, but now with the garrison so short handed and the fingers of tension gripping his thoughts, Pieter wanted to handle it personally, if only to feel like he had some sort of command over events.
The two men approached slowly but not warily. The grinding and clacking of their heavy plate was accompanied by gruff orders from the second man, and the occasional complaint from the first. Clearly they were in the middle of an argument. Whatever the cause, it resolved with the second man giving the first a hefty kick to the back, which sent him sprawling upon the heavy flagstones before the gate in a snarl of curses. Pieter could see the man's armour was ornate, no doubt forged in the workshops of Nuln to the south, and would have cost a pretty penny. Sigils of Morr were graven in cold steel to contrast the black enamel, and his head was bare save for a ring of silver fashioned in the shape of ravens wings about his brow. But the man's hair was dishevelled and his beard unkempt. His hands were bound in heavy cord.
"If that one so much as breathes, kill him!" came a cold voice from the second man. He was likewise in heavy plate, but where his captive's armour was ornate and black, the man's armour was dull metal, pitted with age and use and splashed with dried blood. A shattered skull was bound to his hip, alongside a heavy book whose red leather matched his trailing tabard. About his shaven head sat a ring of bronze, and in his hand he bore a great hammer, inlaid with a golden skull device and trailing wisps of parchment held with tattered wax seals from its massive head. Mud and grime told of a hard journey.
"Who goes here?" Pieter gathered his wits and asked.
"I am Frederic, sworn brother of the Priesthood and last survivor of the Raven's Nest!" the man stated, firelight glinting in his eyes,"And this," he spat on the man at his feet, "is Captain Steffan Rafenschwartz: a coward."
"Last survivor!" Pieter started, "What of the column?"
Whatever reply Frederic was about to give was savagely cut short as a ragged, broad headed arrow burst from his throat. The priest gurgled, clutching at his throat. The look of anger and fear in his eyes was something Pieter would carry to his grave. More arrows, some afire, began falling among his men, one glancing off his helm and finally starting him into action.
"Alarm!!" he cried, as if it were necessary. The sharp report of Gundermann's long rifle sounded, and Pieter's jerked his gaze to the tower. Several arrows were embedded in the ornate timber and daub panels between the stonework, and flames were beginning to catch. As he watched he saw the veteran sergeant struck and go down, and heard a guttural cry from ragged throats as red figures emerged from the tree line.
Battlefield
The battlefield is a 4x4” table with the watch tower and one or two other buildings alongside a wooded road.
Armies
Armies are selected according to the skirmish rules with the Empire receiving 100 points and Chaos 120points. Black Steffan is free.
Deployment
The Empire forces deploy first, in or within 6” of the watch tower., with Black Steffan deployed out the front of the watch tower.
First Turn
The Chaos player has the first turn.
Victory
The game lasts until Black Steffan leaves the table or is killed. If he escapes then the Empire win – all other results are a Chaos victory.
Special Rules
Black Steffan has the profile of an Empire Captain. His hands are bound, but he can run! He is at -1 WS due to the fact he is unarmed, but has his plate armour (4+ Armour Save) and his enchanted laurel (5+ Ward).