Jinglehammer: The Unspeakable Terror that Stole Christmas

What day is it today, child? Ahhh, well you might ask, for the darkness of winter seems endless now. There are few left who remember that this time of the year was once an occasion for joy and celebration. Gather by the fire and I will tell you the story of the unspeakable terror that stole Christmas. Is there no wood left for the fire? Alas, I'm afraid we'll have to burn another of your toys, child.

A couple of weeks ago, I had the most wonderful privilege of being hosted at the house of Paul Ede for a seasonal mini-campaign of Warhammer Fantasy Battle (5th ed) devised by Steve Han. As the only one of the three to have a blog (or so I believe), I was tasked with taking the wonderful photos the other two had taken, together with Steve's narrative, and adding my own commentary to leave a battle report online for posterity. All credit to my co-conspirators for most of the narrative and the photos here; I just played and enjoyed the wonderful hospitality! I lined up with a "nice" list (predominantly Empire), while Paul and Steve ganged up on me with a "naughty" list (predominantly Orcs and Goblins).

The background:
Chaos sorcerer, Sanity Claus, has been trying to rid the world of joy for centuries, but he has ever been thwarted by the magic of the spirits of Christmas. Direct assaults on the spirits have failed, forcing him to devise a more subtle plan. Sanity Claus has been warping reality to slowly shift Christmas forwards in time. The shift is reaching a critical moment as the citizens of the Old World unwittingly respond to and reinforce the warp by putting up decorations and playing Christmas songs ever earlier. The time is right for him to hurl Christmas to a time before the arrival of the Old Ones and so remove the protection of the spirits of Christmas. With the magic of the spirits gone, he will be free to bend the Old World to his will.

Scenario one: The spirit of Christmas past - The invention of Christmas Dinner
A chef working in a small halfling village is about to invent pigs in blankets, bringing untold joy for all Christmases afterwards. Sanity Claus has dispatched the Ghost of Christmas Past to prevent this.

Farmer Caleb Peerybingle went to tend his flock of geese and caught sight of the advancing force. He rushed back to let the village know. They despatched their fastest goat rider to let the duke know whilst the local militia assembled.

In this first battle, a combined force of halflings and gnomes seek to defend their village, their seasonal gifts - and, above all, the kitchen where the chef is working on a very special festive recipe.

They look out to see the raiding force that seeks to prevent this culinary achievement from ever taking place; the Ghost of Christmas Past has gathered and Orc and Goblin mob whose idea of a festive dinner is to pull halflings limb from limb like Christmas crackers before feasting on their innards.

While the combined arrows and bolts of the village defenders do a remarkable job of stalling the core of the attack - sending wolf riders fleeing and causing many greenskins to fall before they reached the village wall - the spider riders and pump wagons on the flank pose a more robust threat, relatively unperturbed by the cauldrons of stew raining down from the hotpot catapult.

Over on the other flank, a War Tortoise smashed into a unit of gnomes that had sallied forth - as the gnomes broke, the war tortoise followed up, only to crash against the village wall, upending itself and destroying the crew.

The line of defence was holding, but for how long? Seeing the impending threat, the mayor bravely rushed out to intercept a pump wagon before it reached the villagers...

...only to be charged by the goblin general in his chariot.

Still, the hafling archers in the village bravely defend behind the wall and hold their line. But can they hold much longer? Wait? What's that sound? A trumpet announces the approach of the Duke and his entourage! Reinforcements at last! Surely now the village and its kitchen are saved?

Yet the reinforcements arrive in a position where the snotling pump wagons are alert to the danger

The pump wagon crashes into the flank of the halberdiers, causing them to flee... then, as the pump wagon pursues the fleeing rabble, it crashes straight into the Empire heavy cavalry... who also flee!

The halflings curse as they see the reinforcements flee... "Bloody useless lumbering big idiots... we were doing alright on our own... all they had to do was show up. Honestly..." With the Duke flattened by a pump wagon, the hotpot eaten by spiders and the last defenders surrounded, it's all over. There will be no pigs in blankets.

The surviving Halflings try to rescue as many gifts as possible in the hope of salvaging Christmas.

Scenario two: The Battle for Christmas Yet to Come
Sanity Claus seeks to destroy the great Yule Tree at the heart of Tannenbaum. He is joined by the deathly Spirit of Christmas Yet to Come. The brave defenders of the traditions of the season are joined by the true hope that can save Christmas - jolly old Santa Claus himself with a sackful of presents for good boys and girls and a sack full of pain for Sanity Claus and his evil henchmen.

Santa Claus and Sanity Claus face off in the great battle of naughty versus nice.

The defenders of Christmas approach the battle with a strategy of delaying Sanity Claus' approach to Tannenbaum, with the hope of holding back the attacking forces long enough to take up a position defending the tree.
With this in mind the Satyrs take up a scouting position to bravely sacrifice themselves holding back the giant while the battle line advanced.

This plan did not go well... the Satyrs fled, the Giant's persual robbing the hapless Imperial Knights of their chance to charge.

More effective is the effect of a Magical Blizzard cast by Santa Claus, which has the effect of holding back the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come back while the swordsmen, wardancers, and steamtank advanced into the heart of the town.

Yet a malign influence swinging in from the eastern flank... a swarm of vampire bats causing chaos in the ranks of the defenders of Christmas, causing Santa, the Duke, and their accompanying unit to retreat.

Still, with the steamtank ploughing through as the Swordsmen held the Wight Knights, the forces of light seemed to have at least some cause for hope.

Not least as the Orcs seemed to be in some disarray. The Old Big'Uns flee, get fired on by their animosity failing allies before decided to rejoin the fight. "Ere boss, dat wos a taktikal wivdrawal, but we just couldn't seem to get it togevva until de arrer Boyz stuck Hodgrod, Booger and Bollox in dere arses and we sharpened up quik smart!"

Yet it was the Vampire Bats who did most to influence the course of the battle. Defeating the Elven archers who had bravely charged to stop the bats reaching the Empire artillery, the resulting panic led ultimately to Santa Claus and his bodyguard - who had only just rallied - fleeing once again, this time away from the battlefield.

So the Battle for Christmas Yet To Come was lost. Sanity Claus had seized control of the season.

And yet hope is not lost forever, surely... while Santa Claus lives, Christmas might still be saved - if only some still survive to remember and believe. One day he will return to bring good cheer, the tidings of the season, and the gift we all hope to find under the Yule Tree; the blood of our enemies.

Night of the Living Lead Battle Report: Breakshit means Breakshit

(Being a battle report on the Halloween action at the Wargames Foundry. With the latest of Warlord Paul's Albion adventures coming up at the weekend, I realised that if I didn't post about the last one now, I never would. Problem is, a lot of my recollections of a most enjoyable day are a bit hazy. So this is an extremely partial reconstruction based mostly on the least blurry photos of my toy soldiers as they plod around the battlefield.)

What lurks under Albion's skin? Peel back Albion's flesh, cut through its muscle and sinew, and what horrors do you reveal? The embittered hatred of many centuries. The tarry black heart of greed. Swollen spleen of malice. Infected kidneys of evil. Cirrhotic Liver of... well, you get the picture. Lots of not nice stuff.

Lifetimes ago, a demon was vanquished. Or at least, so the people thought. In fact, it was merely buried. Or, more accurately, as the scribes tell us, "imprisoned beneath a henge of enchanted stones wrapped about with sealing spells and wards."

But now a new dawn approaches. The demon threatens to break free, from the bowels of the earth comes the insistent rumblings of the demon's desire to leave.


And today, the cultists gather around, an unholy alliance, calling the demon forth, urging him out. And so the prophecy has come to pass: "All must take sides for there can be no middle path, all must stand for or against the daemon called, BREAKSHIT!"


From the highlands come the clansmen, determined to bring sober reason to the proceedings and to stop Breakshit in its tracks. In their midst are the zombies of the Highland cult of Indyref, risen from their graves.

They take their place in the alliance moving toward the henge, determined to stop, or at least amend, the invocation of the ritual summoning Breakshit.

Yet the ancients, the walking dead of Albion, seek a return to the glory days of past ages and will fight to ensure the ritual is performed, believing that Breakshit will allow them to take back control.



Attempts to toss the caber into their number fail miserably.


And as the forces clash, even liquid courage is not enough to withstand the horror.


The cultists succeed in opening the protective seals and a roar swells from the ground: "BREAKSHIT MEANS BREAKSHIT!"


The surviving allies who had hoped that the power would remain captive make their way to the graveyard and enter the catacombs in the hope that if they can at least mount an appeal to stop a Hard Breakshit.


The highlanders bust their way past the venomous serpents who serve Breakshit...


And join a coalition who manage to make a few amendments...



This is fantasy, remember?

After the Blood Bath

Well what a bloody fantastic day! Many thanks to Warlord Paul for GMing, to Thantsants for bringing all his terrain and minis (and letting me interlope with mine), to Nik for hosting, and to Steve Casey and Ashley for losing being such wonderful gentleman gamers.

In order to get through the whole campaign in a day, Paul made a few crucial tweaks to the classic boxed scenario.

1) The numbers were slimmed down, so generals had the following at their disposal (and remember, for the alliance side, the majority of these would only figure in the final scenario, together with survivors from the earlier action):

Alliance Player A: 2 wood elf characters, 15 wood elf archers and 1 injured elf.
Alliance Player B: 3 human characters (2 of which are wizards, a druid and a crazy old hermit), 10 spearmen, 3 longbowmen, 10 poorly-armed civilians and 1 injured human.
Alliance Player C: 3 dwarf characters, 11 dwarf warriors, and 1 injured dwarf.

Orc Player 1: The Kwae Karr orc tribe (Magyar Ironfist, Bagrash the Shaman, 15 orc warriors and 5 orc archers).
Orc Player 2: King F'yar, 3 F'yar Guards, Silas the half-orc spy, The Severed Hand orc tribe (Hagar Sheal, Grashak Kra and 5 Hobhounds, 15 orc warriors, 5 orc archers).
Orc Player 3: The Vile Rune orc tribe (Fangor Gripe, Guthrum Mane the rock giant, 20 orc warriors).

2) Rather than 2nd edition, we used the 6th edition skirmish/ Mordheim rules, with models moving independently rather than as units.

3) The first three scenarios - Kachas Pass, Ashak Rise, and Linden Way - were all played at the same time; with 6 of us playing we were able to pair off and do these simultaneously, before combining for the final big battle.


How did we fare? Well, Thantsants will be writing up a report in due course, but just to give some highlights from the perspective of the dwarves under my command (illustrated with pictures I've nicked from Thantsants - thanks!):

At Ashak Rise, a rearguard of dwarves bravely bought time to allow Snorinn Fimbul to load gold onto a pack mule and lead the gold (and mule) away to safety.


The orcs, characteristically getting hold of the wrong end of the stick, thought the gold was with the mules, and attacked them (suffering fatalities in the process), while Snorrin's dad Borinn ran off with another bag of gold.


At Orc's Drift itself, my engineers undermined the bridge they had been building, so that when the orcs came thundering over, several died and more were washed away as the bridge collapsed underfoot. Alas, all gave their lives for this vallant (and sneaky) action, although not in vain, as the casualties were a major contributor to this side of the Orc attack losing its morale and fleeing.


(The other major contributor was the Drunken Druid Snart casting "Plague of squirrels", which Paul swears is a real spell in Mordheim.)

In the farm compound, casualties were also high.


In the end, King F'yar himself was slaughtered along with his Wyvern mount - here's Borinn posing for a photo, smoking his pipe while perched on the body of his monstrous foe.

A victory for the grand alliance as the remaining attackers fled. Not many survivors were left to toast the victory, however. Though the paychest never left the surviving Dwarves sight...

I'm led to believe that alliance victories are rare, so I'm very pleased by the outcome - I think the changes made for a campaign that was very much in the balance throughout. For most of the final scenario we really thought we had no chance whatsoever - until the Orcs turned tail.


From Orc's Drift to Glazer's Creek
I've always had a weakness for last stand scenarios - perhaps my most treasured memory from teenage gaming is a campaign where my High Elves petulantly occupied a dwarfish brewery and held it against all the odds just to stop the dwarves getting a drink. And of course, Rorke's Drift - or more precisely, the depiction of Rorke's Drift in the film Zulu is the holy grail for wargamers looking for a heroic last stand. Bloodbath at Orc's Drift is a wonderful campaign that captures the backs-to-the-wall guts and glory. I loved the buildup scenarios and the little subplots, and the final battle really had a feel of desperation to the defence.

Fast forwarding to the late 90s, games workshop had another shot at adapting "Rorke's Drift" in the scenario and battle report "Last Stand at Glazer's Creek" (WD222) - one of the major highlights of what I consider a golden age of White Dwarf. Here's the scenario itself, written by Jervis Johnson.


I never played 40k, but I always thought this was a brilliantly designed scenario, and thought long and hard about adapting it for fantasy battle (though never got round to it in my youth - perhaps I will now?). It really works out as a series of battles, simulating wave after wave of attacks from a randomly determined feral Ork force who back off when they drop below a certain number, only to attack again later. The Ork general secretly chooses between 3 and 5 assaults - fewer attacks means that he can roll up a bigger attacking force each time. More attacks, the smaller the force, but the more opportunities they have to grind the defenders down. Each time, the attackers roll up a fresh force, while the defenders only get the survivors from the previous game, so the number is whittled down more and more. There are special rules for casualties winding up in the hospital, and crawling out of their beds as a last ditch defence, adding to the fun. Victory conditions are simple: by the end of the last assault, the defenders are either dead, or some still living. If some are still living, they've won.

What I love about the way this scenario is designed is the way it simulates the attrition of the siege, as the defending forces become more and more stretched. It's a different approach to the final scenario of Orc's Drift, but I think its a fantastic 'take' on Zulu in its own right, and if I can work out a way to port it over to Warhammer fantasy battle (still no interest in 40k!), I'd love to try it out, perhaps for 6th edition to keep it at a reasonable pace? (3rd edition might grind too much to play over multiple assaults).


Lessons from history
I'm unlikely to get into historical gaming of the Colonial Wars (although given my interest in Space 1889, stranger things have happened), but those who are may be interested to note Warlord Games are now selling a Rorke's Drift Battle set featuring suitable terrain and both forces:

And all gamers interested in wargames inspired by Rorke's Drift should have a read of the Osprey Campaign book on Rorke's Drift, 'Pinned like rats in a hole', by Ian Knight.

With illustrations by the Perry's there's obvious oldhammer interest there, but of most use are the pages of notes for wargamers at the back which highlight important considerations for anybody trying to simulate the campaign - such as ammunition constraints in dealing with a numerically superior opposition, and also the "apparent contempt with which the British regarded their opponents", leading to terrible decision making in the early engagements of the Zulu War (given the roleplaying approach oldhammer gamers take, such arrogance is well worth incoporating into the game design). More generally, Knight points out that it's well worth thinking about these encounters from the Zulu point of view rather than getting all hung up on the plucky last-ditch defenders and their stiff upper lips. I agree.

Battle Report: The Despoliation of the Wirheal

From "Notes from a damp and insignificant islet" by Willhelm von Brissen:
Of the Wirheal, this much can be said: it is a peninsula.

Back during the first weekend of July, VanLoon, Thantsants, and myself gathered for Gauntlet, the Deeside Defenders annual show. Our task: to avoid buying too much from the traders, and to have a small campaign of linked warhammer games with our Chaos Warbands. We failed in the first task, but succeeded admirably in the second. This is a reasonably short account of the campaign we played. I don't have so many pictures, which is partly why it's so abridged.


The backstory
In recent days [in fact, Gauntlet 2014], hordes intent on treasure hunting found and ransacked the chapel of the Forgotten Goddess Deva.

Now the Wirheal is weakened. With the Goddess Deva has been thrown out of her resting place, the land that once slept has been rudely awakened. Bands of marauders pander to the whims of their foul patrons, desecrating the land and pillaging its most sacred locations.

YOU are the champion of a god of Chaos. With your band of miscreants, you are intent on despoiling this corner of Albion. Glory and eternity await: but first you must prove yourself against the followers of rival gods. And the mysteries of the Wirheal will pose their own challenges.

Answering the calls of their respective gods are my Nurgle warband, The Posion Dwarf and the children of stench; Thansants' warband, Boris Forktongue and the followers of Brehkshhit, God of Diminishing Returns; and VanLoon's warband, Dimspittle and the followers of the Divine Tuluk.



Game 1: The Bonks

From "The Highways and Byways of Perfidious Albion" by Willhelm von Brissen:

Near the hamlet of Birwall are the ancient burial mounds known as "the bonks"*. Believed by superstitious folk to be the resting place of the feared warriors of days best forgotten, very few will admit to going near the mounds, and those that have passed by at night speak of unnevering forms and sounds appearing amongst the bonks. Children, characteristically reckless in their youthful exuberance, are much less inclined to treat the mounds with awe, and take great pleasure in the innocent pleasure of rolling eggs down the banks of the mound. Sadly, several children have lost their lives in recent years, torn asunder by the talons of giant eagles and owls while hunting for ever-larger eggs with which to impress their friends.

(* based on true history - there used to be mounds known locally by this name, levelled to make way for Birkenhead Park)

The three warbands converge on the burial mounds, intent on looting them.


Dimspittle, champion of the Divine Tuluk, is the first to reach the a burial mound, but the chill finger of the Barrow Wight defending his barrow is too much for him.


His followers are left to finish the work of robbing the tomb. Their leader may be dead, but they are rewarded with great treasure... a Frostblade!


As the rival factions clash, The Poison Dwarf, Champion of Nurgle, fares better in combat and bursts into the tomb, bringing out a Cursed Blade.


While Boris Forktongue is rewarded with a Spell Shield. (Very useful in a game where nobody has brought any magic users.)


The bonks all well and truly pillaged, the forces of chaos turn their attention to their next target...



Game 2: The Monastery at Birwall

From "And may it sink beneath the waves!: Further enquiries on the topography of Albion; or, why does my editor keep sending me back to this godforsaken rainy backwater?" by Willhelm von Brissen

The hamlet of Birwall would scarsely attract the notice of even the most stimulus-starved of travellers were it not for the monastery here, which offers refuge for the weary and has a monopoly on ferry transport across the river. Though the small community of monks claim to be holy men of great charity, the extortionate rates they charge for safe passage tell a rather different story, as does their stockpile of crude weaponry. The monastery contains a modest library of chained books. Though one would be most foolish in expecting tomes of true learning to be kept in such a place, it is nevertheless possible that some of the manuscripts may be of interest to scholars wishing to understand the backwards beliefs of the people of this corner of the isle.

It is natural that the followers of the Gods of chaos should want to the lay waste to the home of the priests of pious men. Yet they seek out the monastery not only with destruction in their hearts; but also with a lust for the knowledge that will lead to the slow death of the Wirheal itself. They seek the location of the Green Knight, and such knowledge is to be found in the pages of the books in the monastery library. The monks steadfastly block their way.


The campaigners for Brehkshhit and Tuluk reach the doors of the monastery quickly. The monks do their best to prevent them from gaining access, though their incantations have little effect. Meanwhile, the beastmen of nurgle attempt to clear the way of Brehkshhit supporters for their own champion.


The monks turn out to be little more than a nuisance, as Mongo, now de-facto commander of the Tuluk force following the death of Dimspittle, insists that he has first right to access the monastery.


Meanwhile the Poison Dwarf has had to do his own fighting, following the disappointing performance of the beastmen in his charge. He proves more than a match for the Brehkshhit thugs, but quickly finds himself surrounded.


Meanwhile the way is clear for Mongo to enter the monastery library and to find the tome containing the fabled whereabout of the legendary Green Knight. One question remains. Can he read?


While Mongo tries to hold a book the right way up, outside things have got rather messy. The troll Yuukip has spewed up bile, which not only renders the Poison Dwarf incapacitated, but also splashes back onto Boris Forktongue and takes him out too! The followers of Tuluk make good their escape with the knowledge they seek while their rivals clean up the mess.




Game 3: The Chapel in the Woods

From "A Walk in the Woods; or, why don't they cut these trees down? - a modest proposal to speculators about the business opportunities afforded by the exportation of lumber from Albion" by Willhelm von Brissen

Locals speak of a long forgotten "green chapel" in an unknown location deep in the Forest of the Wirheal, associated with a figure of legend known as the "Green Knight". The Green Knight is said to be the champion and defender of the Wirheal. For as long as he lives, the forest shall grow green and thick. But should he die, it is said that the forest will die with him and all manner of wickedness shall emerge from its rotting stumps. Your humble writer's dilligent enquiries revealed that nobody can offer any clue as to the location of the chapel, and as nobody has ever actually seen this so-called knight, such tales can safely be discarded as drunken foolery.

Nestled in the woods are the ruins of the Green Chapel, the location as revealed in the pages written out by monks many generations ago. Mongo and the devotees of Tuluk approach the crumbling walls... but they have been followed!


Mongo crosses the threshold of the chapel first, the beastmen of Tuluk a few steps behind in support of their champion. They try and make good their early arrival as the rival warbands close in.



Hounds from across the marshes chew on the warriors of Tuluk, allowing the Poison Dwarf to pass unmolested.


Meanwhile, Mongo rounds the corner and comes face to face with the Knight Who Says N... I mean, the Green Knight! Frostblade in hand, he charges...


But is overpowered!


As Mongo breathes his last, the Beastmen of Tuluk hold back a minotaur on the steps of the palace, seemingly oblivious to the sound of their leader's failure.


The harpies of Brehkshhit swoop in but can do little damage.


While Boris Forktongue and the Poison Dwarf engage in heated debate, three plague toads of Nurgle fight to consume the body of the Minotaur they have snatched from combat with the beastmen.


The beastmen, meanwhile, advance and, picking up the Frostblade dropped by their leader, attack The Green Knight once more.


Did they succeed?

Nah. The Wirheal is saved. For now...