Taking SK-57 (Narrative Battle Report from the Ghoul Stars)

On Tuesday, I got to play my first Zone Mortalis game. And it... was... awesome! I cannot recommend ZM enough. With some really great terrain (thanks, Greg!), it makes for an awesome setting with a very grimdark 40k feel to it. This particular battle was the Raven Guard and Death Watch against Necrons and Orks for control of SK-57, a mysterious space station in Warzone Giza. While the White Raven's forces did take heavy casualties, nothing was permanently lost from my Order of Battle. Boosted by this victory, the Raven Guard are traveling via Storm Honda to Sacramento this weekend to hang out with Farseer Joel and Arch Magos Scott. Make sure to check out the Facebook page for pictures and hobby related updates. Also don't forget to check out Dredging the Grimdark, a series I've been writing for House of Paincakes.

For now, enjoy #flufffriday with a narrative battle report and some pictures from this weeks game. Until next time!

Shadow's Claw

A wall of crude promethium welcomed the Raven Guard. Walking though the fire, they would have seemed liked gods to any mortal man. But, to the vile greenskins, Krios and his men were just another fight. Their horde seemed endless, numberless amongst the corridors of the old space station. An overwhelming "WAAAAAGGGHHH" erupted from the Orks as they charged towards them. "Hold!", shouted Krios over the rising tide. Shadow's Claw, his custom chainglaive, came to life as he braced for impact. "Hold!", Krios commanded as the Raven Guard aimed their bolters. When the Orks reached ten meters from their position, he gave the order. "Now!".

A storm of fire cut down the front line of the assault, forcing the horde to jump and crawl over the bodies of their dead. Krios ran out into the enemy. He spotted the largest Ork he could find and swung his chainglave with incredible force. It caught the Nob in the neck, and Krios quickly pulled it toward the floor. The Ork was split in two, both halves falling with a thud. Shadow's Claw seemed to dance in the air, spraying warm blood on the commander's face and armor. Every strike was as quick as lighting. The weapon's adamantium teeth ripping and tearing into the green tide. Soon, a pile of dead Orks surrounded the White Raven. The clamor of battle became quieter and quieter. Then, silence.

Krios observed the corridor with disgust. A sick ichor of blood and green flesh covered everything. He grabbed a piece of tatter cloth from one of the dead Orks and cleaned his face. He has lost brothers today. By Corax, they would be avenged. Krios spotted a dying greenskin crawling towards the end of the hall. He slowly walked over to the beast and placed his ceramite boot on the it's leg. The Ork turned to see what was holding it back, and was met by the thud of Shadow's Claw slamming into it's forehead. The greenskin was terrified, yellow eyes starting up at the weapon. "For the Emperpor", Krios muttered as the chainglaive's teeth came to life.

Krios, The White Raven

It's always such a good feeling to get paint on your warlord. But, I'd argue it feels even better to get in a couple paragraphs of background fluff! 

If you haven't noticed yet, I am a narrative gamer. So, having a story to tell win or lose (more like just lose) is really important. So, here is my background for Shadow Commander Kanir Krios of the Raven Guard. I'll be using him for the Ghoul Stars campaign, so keep on the lookout for more on the White Raven. Hope you enjoy the story, and that you have a great weekend. Just watch out for those scatter laser jetbikes!

Until next time! 

The White Raven

Shadow Commander Kanir Krios was always destined for glory. Baptized in the blood of orks on Kastorel-Novum, legend has it that he killed over a hundred of the green tide using only his bolter and a make-shift chainglaive (it's handle fastened to a length of pipe). The battle was lost, but Brother Krios left that world a hero. He stood taller, fought more bravely, and commanded more respect. For his honor to the chapter, he was promoted to the rank of Veteran Sergeant and gifted Shadow's Claw, a chainglaive of great strength and beauty. By personal request, Krios's relic blade was left bare metal so that he may keep his weapon hidden until it was ready to reap the Primarch's vengeance.

On an exploratory mission to the planet of Orask, Veteran Sergeant Krios and his unit were ambushed by a group of chaos renegades. Swarms of cultists were cut down by the Raven Guard as they made a slow retreat into the caves of the planet's great mountain range. Inside one of the caves, Krios encounter the end of the sickening ritual birth of a greater daemon. The Veteran Sergeant challenged the warp spawn, chasing it through the blighted subterranean tunnels below Orask's surface. Krios's men waited three days for their commander to return. He walked out of the cave on the morning of the fourth day, his black ceramite caked in white dust from head to toe. He held Shadow's Claw in his left hand, and the head of the daemon in his right.

When the White Raven returned to Deliverance he was honored with the title of Shadow Commander, and given the vital mission of joining High Marshall Helbrecht and the Black Templars in their mission to cleanse the Ghoul Stars. A perilous mission, but one of great importance to the Raven Guard and the Imperium. And, one the remembrancers would be sure to capture in the great history of the Sons of Corax.

The Rains of Tirnan (My Black Library Short Story Submission)

A couple months ago, Black Library asked the public for short story submissions based on the Deathwatch, Chamber Militant of the Ordo Xenos. I have always dreamed of being a published writer, especially for the Black Library. Putting my mark on the Warhammer universe would be a dream come true. So, I worked for about a month or so writing my own 500 word short story, The Rains of Tirnan. The story focuses on Brother Jael of the  Blood Angels and his fight against a tyranid lictor and his chapter's curse, the red thirst.

Now, I am no Dan Abbnett. But, I did really enjoy writing this and figured I would share it. It was a really fun exercise, and good practice for the next time the opportunity comes around. Anyway, let me know what you think. I see this hobby as having four main creative outlets: modeling, painting, playing, and writing. While some of us may only partake in one or two of these outlets, I think it is important to flex your creative muscles whenever you can. We all have a story to tell, so tell it!

Until next time!

The Rains of Tirnan

The blood was everywhere. Running and mixing with the thick clay mud at the roots of the redwoods, forming a sickening ichor under Jael’s ceramite boots. These two men were on their way to the mines when it caught them. Was it two? Yes, Jael only saw two heads. They were torn limb from limb, large holes dug into their empty skulls. Their bodies split and cut into what seemed like a dozen pieces. The wounds were fresh, made within the last few minutes. Suddenly, Jael felt weak. A great thirst had overtaken him. The Red Thirst. No water could quench this. He needed blood.

This sensation was unmistakable. Twenty seven years prior, on the deathworld of Carthag VI. The planetary defense force was decimated in the fighting against the swinehordes of a now dead warboss. One of the men lay fallen, dying at his feet. Jael felt a sudden urge to drink the poor man’s blood. The guardsman’s eyes were wild with fear as Jael eyed him. But, in that moment, he was brought back from madness. Eremiel, the sanguinary priest, quietly sung the litanies of the primarch into Jael’s ear. “Do not fear the blessing of Sanguinius”. The priest understood the desire, but the terrified comrades of the dying soldier would not. 

Now, the Blood Angel was trembling. Jael felt helpless. Overcome by his desire. Eremiel was not with him now. No one was. He was alone in the rain, save for the remains of the two dead Tirnans. The clouds above him swirled a hellish red. Crimson rain swelled into huge droplets. They felt soft as they hit his tongue. He tilted his head back, mouth open wide. He drank in the blood falling from the sky. 

His scream echoed through the forest, "Control yourself, brother!”. Jael was shaking, black helmet thrown into the blood-red mud at his feet. A black bird flew below the soft gray clouds above. The rain felt warm running through his hair. He heard it as it fell through the leaves of the trees above him. Fumbling as he fell to his knees, his hands sunk into the ground. The world around him pulsed to the heavy beating of his hearts. Senses heightened to every movement, every sound. 

Jael heard clicking, movement, and a low sloppy growl. He turned in time to avoid the talons as they fell into the mud. Jael tumbled and rolled under the rending claws and took to his feet. The lictor was hard to see, its carapace mimicking the trees and undergrowth behind it. Two large talons reared above its body. Claws dug into the mud of the forest floor. Raising his bolter, Jael fired kraken rounds into the tentacled maw of the beast. The tyranid made an awful screech, cocked its hind legs and shot into the trees above. It left a trail of acid blood burning into the ground. Jael blinked, readied his combat knife, and began searching the forest canopy. The hunt was on.