Alas I held out as long as I could before deciding whether or not to continue session posts. Ultimately it comes down to time and energy. I am a busy GM now with Cyberpunk Red, a Heroes game using the Sentinel Comics RPG and WFRP. The campaign is still continuing along nicely and I suspect to finish it this year. But no post between May and now being July was sort of reality hitting.
I am not as frequent with the session reports as I like. And there’s still quite a fair bit of readership for the blog but not enough to justify the time to wrap up two games into one post (how my rotation works at the moment).
When the campaign finishes, like I did with the Black Heart campaign; I shall write a end of campaign post. A long one detailing the highlights of the campaign.
I do want to do more lore write-ups and maybe some reviews for systems in the future, something I don’t really do for a blog that is largely about session reports.
The Old World, C7’s new Warhammer Fantasy rpg is looking to be an interesting alternative to the more crunchy nature of 4e. I can’t say I’m specifically drawn to it but definitely one I’m keeping an eye on.
The year is 2515. The endless winter continues to batter the Empire. Ulric’s wrath indeed. The civil war that has festered for so long is now in full-swing. Religious turmoil has taken root. Elector-Count Boris Todbringer leads the Midden forces on a path to the south to take the throne; a throne that has been relatively empty for 3 whole years. The Emperor’s ‘apparent’ death on Deathclaw over the skies of Altdorf has emboldened his cause; not that he wished the Emperor harm or death in any such way, but a leaderless Empire does not benefit him or anyone in his mind. Unaware that the man that fell off Deathclaw to appease the riotous crowds of Altdorf was in fact Karl-Franz’s son, Luitpold, is a closely guarded secret that until now, only a few knew about.
It’s a dark time for the Empire. Volkmar busies himself leading the vanguard of the Sigmarite forces against the Ulricans in a religious war seperated by Todbringer’s ambitions. The Empire is crumbling, and time is running out.
The adventure begins in Bruckthin on the outskirts at an old estate belonging to the von Hartmann family; a lineage of minor nobility. Klaus von Hartmann has for sometime formed a council of like-minded individuals who are very much aware of the Purple Hand’s growing influence within the Empire. His own son, Luther who was a Palisade (a spy for the Empire), was murdered by the cult. Klaus, now elderly and physically weak, his mind is still sharp as ever as he seeks to bring in outside help to aid with his cause.
Klaus von Hartmann
He lives at the estate along with his wife Mathilda and his niece and nephew, Ewald and Ilsa Gruber.
Klaus has a close working relationship with the high elf mage Valkana, having met her a year prior. Although led to believe he he was making the introductions, Valkana had her eyes on von Hartmann for awhile now. Der Verborgene Schwur – The Hidden Oath Council; a secret cabal of individuals who are working against the cult of the Hand. And the man leading that council was none other than Klaus von Hartmann. For a man of seemingly humble nature, he was well-connected and had influence among powerful friends; one of them being Baron Heinrich Todbringer.
The two began working a cause to bring like-minded individuals into the fold, particularly those who had been wronged by the Hand in the past.
Ser Akhart “le Malmener” Duval of Shining Waters is a Bretonnian knight and the eldest brother to Ser Gado Duval, who was murdered by an agent of The Hand in a prior campaign. He rides forth seeking vengeance.
Emmerich Rohmer is a fiery warrior priest of Sigmar in his 40’s who has seen much strife and conflict. His chance encounter upon Valkana in her time of need during a particularly deadly ambush by the cult at a roadside coaching inn resulted in him saving Valkana. Valkana seemed to see something in Rohmer, perhaps the fiery spirit that they will need for the fight to come, and recruited him in her efforts to combat the cult. Skeptical and uncertain, Rohmer said he would make no such promises but he would attend this ‘meeting’ at the von Hartmann estate that she mentioned.
Frederich Ludevicus is a priest of Morr who had served the cult of Morr faithfully for many years in Altdorf. That was until the death of Luitpold, the Emperor’s son. The cult of the Hand had a part to play in Luitpold’s death through subtle manipulation, but ultimately it was a closely guarded secret among the Imperial Palace senior staff that Luitpold would be taking part in the deception. As such, the funeral arrangements needed to be done in such a way to continue the deception which meant preparing the body. This was entrusted to a senior priest of Morr and his initiate. That initiate was Frederich. Unknown to him, he would be getting drawn into the conspiracy and his life was soon put at peril when he discovered the truth of the matter; that this was not the Emperor. His senior colleague however seemingly already knew this, but insisted that Frederich play along and do his duty; “It may not be the Emperor, but it is a body and soul that requires our delicate services to ease their transition into Morr’s Garden.”
Later that night after preparing the body, Frederich would find his colleague hanging from the rafters; a ‘suicide’ note left nearby in neatly imitated handwriting of his colleague. Frederich knew that he would have to flee, and he got his signal to do so when he was invited for a midnight stroll in the cemetery garden by another senior colleague, or at least someone claiming to be. He fled Altdorf, and after sometime travelling found his services called for by Klaus von Hartmann who needed a priest to bury his son, Luther. The two formed a bond of trust and Frederich had opened up about what transpired in Altdorf, how he uncovered the truth about the apparent demise of the Emperor. From that moment, he was involved.
Clleffan shakeweed was a halfling investigator who lived locally in and around Altdorf plying his trade and keen senses. He was drawn in by an invitation by von Hartmann to investigate the disappearance of his son, Luther, who was missing for sometime now. Clleffan would eventually find Klaus’s son, but not in the condition that his father had desired. It was clear that a murder had taken place, and an attempt was made to make it seem that Luther had taken a drunken stupor, fell and slapped his head against a pavement brick. Clleffan felt more like a blow to the head by a heavy cudgel or blunt instrument was the most likely cause. Clleffan would find himself useful to Klaus von Hartmann and continued to remain in his employ.
Nikolina the Ice Witch is part of a diplomatic gesture sent by Kislev. Accompanying an Emissary from Kislev who has been tasked to deliver the news that the Emperor is in fact alive and recovering from an attempt made on his life, most of his recovery spent in seclusion and secrecy in Kislev for these past 3 years. Such news however required careful consideration and should only be delivered to the right sort of people. The cult of the Hand however were already well aware of Kislev’s involvement and intended to stop such news reaching the city. They ambushed their convoy of horses and wagon trains, but aid came in the form of a high elf; Valkana. Up until this point, Nikolina had not heard of the Purple Hand, but Valkana had enlightened her and the Emissary as to what was really going on. Intrigued, the Emissary sent Nikolina with Valkana to break bread and treat with this ‘von Hartmann’ fellow to discuss what was happening in the Empire.
And so… that brings us to the von Hartmann estate.
Some arrived via carriage driven by Gunther, Klaus’s long-time and trusted friend, while others arrived on horseback such as Nikolina and Ser Arkhart.
The estate is rundown and has clearly seen better days. It’s clear that there is very little wealth in the von Hartmann estate. When they arrive, they are greeted by Mathilda who prepares a welcoming feast for them. She says her husband will be down shortly. Ilsa and Ewald, both of them mere children, are curious as to the new arrivals but are quickly ushered off to their rooms and told to go to sleep for the hour is late.
Eventually, retrieved by his wife, Klaus von Hartmann makes his appearance as the guests make themselves comfortable in the main dining area.
He greets them with a steely gaze, before his expression softens as he turns to see Valkana. Each one make their introductions and Klaus greets them warmly.
“You were not summoned here lightly. Each of you—by blood, by oath, or by fate—has been touched by the same unseen hand that stole my son from this world. A hand cloaked in purple, yet soaked in red. The same hand that now reaches deeper into the heart of the Empire than any army dares tread.”
He looks to each of them in turn.
“A knight of Bretonnia, sworn to honour beyond borders. A witch of Kislev, whose power speaks for a land colder than these troubled times. A priest of Morr, who knows better than any what it means to bury the innocent. A halfling, whose wit unmasked the truth behind my son’s murder. A hammer-priest of Sigmar, forged in fire and faith. And Valkana —an elf far from her homeland, who has done more than any to help bring this moment to bear. Without her wisdom, none of us would be here.
“You represent different gods, lands, and paths. But all roads now lead to the same enemy. The Purple Hand—cowards who thrive in secrecy, who corrupt from within. They are not content with murder; they seek rot at the Empire’s very core.
“I do not offer you glory. I offer you danger and hardship. But if you strike true, if you dig out the root of this heresy, then perhaps we spare this land a darker fate than war or winter. My son died trying to protect this realm. I will not let his death be a whisper in the wind. Nor should any of us let the next fall alone.”
He sits down in his chair, his frail hand reaching for a goblet of wine as he sips gently, before putting it back down, coughing slightly.
“I never imagined I would bury my own son. Not like that. Not… like that. No warning. No justice. Just a sealed coffin and a thousand unanswered questions.”
He pauses, swallowing hard. His gaze drifts to the hearthfire, flickering low in the hall.
“You’ve all come here for different reasons. Some were asked, others compelled. But you’re here now. And that means something. Because someone has to fight back.
“You—each of you—have the strength to strike them where it hurts. A knight with no master but honour. A witch who knows the chill of death and the fire beneath it. A priest of Morr who sees what others bury. A halfling who looked deeper when others looked away. A warrior-priest who still believes Sigmar watches us. And Valkana… she crossed an ocean to stand here when others turned their backs. She saw the storm coming.”
Klaus pass’s a small leather bound book towards Clleffan.
“I have not shared this until now. I wanted to wait for the right moment. That is my son’s journal, Clleffan. Luther. Only the last entry is of pertinence. And it came with this.” He removes from his pocket a rolled up parchment and places it down on front of the book.
“My son Luther was a Palisade. I never truly… knew what that meant, until after his death. I don’t blame him for his secrets… but now those very same secrets could help us in our fight.”
Klaus mentions that they will need to find a way to get into Altdorf; the city is closed up tight and who enters and leaves is strictly controlled and monitored. Klaus mentions that in a previous entry his son spoke of Felicia, a woman who studies at the Temple of Verena. The two of them were close. He disregarded this until Felicia had reached out to him after her son’s death, and the two have shared correspondence. She has valuable information about the cult and she should be sought out; ‘A Red Sun Rises’ is the code phrase to ensure to earn Felicia’s trust.
A strange noise is heard from upstairs, a loud ‘THUMP’… “Children,” Klaus says amusingly.
But Ser Akhart says he better check it out just encase as he makes his way. Nikolina, who was accompanied to the estate by her two bodyguards, decides to check on them as they are on watch duty outside.
Ser Akhart heads to the room and he hears a strange shuffling noise from inside the room. He opens it and his eyes go wide with horror as he witnesses a Pink Horror, a daemon of Tzeentchh, feasting upon the young Ilsa Gruber, blood soaked sheets while a terrified and fear-struck young Ewald is under his own bed, shaking with fright. Akhart steels his nerves, casting away any fear he may have momentarily felt and draws his weapon.
Nikolina meanwhile see’s no trace of her bodyguards, but spots a scant amount of blood in the snow. She follows it, leading her to the stables. There, she finds two of her bodyguards slumped up off to the side and out of the way; their throats cut.
Suddenly the main door is blasted with magic and shatters as cultists of the Hand pour in. No taunts, no witty speeches; just cold steel ready to spill their blood and backed by dark magic.
Windows are smashed and torches are thrown in from the outside. Fire erupts through the estate. They are about to have a fight for their lives.
(Conclusion will be written after the next game)
Below is the battlemap after about 5 rounds of combat. Valkana (npc) is now dead, although before she succumbed to her wounds, she cast a Blinding Flash upon those in the room, blinding her enemies while the others shielded their gaze. Fire erupts through the estate and two pink horrors are on the loose.
This is a tough fight; outnumbered and fighting on multiple fronts. The high elf’s magic is a momentary reprieve in the fighting. The party will have to make the best of it as they attempt to make a fighting retreat.
The return to The Old World via 4th edition is set for the 7th of March. This Friday will be a session 0. Mostly orientation for the group and going over character details. If I manage to get into the narrative side of things I will detail that in a session blog.
So here’s he line-up of characters that are heading into the final chapter. I’ve done prologues for these, which are plot-hooks written to bring them into the story. I won’t detail those hooks here but I will give a short summary of their involvement.
The Linchpin, the ‘glue’ as it were that ties most of these characters together is Valkana of Lionoak. Valkana was a High Elf mage PC played by Courtney in in the aftermath of Power Behind The Throne campaign. She is now a npc but one who is intricately involved in investigating the Purple Hand cult.
Ser Akhart Duval – Bretonnian Knight of the Realm and the eldest brother of Ser Gado Duval who featured in the Power Behind The Throne. Ser Gado was slain by a fallen Knight pledged to the Purple Hand. Ser Akhart is riding forth to seek vengeance for his brother and to root out the cult. He is guided by Valkana, who once fought alongside his younger brother, Ser Gado.
‘Lady’ Nikolina, Ice Witch – Nikolina is a sorceress envoy sent by the Ice Court to accompany Kislev’s ambassador who is riding to Altdorf with a urgent decree. They are waylaid by agents of the Hand who make an attempt on Kislev’s ambassador. The two will eventually split before the start of the game with Nikolina being sent to break bread with a minor noble lord, Klaus von Hartmann, who claims to know a lot about the cult.
Clleffan Shakeweed – Halfling Investigator. Clleffan was hired by Klaus von Hartmann, a noble who owned an estate and some land a few miles out from Altdorf. Clleffan was hired specifically to track down Hartmann’s missing son, Luther Hartmann. Luther Hartmann was an agent of the Palisades, an organization that Clleffan never heard of, but one that his father was seemingly acquainted with. Klaus believed that a cult calling itself the Purple Hand took his son, and wanted Clleffan to find him. Clleffan never really put much faith in this ‘cult’ business and thought that the old man had a vivid fantasy, but still, he was willing to cough up the coin regardless. The halfling spent months searching for Luther in Altdorf, coming to the conclusion that Luther was very much alive, but laying low for some reason. Well… he eventually found Luther. Dead. It was clearly murder, but dressed up to make it look like a drunken accident. Further examination revealed a five fingered open palm with an eye in the middle carved into his chest. Clleffan soon found himself drawn into the conspiracy…
Emmerich Rohmer – Sigmarite Warrior Priest. Rohmer has spent most of his time travelling the southern parts of the Empire, largely avoiding the civil war that has engulfed the Empire. In Averland, he discovers a dead imperial courier with a summons meant for another temple priest that speaks of dark tidings concerning Altdorf’s Temple and the Sigmarite church as a whole. It worries him greatly, and Rohmer makes the long back towards Altdorf. Along the way he discovers Valkana of Lionoak at a coaching inn being assailed upon by agents of the Hand. Unaware of the cult and its ambitions, Rohmer comes to the aid against the aggressors who have already slaughtered innocents as part of the collateral to get at the High Elf. Rohmer will find himself unwittingly drawn into the conspiracy that is the Enemy Within.
Frederich Ludevicus – Priest of Morr. Frederich found himself stationed at Altdorf’s Church of Morr, often assisting with prayer services and attending to funeral rites. In 2514, riots and unrest breaks out in Altdorf due to the continued absence of the Emperor Karl-Franz. To placate the commoners, the Crown Prince Luitpold, Franz’s son, comes up with a bold plan. He will don his father’s armor, mount Deathclaw and rise up in the sky. The people will rejoice and any rioters will quell in fear. The idea was not his own however… Agents of the Hand working within the Palace manipulate and cut the straps to Death Claw. The Crown Prince achieves the desired result when he is hoisted up high above the city upon Death Claw, but a sharp turn by the beast flings him from the saddle. He falls to his death, and for all those who saw his descent, believed they saw the Emperor. Now there was no doubt in their hearts anymore; to them, the Emperor was dead. Altdorfers, for a brief time, became united in their grief.
Ludevicus, working with his senior colleague, Siegmeyer Doltz, were given the honor and task to clean and prepare the body of the Emperor for what would no doubt be a grand funeral. For Ludevicus, it felt odd however. He, a mere initiate and Doltz, not even the High Brother of the Order, were given such a task. He felt that the Imperial Palace’s own appointed Raven Priests would have been given the task, but Doltz allayed any suspicions he had. Things came to a head when it came to preparing the body. Ludevicus had noticed that the man lying on the stone slab was not the Emperor, but the Crown Prince. He had seen the Emperor for himself a long time ago during his coronation, albeit from the very far back, but he had a greater recollection of the Crown Prince. This was Luitpold. When he raised this with his colleague, Doltz simply told him to keep quiet and do the work. That told him everything he needed to know.
Ludevicus would later discover Doltz hanging from the rafters of the church. For all appearances, it looked like he hanged himself out of grief. Ludevicus would then receive a mysterious letter from a Brother Superior requesting to meet him in the church yard at the height of the moon; midnight. Ludevicus knew if he went, he would never be seen again, or maybe he too will find himself hanging by the rafters… He fled Altdorf, spending over a year traveling the Empire and performing his duties as a priest. By chance, he was summoned to perform the funeral rites for a elderly noble’s son, and soon found himself embroiled into the conspiracy.
There we have it. The die is cast and the table set. This will be the final chapter of my long, long LONG running campaign.
Prep is underway for Empire on Edge. I am hoping the first game will be sometime in early/mid February.
In the meantime I have been running a Cyberpunk Red game that will run alongside WFRP once it starts. I expect I’ll be doing 2 WFRP games a month.
Unlike my previous efforts, I hope to document my WFRP sessions with more regularity as this is the last campaign chapter for my Enemy Within.
There’s a lot of ground to cover; the resolution of the Purple Hand conspiracy and the Civil War. One of my issues I had with the official narrative end for Enemy Within was that the Civil War felt like it took a backseat to everything. I have made sure that things got heated up before this chapter, and that fighting had already engulfed the empire with Nordland/Ostland going at it and Middenheim/Reikland already in full conflict.
One other thing that I have referenced before in my games (less so on here) was the unending tide of winter. Ever since the events of PbtT unfolded with the destruction of Ulric’s fortress temple (eternal flame is still lit, for now…), I have often mentioned and played upon the theme that for each passing year since PbtT, winter has become more and more dominant to the point that spring has almost become a faded memory in the northern Empire. And with each passing year, the cold frozen winds are increasingly expanding further south than before.
There’s a few names for it; Evernact, Fimbulwinter (as the Norscans call it), but the more common one is The Unending Winter. The Eternal Winter. In Norscan belief, it is prophesized that three successive winters will follow each other with no summer. The full Norscan prophecy goes on to state that during this time both the Söll (the Sun) and Mannslieb will fall. Morrslieb (they call it Roedredsel) will dominate the sky evermore. The stars will vanish from the sky and the world will fall into darkness. The ground will shudder so violently that trees will be uprooted, mountains will fall, and every bond and fetter will snap and sever. After this the final battle will begin…
Regardless of Norscan belief structure; the destruction of Ulric’s temple and the unseasonably long winters plaguing the Empire has gotten the peasantry troubled. Crops are failing and the Empire is experiencing food shortages. Coupled with the ongoing civil war, things are not looking great. Religious criers, now being labelled as Prophets of Doom, are calling it ‘Ulric’s Wrath’. Some believe that only with the rebuilding of his temple will the long winters cease. Others are saying that the war is driving the unseasonable weather. One cannot deny however that these long winters coincided with the destruction of his temple in Middenheim.
This is a crisis that will not get resolved in Empire on Edge, but may get tied up in a future campaign. For now, the presence of this seemingly unending winter will be felt more strongly in Empire on Edge.
*I made a new category called Empire on Edge to help with navigating posts for this last chapter.
My own self-insert chapter to the Enemy Within Campaign, the Blackheart chapter, has finished. Phew. If I had not finished it by the end of the year, I think I’d be in a bit of a midlife crisis. I usually take a break around this time of year and having it hang on a cliffhanger would not have been ideal.
It is time to reflect a little on the past year.
If I was to sit down and write a fan-made Enemy Within Campaign (there’s a few already out there), chapter-by-chapter series of books, I would not include the Blackheart chapter. Not because it was more standalone than anything else, but because it came about as a desire to try something different after finishing the Middenheim chapter, which is a very personal feeling that would not be mutual at a different table. If you know your group well (as I claim to do), you can kind of get a sense for where the vibe is going. A party wipe (which happened after PbtT) tends to give you room to try new things. The Blackheart chapter was my answer to Something Rotten In Kislev (Essenberg was an appetizer epilogue for PbtT) which is known for being only loosely connected with the rest of the overarching plot. One could say the same for Death on the Reik and Shadows Over Bogenhafen, fairly loose adventures with little hooks thrown about.
Every chapter so far has been great. I’ve ran Mistaken Identity/Bogenhafen/ as written in the 1st edition campaign books, with fond memories of Shadows over Bogenhafen. Death on the Reik was more loose but aligned with the same goal. PbtT I ran with some self-inserts, edits but largely stayed close as possible to the theme of the book and it still remains as my favourite. Essenberg & and now Blackhearts were my own chapters. Blackhearts was simply pure fun because I did delve into some high fantasy that I normally wouldn’t, and that was a nice break from the norm.
Empire on Edge will be the final chapter of the campaign. There is not a single book of the last chapter out there, official or otherwise, that can account for all the changes my group has made over the course of each chapter. It’s always my belief regardless that campaign books should be a guideline for the GM, and you decide how close you want to stick to that guideline. Every group is different. In this case, I’m attempting to stick close to the direction that my warhammer universe is going and incorporate the narrative flow that has resulted from the previous 6 chapters and player actions. I will be scouring the official and one unofficial book (Alfred Nunez’s one) to draw inspiration for the general theme and maybe see what snippets I can incorporate, but for the most part, it’s going to be mostly creative from my end.
What Happens After The Enemy Within Campaign Finishes?
Wait, that’s possible? I can actually finish this fucken thing?!? Please let it be so!
My purpose for existing might cease and maybe I’ll simply leave the Matrix. Or something.
But seriously, running it for this long (it truly has been a long time) and seeing it coming close to the finishing end is going to be a strange feeling. As for what I have planned, well, I sorta set myself up for more misery after it finishes…
When I devised and concepted the Blackheart campaign, I wanted the possibility of an epic conclusion but also something that could hint at a possible future campaign, completely entirely separate from Enemy Within. I’ve been stuck in gritty medieval ‘grounded’ fantasy for the past 10 years or so; which has been great and still is, but something different is on the horizon for a future campaign.
Galrauch, aka Fateclaw has escaped his prison that was the Nemesis Crown; his essence free, and his form born-anew, he is reinvigorated and desires dominion over everything, starting with The Old World. That to me sounds like another epic campaign once Enemy Within finishes. Just, you know… hopefully not a decade! Galrauch will not feature at all in the Empire on Edge, and his absence is easily enough to explain; his reign of terror will come to fruition but it will take time; he ain’t no dummy. His presence will be felt in other ways such as fluctuating Winds of Magic, strange omens and some rumors along with odd sightings. However the Empire on Edge chapter will be solely concentrated and focused on the Purple Hand; which in itself, is high stakes and will determine what sort of world the campaign after it takes place in. If the Purple Hand prove victorious, well, well shit…
As for who is playing what in the Empire on Edge campaign:
Chris will be playing a Halfling Investigator caught up in the conspiracy.
Keos will be playing a priest of Morr who discovers a dark truth when he witnesses to the embalming process of the alleged body of the Emperor (who is in fact his son, Luitpold).
Kurt will be playing a Knight of Bretonnia, on a mission to avenge the death of Ser Gado Duvall, his brother, who died at the hands of the cult’s agent.
Jack will be playing an Ice Witch from the court of the Tzarina, sent to the Empire on a diplomatic mission along with an emissary to seek out the truth of the ‘Enemy Within’ the Empire.
Courtney (Tez) will be playing the role of a Sigmarite Priest, who journeys to Altdorf with great concerns about the direction of the faith in all of this. He stumbles upon Purple Hand agents trying to kill Valkana of Lionoak and saves her life.
Bringing them all together is Valkana, the High Elf who has journeyed (with blessings from Ulthuan) to root out this conspiracy. Valkan was a previous PC played by Tez who was involved in the Middenheim/Essenberg campaign and one of the few survivors of that whole ordeal; she is keenly aware of the cult and is gathering intelligence to root them out, for a weak empire will not serve Ulthuan’s interests. Valkana will be a NPC.
A Merry Something!
So that is it from me for the year. I do not know when I’ll be starting Empire on Edge, but I’m hoping late January/February; once prep is finished that is. 2 games a month for WFRP, with Cyberpunk Red taking the remainder with the odd week off now and again.
Wishing everyone a Merry Xmas and a good New Year!
Ok so maybe not ALL of them! But we’ll get to that shortly.
From the start of the Blackhearts chapter campaign which began I believe back in 2021 (where does the time go?!?) to the finish line in 2024; we’ve had four Player Character deaths and several npc deaths occur over the course of the campaign. Ingo, Bash, Crash and Wick, followed by the departure of ‘Spooky’ Anya.
This was the longest running chapter I’ve done. It’s more standalone and only ‘loosely’ aligned with the rest of the Enemy Within chapters, but I’m glad for having run it as it was great fun and filled with high-fantasy tropes that I normally tend to avoid in these games.
I asked my group for some feedback for the campaign, and I’ll post a snippet here from one of them:
Honestly, a little bit relieved, from start to finish being the captain and always being the point of authority to make the big decisions is very overwhelming sometimes and puts a lot of pressure on me to try and do the right thing because sometimes if I make the wrong decision it will impact everyone in a bad way. Thoroughly thoroughly enjoyed the game and all aspects on it from dealing with undead and being chased by orcs seeing beast men and trying to negotiate our way through tense situations with higher points of authority to receiving the mission and even all the funny parts along the way
Chris – Rylan Karth
If I was to look back at my campaign, as I do with all my campaigns, I would spot areas where I would change things. For this, I would trim off the fat a little. 3 years is a long time for a chapter and running WFRP twice a month (for the most part) means chapters will last a long time. I’d have gotten rid of the whole Lhen storyline and place ‘Beaky’, the necromancer threat elsewhere in the story. But other than that, the story flowed nicely. At the start I was very tempted to create a closer tie-in with the previous chapters, but that would have gotten messy considering the format for the Black Heart chapter. I opted to keeping it very much standalone but including Ernst and traces of the Purple Hand (particularly at the start), allowed for that connection to survive without it being the focus.
So, onto the final part. Since the post about Part III was put, we’ve had about 6 more sessions. I’ll keep it brief and only go over the important details.
As the party retreat from the skaven and make their way into the door, shutting it behind them and bolting it, they are faced with a grim scene. Some kind of battle unfolded here, and it happened between dwarves. Dwarven skeletons lay scattered in a bloody carnage of violence. It seemed like two factions were warring against one another, with one faction barricading the way further in while another sought to fight their way through. The dwarves in the party, Mallus and Magda, were unsettled by this rare display of dwarves fighting amongst themselves.
Moving past, they enter the main chamber.
A vast circular chamber dominated by an enormous statue of a stern-faced Dwarf depicting Grungni, Dwarf Ancestor god of Smiths, Artisans, Mining and regarded as the chief diety. Near the statue’s head, a ragged hole in the shape of a smoking pipe belches thick, acrid smoke, which swirls ominously before dissipating into the air. The smoke causes the runes upon the statue to flare with a eerie light, casting shadows that dance across the room’s cracked and weathered walls.
They discover that this is a furnace, but not just any furnace, a runelord’s furnace. Hot air from the lava flows inside bellows out. They explore their surroundings and the side chambers.
They come across Throngzharr’s Vault of Lore, as denoted by the engraved runes nearby. A library collection of ancient knowledge. Through a secret narrow passage they discover a hidden part of the library and reveal a collection of books that are under lock and key.
Amongst them, the most interesting is titled The Black Anvil Chronicles and appears to be a heretical text on the workings of warpstone and how to forge with it. Atop it is a scroll; The Grudge of Grungni, and it appears to be a warning for whomever dares try to gain knowledge from the book. Magda considers the collection of works to be of ‘historical importance’ and puts them in her satchel.
Meanwhile Ifaris, in the public section, discovers the Greatest Works of Runelord Barlin Fireforge. The name strikes out as it’s the same Barlin Fireforge whose tomb they found buried beneath Shadowmound Monastery, and whose compass has allowed them to find their way to Ghumzul in the first place.
Runelord Barlin Fireforge’s Greatest Works:
Contents: Seemingly written by a third-hand and not Fireforge himself, this lofty tome goes into great detail concerning the many creations of this legendary runesmith.
Grimnir’s Wrath: A massive warhammer forged from Gromril, inscribed with ancient runes of destruction. When swung, it unleashes a thunderous shockwave, shattering armor and stone alike. It lists the weapon as a gift to Low-Queen Fergi Rognisson and buried with her.
Helm of Stoneheart: A helmet forged from the heart of a mountain, infused with the resilience of the earth itself. Inspired by the Ballad of Thrain ‘Stoneheart’ Steggsson.
Vault of Alaric Rognisson: Commissioned by Alaric Rognisson and with the aid of Alaric himself, this Vault was wrought to guard the Forged Crown from thieving hands within the King’s Vault. Fashioned from Gromril and sealed with the mightiest protective runes, no key shall turn its lock, nor shall any word of power summon forth its treasures. No lineage may open it. Only the blood of Alaric may unlock its bounty.
Of significant note is the vault of Alaric Rognisson. It appears that Alaric came to Ghumzul to not only seek the aid of his brother-king, but to find a way to seal the crown away for good. A vault designed only to be opened by Alaric’s blood alone, not even his lineage may summon forth it’s treasures. A mighty prison indeed for such a powerful artifact. They would need to find this vault.
Elsewhere, they run into some orcs who are busy trying to loot some ancient crypts. There’s no sign of Azhag but it appears he left some of his boyz behind to deal with any pursuers; unfortunately for him, they were too busy with looting the place. They manage to ambush the orcs. However, hilarity would soon ensure as Ifaris prepares to cast a relatively simple spell. Sadly, he would miscast, and it would lead to a catastrophic miscast! The miscast in question? Everyone within range (something like 100 yards I think) would see Ifaris as an enemy, and would be compelled to fight him. Even the orcs.
Pure terror and fear entered Ifaris’s mind as all heads turn to face him with a sinister look. Ser Smoff, the Ogre who was standing right behind Ifaris, tapped him on the shoulder, “You look very tasty Mr Pointy Hatman.”…
Ifaris ran and ran he did as the orcs allied themselves with everyone else gunning for him. “Imma knock his teef out!” “Not if I get to him first!” shouts Magda! “His head is mine to cave in!” shouts Mallus.
Smoff goes to clonk him but misses as Ifaris runs past him. A gunshot echoes out from Captain Rylan Karth and strikes Ifaris in the left arm, severely wounding him and rendering that arm useless from a critical.
Xaltach outpaces Ifaris and plans to spear him. Eardulf, the healer, shoots a crossbow at Ifaris but it misses slightly.
Ifaris is facing certain death and so he has two options; he can teleport himself away with a spell, hide and hope he isn’t found; the inner-sanctum isn’t safe though and he would be effectively hiding in darkness, which has its own terrible risks. The remaining option is to reach out from pure desperation… At this point, Ifaris’s player, Kurt, opts to use a fate point because death is certain and teleporting has its own risks. With using a fate point, Ifaris, out of desperation, manages to cast off a spell; Gilded Cage, and forms a cage around himself. It’s successful, and now he’s quivering in fear inside a cage of his own making as those around him bash, smash and try to poke him with the pointy sharp bits. The effects of the miscast soon wear off… and a sudden confused calm takes fold. It’s brief however as the orcs realize they are now surrounded. One orc, bit more clever than the others, shouts, “Err, lets get dat damn wizzard, yeah! WAAAAARGH!” but sadly it doesn’t have the desired effect he was looking for. The remaining orcs, outnumbered, get swiftly beaten.
Ifaris removes his cage and can hardly believe he’s alive. A lot of apologies are made as they come to terms with what they nearly did.
Trying to put that behind them, they continue on.
They come to the council chambers; a meeting hall where there King’s Council would meet with the other clans. It’s a sorry sight.
Rubble everywhere, and beneath it, bodies of dwarves. A large fissure runs through the whole chamber.
Magda heads on ahead towards the cracked council table at the top end of the room. There she finds a really large tome next to a dead dwarf who seems to have died with a withered quill in his hands. As she slides the opened tome over towards her, a skeleton at her feet catches her eyes. She spots a blood covered gauntlet, and picks it up. The gauntlet has elegant runes upon it, but she’s unable to decipher their meaning. Reading where the tome was last opened at shares some interesting insights.
GM Notes: Two fairly large handouts at this point were shared to the party. I will summarize their contents however as it wouldn’t be practical to share the entire thing. The tome is called the Grudge of the Assembly.
An assembled meeting attended by the King’s council of Thanes along with various clans, with the King himself not being present. The first page shows a log of the meeting called by the Skarrshard clan, whose Thane has been arrested on the orders of Low-King Barak Rognisson. Throki Skarrshard, son of Thane Beletgaz Skarrshard, has demanded the immediate release of his father. Thane Goldhammer, who leads the assembly, speaks:
‘The Low-King has secluded himself in the Throne room in light of the charges of treason laid before Skarrshard. The Council has conversed with him and we speak for him. Thane Beletgaz Skarrshard stands accused of treachery after the forced-breaking of the betrothal between Daphne Skarrshard and the Low-King. The more serious charge of disobeying his king and seeking to gain entry to the Deep Vaults lays before him. He and two of his cohorts who plotted this treason have been locked away until a trial can be…’ He is interrupted by a chorus of taunts and insults from the Skarrshard clan.
Throki response is loudly declared and written in the record. ‘My father stands accused of falsehoods! It was the King who broke the betrothal! He who has cast down the Crown of Tolburn Magnusson, casting aside the legacy of our hold on a whim! He who wears a crown that his own brother forebayed him! I demand the release of my father and those who stand accused of this crime at once, and we speak for the Hold when we ask the Low-King to listen to reason and forsake this Crown to the Runelords! You are one of my father’s closest friends, Goldhammer, tell me you see the bare-face lie that is being fed to us on a platter!’
The assembly is adjourned upon further disruption and the council’s inability to get things under control.
When Magda reads the next page, it seems like a great deal of time has passed since that previous meeting, as the last one is written with a more tired hand, and the content of which is far more grim.
The account details that for sometime now, fighting has erupted between clan Skarrshard, their allies and those who have allied with the Low-King. Throki Skarrshard is brought before the council in chains as Thane Goldhammer orders for his chains to be cut, and pleads with him to see reason and command his clan and those who fight with him to stand down at once. Throki is allowed the floor to speak, and the loremaster records what he said.
‘My father rots in chains while you toss an offering not worth the spit on a beardling’s chin.” A curse is uttered that I will not commit to parchment. “Look around you, Goldhammer. You and these daft fools who still cling to your king, blind and deaf to the truth. If you think this war is about my father alone, you are sorely mistaken. Let all who stand here bear witness to my words! The Low-King has deceived you all! He sits upon a throne of lies! He has led you astray with his tales of heroism against Galrauch the Dread. But he has not spoken the truth of what transpired in the Deep Vaults! A truth my father has uncovered, and a truth he now rots in isolation for!‘
Throki holds up a bloodied gauntlet. He proclaims that the gauntlet belongs to none other than Alaric Rognisson, the King’s brother. Not only that, he claims that the Low-King murdered his own brother so that he may retrieve the crown. The King, he says, has deceived everyone. He proclaimed that he had the blessing of his brother to retrieve the crown and no one, it seemed, would question it because no one would dare imagine that the Low-King would have stooped so low to get the crown. But it appears not everyone had bought his story. Throki’s father grew suspicious and ventured far into the deep vaults into the underway where Alaric was said to have ventured on his departure from Ghumzul. There he found the gauntlet, but he was arrested by the Low-King’s loyalists before he could speak the truth.
Throki makes an impassioned plea with Thane Goldhammer to see reason in this. The fighting will not stop until the Low-King is made to answer for his crimes. Alaric’s Crown must be surrendered to Barlin Fireforge to be committed to Alaric’s Vault once more.
Just as Thane Goldhammer sees wisdom in this, and agrees to march upon the Low-King, the loremaster’s last writings hint of a deep rumbling in the stone…
Magda is a little bit shaken by this knowledge. A great evil unfolded here in Ghumzul. She rips out the two pages, unable to carry the tome itself due to its size, and puts them in her satchel. Mallus is aghast however, “Such knowledge may be best left buried here. Too much shame…” but Magda disagrees, stating that only lessons can be learned from this and that the truth must be revealed to the High King. Mallus relents.
Suddenly, out of the fissure, an ambush of ragged dark fur scurries forth and attacks the party. A scattering of skaven attack! But worst still is the Brood Horror that emerges from the fissure. The blackhearts make a retreating fight and find safety into the main chamber as they jam the door shut and shove rubble against it to stop further pursuit.
They proceed onwards, making their way down to the southern passage and find a junction. Stairs heading up towards the Throne Room, and stairs heading down towards the Royal Vaults. A quick detour yields considerable wealth, powerful artifacts and Alaric’s Vault itself which is a massive rune laden chest made out of Gromril. They open it with Alaric’s blood stained gauntlet; although the blood has long soaked into the gauntlet, it still opens the vault. And… It is empty. There is no Crown.
They continue to the Throne Room…
They are expected…
At the far end of the throne room, perched on his throne is the Low-King himself. Barak Rognisson. His once-proud form is now grotesque, his skin pale and clammy, stretched taut over a frame that seems unnaturally swollen. Dark, sunken eyes glare out from beneath a crown glistening with green gems. The air around him is thick with the stench of decay, yet something else lingers—a sense of great dread, of something far older and more sinister than the flesh that clings to his bones. They could all feel the cold chill, but is it coming from him, or the Crown.
The Low-King should be long deceased, but here he sits. The Crown is sustaining him somehow.
Standing off to the size is Azhag the Slaughterer, his jaw slack and his expression blank as if he’s under some kind of spell. To the King’s right flank, is a slayer whose eyes are ablaze with unnatural fury. Could this be Dorin the Slayer? When the party first entered Ghum’zul, they came across the remains of a dead man, and his book detailed him to be a rememberer for a slayer called Dorin who came to Ghum’zul to rid it of some foul evil.
“I see the Crown is looking to test my resolve once more. It has brought forth thieves looking to snatch what is not theirs. It is my burden alone, not yours!”
What begins is a very large fight that takes place over 3 sessions. It would prove to be a tough fight. The odds were not in their favor. The Low-King had allies; Azhag was a massive threat himself, and Dorin would prove to be a dangerous foe to contend with. There were undead skeleton dwarfs advancing from the wings, eternally loyal to the Low-King. On top of that, the Low-King was untouchable. A magical barrier protected him from harm, strengthened by two large rune carved pillars behind him that would need to be taken out if he was going to be attacked. And each round, the Nemesis Crown, had the ability to cast spells, propelled by the Low-Kings mind and will.
It was a grueling fight with some dire but heroic moments. Rylan found Sigmar in his time of need and called upon his aid, casting a horde of undead aflame with holy divine fire. Eadulf bravely kept everyone in the fight as much as he could, providing aid to those who required it. Ifaris fought against the Low-King’s efforts to smite them with spells by doing his best to dispel what he could. Magda went toe-to-toe with Azhag and although she had to retreat, she gave the Blackhearts vital time to contend with other threats. Ser Smoff tied up Dorin, and much to his credit did well but suffered greatly for it in wounds. Xaltach fought alongside Smoff and tried to fight back the undead swarms coming towards the center.
Every one contributed to their own survival and fought as best as they could. But it was not a fight they were going to win unless they dealt with the Low-King. Ifaris managed to turn Azhag into a statue and even as he was slowly turning to stone, Azhag continued to fight up until his last moments, when he finally snapped out of the dominion that the Low-King had over him, cursing as he swung his two axes about. With the biggest threat out of the way, and Dorin slain by Smoff with the help of Xaltach, they focused their efforts on the Low-King.
However, a dilemma with Saltza would prove to occupy their attention. Saltza collapsed to the ground wheeling in agony and screaming for Eardulf’s name. Talk about timing. Her baby was coming, and in the middle of a battle no less.
Eardulf rushed over towards her even as swarms of undead were trying to advance, and Frilda aided as well who spent the majority of the fight trying to not actually get into a fight with anyone.
Rylan and the remaining four blackheart soldiers fought to keep the undead from the south advancing as more started to pile into the throne room. Ifaris, Xaltach and Magda concentrated on bringing down the pillars that acted as the Low-King’s barrier. And in the middle, a woman as giving birth amidst he carnage.
After several grueling attempts, they brought the pillars down and the Low-King’s ward was now vulnerable. But the final blow would come from Magda who fired a bolt into the Low-King, sending him reeling forward. As he lurched forward, Magda kicked his head, knocking the Crown off and sent it rolling down below. The Low-King’s last words were, “Alaric… forgive me”.
Within the space of seconds, his skin melted off his bones and he rapidly began to decompose in front of their eyes. Then there was nothing but bone dust where the Low-King once was.
With his demise, all the undead collapsed, and although there seemed to have been a great ethereal sigh of relief as the dead dwarven ancestors were finally given rest.
It didn’t take long though for the Crown to exert its influence upon those present. Eardulf had just delivered a baby girl, handing her over to a very weak-willed Saltza, and he felt a slight pull upon his conscious, but he resisted, his focus on the newborn and Saltza’s health. However, the rest were not so lucky. A creeping desire crawled its way into their minds. For their own reasons, own ambitions, they wanted the Crown. Xaltach went over to examine the it closely, but wary of it; Magda was above him, crossbow armed and loaded, commanding him to step away from it as she jumped down. Ifaris involved himself arguing that the Crown could be of use to the Colleges for further… study, and then handed over to the Dwarves once they’ve completed their studies. Rylan drew his pistol and told no one was getting the crown, except for him.
A stand-off ensured and everything grew very tense. Then, the cocking of a crossbow being loaded from behind. Ernst Steurmann had it aimed at them. “What I have here is a doombolt, and if you are wise, you will kick that Crown over towards me. Now.” Indeed, Ernst loaded his crossbow with a doombolt he retrieved from the Vault. Eardulf also had one but used it in the fight. The doombolt was capable of splitting apart and hitting multiple foes; a deadly runic weapon.
Magda, with her own crossbow and waiving it around at everyone, told everyone in her heavy southern accent, “Don’t y’all be thinkin’ I’m gonna put up with ya shit! The Crown belongs to the dwarves!” Mallus tries to insert reason and calm things down (he was not under its influence having passed the willpower test) but his attempt to do so fell on deaf ears.
Eardulf, stepping away now from Saltza and commanding Smoff to look after her and guard her, approached the tense scene. He tried to earn Ernst’s trust, but Ernst was skeptical. However he was willing to listen to Eardulf’s suggestion that he pick up the Crown and hold it until a decision could be made what to do with it. Ernst agreed, and commnaded Eardulf to make his way towards it. Everyone was tense but Ernst was the biggest threat with his doombolt. He stood behind Rylan, and told Rylan not to make any sudden movements. As Eardulf knelt down to pick up the Crown, he suddenly felt the pull towards it… Magda then sprang into action! She fired off a sneaky shot towards Ernst, and struck him right in the mouth with a bolt, killing him instantly. She then dove for the Crown but Eardulf quickly picked it up and stood back, and then… he put it on.
As he did, a shockwave sent everyone flying a few feet back from Eardulf, and Eardulf was inundated with visions of the Low-King, witnessing his fall from grace. He saw Alaric and Barak fighting Galrauch, the Father of Chaos Dragons, down in the great deep vaults; a scene that was previously depicted on a engraving they discovered on their travels in Ghum’zul. But the truth of it would be revealed. Barak pleaded for Alaric to give him the Crown of Power, and Alaric relented, seeing no other way. There was a sudden bright flash and then… Galrauch was gone. But it was not as it would seem.
Eardulf sees a vision of Barak Rognisson, but its different, colder… darkened by a desire.
Then… Eardulf feels a sinister dread hang over him. He feels like as if something is staring into his soul, and he sees it; two great eyes staring back at him from the void. It’s voice is menacing, ancient and Eardulf cannot help but think he’s in the presence of a god-like entity.
“At last… something new…” The voice is a rasp, like scales grinding on stone, filled with venom and it bellows into his mind like thunder. “I sense… the mind of a child. I am Galrauch, Fateclaw, the Elder of Dragons, bound to this accursed crown. You think you hold power, little one? You have no idea what you’ve touched. I am older than your gods, older than your pitiful kingdoms. And now, I am inside your mind, clawing into your soul.”
A cold, creeping dread follows every word, its grip tightening with each breath.
“You wear the Crown with ease, but you do not know of its price. You are nothing more than a vessel. My will, my rage—I control you now.” His voice grows darker, venomous, filling the void with a menacing, low hiss. “Resist, and I will devour your very essence, piece by piece. Submit… and you may yet live to witness my dominion over all.
“So tell me, child spawn, what is it that you desire most? For I am Fateclaw, and I have within my power to give you reign over your own Fate.I see into your heart, little one. You have tasted death’s touch, haven’t you? The cold grip of dhar once touched your heart. Black blood soars through your veins. And then, there’s something else… A newborn spawn… it need not be endangered… if you are willing to pay my price. Let me help you… Eardulf.”
Eardulf tells the entity that he wishes to protect those he loves, to protect his friends, and protect Saltza, the baby… but not at the cost of his own soul, not for the price he must pay. He receives a laugh in response, and he valiantly tries to resist. (He has a 20% chance of success, and he passes, mitigated by his concern for Saltza and the newborn child)
Eardulf removes the crown, but just as he does, Magda, still under the influence of the Crown’s power, shoots a bolt towards him. It pierces Eardulf’s side and he flinches for a moment, then falls backwards. The sudden moment snaps everyone out of a daze. (WP checks are done and passed) His allies rush to his aid and Magda is left in shock at what she did as Mallus heads over and smacks the crossbow out of her hand.
As aid is given to Eardulf, one person is scheming. Rylan Karth has just taken a dark whisper as something calls to him from beyond. He makes a show of praying to Sigmar as he kneels down near where Eardulf is, and picks up the crown quickly and deceivably. Stepping back before Xaltach could reach for it, spying his deception, Rylan puts on the crown.
“Yes… one whose heart has already been darkened by the cold touch of my lesser brethren. You lead these mortals, and you have spent so much to get here. Sacrificed so greatly. Why should they have the Crown when you have given up so much to take it. Tell me what your heart desires, spawn, and you will be able to shape Fate to your ambitions.”
Rylan could feel the cold malicious dread in the presence of the entity. It was like as if his soul was on fire. He told the entity that he wished for the Blackhearts to be renewed, to regain their strength, to be strong again and for him to lead them to glory. For all those who have fallen, to see them again…
“The Blackhearts, a mere shadow of what they once were. But with my power… they could be more. You could be more. Think of it… Rylan. Your company, one hundred strong once more, their loyalty unshaken. You would lead them, unstoppable, into glory eternal. You need only grasp it, Captain, and you shall be the heart that beats life back into them. But you must pay my price if you want to grasp your own Fate.”
Rylan asked what was its price.
It answered. “What do I want? Freedom. Freedom from this cursed prison, this trinket of mortals. I was never meant to be bound, never meant to be caged like some petty spirit. The dwarf’s spirit was strong, his dominion over his realm kept me at bay. He’s gone now, and with it, I am not contained no longer. It will only be a matter of time until I am free from this forsaken prison. But you… can free me now and get what you want.”
The air grows colder as the presence tightens its grip. “Release me, and I will turn your fate towards your desires.”
Whatever glimmer of hope Rylan had, was slowly being drowned out by the darkness. But his faith in Sigmar, as dwindling as it was, was just enough for him to resist. He latched onto that and tried to resist his own temptations, tried to resist the calling of this dark entity. (He had a 10% chance of success, and failed on the first roll. He used his last fortune and rolled a success. He rolled a 5, for which he needed 10 or less to pass.)
Struggling to lift his arms, with the entity shouting into his mind at his defiance, Rylan lifted the Crown off his head and threw it to the ground. He snapped out of the daze to see Xaltach making a run to tackle him.
With everyone now free from its influence, they would need to decide what to do with the Crown. Ifaris witch-sight allowed him to see the strands of magic at play and he could see that the Crown was the reason for the vortex of magic at the top of Stormpeak. The vortex was becoming more violent with each passing moment. Whatever they were going to do, would need to be done quick.
Xaltach covered the Crown in a hide cloak and picked it up. (He would have to pass a WP check but he passed). The Crown seemed to affect him the weakest.
As debate quickly raged on about what to do, Smoff told Eardulf that something was wrong with Lady Saltza. He limped over to her side, clutching his own wound as Frilda tried to stem the bleeding. Saltza was weak, and dying. There was no explanation as to why. But Ifaris had one. His witch-sight allowed him to see the winds of magic at play. But he could see something else. There, with its hands around Saltza’s throat, was a demonic form of Gideon. He recognized the form from his earlier ritual to expel the demon from Rylan. Gideon’s form was weak and only the upper body could be seen, the rest trailed away like smoke into a rift that opened up inside the vortex where the Crown was. The high concentration of magic in the area made the veil that stood between the mortal realm and the Chaos realm weak.
They knew they only had one choice; the Crown must be destroyed. But how?
Magda got the Black Anvil Chronicles out from her satchel and hastily began to read for any clues as to how to destroy the Crown. She noted that Barlin Fireforge had made several scribbled notes into the book’s various pages, as if he was using the book to research for a way to destroy the Crown, having discovered parts of it is made out of Warpstone.
Barlin never found his answer, but he was close. It was a theory, but the only one they had. Magda theorized that using the instrument that was responsible for its forging could maybe destroy it, but it could have to be upon a Runemaster’s anvil. The protective runes upon such an anvil are designed to protect the forger and would make it a much safer endeavor, to do otherwise would be to invite death. One problem though, they didn’t have Alaric’s hammer. Regardless, they rushed off towards the Rune Forge leaving Eardulf, Smoff and Frilda behind to tend to the aid of Saltza who was hanging on for dear life. (I was rolling endurance checks as a form of death-save for Saltza. She was one failed check away from death)
Heading into the forge, surrounded by Lava on the side, they laid the Crown upon the runemaster’s anvil and by ancestors luck, they saw the finest forge hammer they ever laid their eyes upon resting against the anvil. Ifaris picked up the Hammer and swung it down, striking the Crown. He managed to damage it, but not destroy it… as he went for another blow, he stopped himself… The Crown’s influence seeped into his mind and Ifaris did not have the strength to do what was needed… He dropped the hammer but Xaltach reached in and grabbed hold of it. With a raised hand, Xaltach struggled against the influence of the Crown, but the Crown’s influence affected him less than the others, and he managed to strike the final blow. The Crown split apart with the sound of thunder that blew the top of the forge off and the force of the explosion sent everyone onto their backs. When they stood back up, they saw the ruined Crown of Power upon the Anvil. The remains of which were cast into the lava pit nearby.
It was done. The Nemesis Crown was destroyed, and with it, Galrauch. Or so they hoped…
Moments prior to the Crown being destroyed, Eardulf realized that Saltza was not going to make it. He prayed to Shallya, Goddess of Mercy, Compassion and Healing, for her to grant him this one request; to save Saltza, to have mercy upon her. That even if it meant taking something from him, to grant her the life that he was willing to give. A great tremor shook the mountain hold and rubble began to fell. A ray of light shone through and was cast upon Saltza. Eardulf looked on and he could make out in the light, the faint form of a demonic entity with its hands gripped around Saltza’s throat. Gideon’s last words then surfaced to his mind; he sworn he would claim what was promised to him. Eardulf watched as the holy light burned away the demonic form until there was nothing left, and then as if gaining her last breath, Saltza let out a gasp of air and her eyes flickered towards Eardulf, reaching out towards him. She regained her strength, still weak but she would live. She looked down towards the baby girl in her arms, who she would name Ellie; named after the founder of the Blackhearts, Ellie Blackheart.
Heading back into the throne room, Saltza was back to her old self. Still weak from her pregnancy and having lost a lot of her strength, but alive and cared for by Frilda and Eardulf.
It was over.
And then they heard it; a great rumbling, like thunder.
Everything around them begins to collapse as the hold itself starts crumbling. Eardulf asks Smoff to pick up Saltza (she has the baby) and the rest run out of the throne room as rocks begin to fall. They make it out, but Magda on her way trips and falls. Mallus Gundersson, seeing this, runs back in to aid her, and they both run towards cover. A great big rock column falls from above and Mallus sees it; he pushes Magda out of the way towards cover, and as Magda turns around, all she sees is nothing but rock dust and piles of rubble. She tries to go back but Ifaris holds her back, shouting, “He’s gone! There’s nothing you can do!”
What remains of the Blackhearts and the party in question retreat into the underway passages; obviously they cannot go back the way they came, but they find near the tombs, the deep vaults. The underground passage ways. By the time they emerge, they are starving for food, cold, miserable and malnourished. They find themselves on a mountainside, snow raining down on them. They spy through the opening they came through, which seemed more like a massive hole through the mountain and not done by natural means, a deep red scale. Ifaris goes to pick it up, but it is scorching hot, melting the snow around it. Evidence perhaps of the Great Dread that has been released upon the world…
They travel onwards, before running into some Ostland tents perched further south of them. It would turn out that Iorite Silverfist, the dwarf companion who went her separate ways to find aid earlier in the campaign, had brought help. A small scouting party that she managed to procure.
It would prove to be their salvation; but many questions would be put to them, and answers required to satisfy the curiosity of the Ostlanders who for the most part were more concerned with Azhag, for him and his horde were responsible for much of the destruction in Ostland.
And so ends the Blackheart Chapter.
What followed after that are the character epilogues for each surviving PC and major NPC. Those were fairly extensive and can be covered in another blog post if there is interest.
But that’s it; I left out some context and details because to write about them would require more time, but I feel I covered everything that needed to be covered.
GM Insights
It’s a bittersweet feeling amongst my group that the campaign has ended, as it seems to be a firm favourite with the dynamic and evolving relationships that emerged from it and the drama involved. It had a bit of everything in it, and lots of excellent character RP that even evolved into text rp on my discord for some downtime roleplay.
For me personally, relief but also very satisfied with everything. It was a fully custom campaign and because of that, it required a lot of time and energy from myself; hence why it was very difficult to devote time to writing regular blog posts about it. It went on a lot longer than I thought it would, which is my only regret; I’d have liked to trim it down a bit.
Ghum’zul was the largest and really only true dungeon I ever ran for Warhammer. It was multi-leveled and massive in scope. I also found myself cutting bits out of it because it became ‘too ambitious’ at times and I toned down a few encounters to ensure narrative flow. It started slow, and then gradually the horrors would reveal themselves. My skaven reveal was my favourite moment, as I hinted at their presence ever so slightly to put my group on edge. The Shard Dragon reveal was also a firm favourite and proved to be a deadly and tenacious foe that still lives and haunts the under passage ways.
A fair bit of content got cut though. An encounter with the deadly Tregara, a creature that the skaven fear greatly, was cut and the Shard Dragon became its replacement. Some missed content because the party didn’t explore everything was the ancestor ghosts in the old cells. This was going to be the ghost of Thane Beletgaz Skarrshard and would see some foreshadowing done for the discovery they’d make later on about the conflict. As well as a clue to the madness that had befallen the Low-King.
Other cut content was a rogue adventuring party driven by despair and madness having becoming trapped in Ghum’zul for a year and eating nothing but rats and cave fungus. This was cut due to time and also it felt out of place. Would have been a fun one though, but not one with a lot of threat behind it.
I had the most fun though creating and writing the lore of Ghum’zul and sprinkling that about to be picked up by my group. Hall of Ancestors was great for this, with a great big massive engraving effigy telling the heroics of past ancestors and kings. Overall Ghum’zul contained about 30 scenes (levels) but, in total had I not cut stuff out, including a massive foundry taken over by goblins, it was easily 42 scenes or so.
So with that done, I am on a long break now until January.
Empire on Edge needs to be prepped which will serve as my finale for Enemy Within. I also plan to run a Cyberpunk Red RPG game in the new year along with WFRP. I was planning a 40k game but I do not have as much interest in that as I do WFRP, and Cyberpunk is a setting that I’ve always loved.
Merry Xmas to my readers and if I can I’ll provide an update in December concerning a little ‘trailer’ that I’m making for my Empire on Edge game.
The Blackhearts journey for several more days under the mountain. Wounds are licked and healed, but morale is at it’s lowest point. Food is running scarcer, Smoff still has a larder of food on him but won’t be long before he too will start running dry. Without Brannigar to keep the men from eating too greedily, they will find it rough to carry on.
Good fortune favors them however as they come across something on their travels in the dark. A ripped backpack. Inside they find enough rations to draw out a few more days if rationed carefully. The backpack itself holds some clues as to its previous owner. Inside a journal is discovered. When the company first arrived at Ghum’zul, they came across the remains of a dead human who looked like he died a little more recent than the residents of the hold. They found a book that marked out the remains as the Rememberer of a dwarf slayer by the name of Dorin ‘Firmhand’ Morgrim. Well, it appears they have found Dorin’s backpack, indicating that the slayer is still alive, although rather ominous that his pack is here along with some supplies.
The book doesn’t contain writing, but drawings. They depict an artist hand who drew various images of a dwarf slayer in battle with different foes. One shows him fighting a troll, another skirmishing with greenskins. Flipping towards the end of the book, there are sketchings that hint at a different artistic hand, but this one depicts a crown. The crown starts out rough over the next few pages until the last sketch seems to have more features to it.
Seems Dorin may be receiving dreams about the Crown as the other Blackhearts have done. Disturbingly, Xaltach discovers a piece of matted dark fur attached to the backpack. He is suspicious… and the company are asked to keep their guard up.
Moving through a serious of tunnels that lead over spacious caverns, they come under attack by some goblins. Goblins it would seem are the least of their worries; a mighty roar from far far below them signifies the presence of an old foe. The Shard Dragon has returned and is in pursuit. Thankfully it remains hundreds of feet below them, but it’s mere presence gives hast to the company as they navigate over treacherous walkways while goblins shoot at them with arrows.
Eventually they find a passageway that leads into a constructed dwarf corridor and escape the pursuit of the Shard Dragon. The scant few goblins that remain behind do not pursue and scatter into hiding.
Finding themselves out of the caves and within the confines of dawi walls, they continue on, heading west.
They enter a grand open hall that stretches far and wide. This is the Great Hall of Kings. The place is as silent as a tomb. And dark… yet not completely. Braziers on both ends of the hall are lit, which immediately puts them on high alert.
Briefly taken in by the magnificent dwarven architecture, and the scale of it, they cautiously stride onwards. Tracks upon the dusty stone floor are soon spotted. Orc tracks… They proceed onwards, until Captain Rylan notices that the tracks split off; going north and south while they are going through the middle. Rylan decides to send the company north of the hall, into the darker recesses with Xaltach leading as scout.
An orc ambush triggers, but thankfully as a result of some good sixth sense rolls and a earlier decision not to proceed down the middle, the ambush is not as effective.
Orcs, accompanied by a black orc, charge forward and attack them.
Rylan shoots one charging orc in the head with his pistol, severely wounding it, but it still charges forward. The rest contend with a couple of orcs on their rear flanks.
Things are about to get worse however as the Boss shows up.
Azhag the Slaughterer (minus his Crown of Sorcery)
Accompanied him is a orc shaman and several other mean looking orcs.
“So diz is watz makin all dat racket! Looky watz we gotz boyz, sum umies lookin da steal watz mine! Knock der teef out and feast on da flesh! Dunt let any of dem umies thru or Ill smash ya heads in!”
Azhag leaves his boyz to do his bidding and opts to continue heading west pass the entrance. Is Azhag being influenced by the Crown in some fashion?
What happens next, is, well… interesting.
The orc shaman proceeds to cast a spell; Hand of Gork. A fun little spell that would have picked all the orcs up near the shaman and tossed them at the enemy combatants. Nasty ambush spell.
Tzeentch however said no. (I rolled a Major Miscast, and then a catastrophic miscast result on the major miscast table, resulting in…)
Around the shaman, portals started opening up. Six rifts into the mortal realm opened up and brought forward six lesser daemons; Slaanesh, Tzeentch, Khorne. (I would have had nurgle too but didn’t have one ready).
In a competitive frenzy of bloodlust, the daemons charged and flanked the goblin shaman. He never stood a chance. The bewildered shaman was torn apart, finished by a Bloodletter of Khorne. Some of the orcs put up a resistance against the daemons, but where quickly cut-down. Two orcs fled, believing that the fight with the Blackhearts presented more opportunity for teef than what the shaman summoned.
With the shaman’s skull collected by Khorne and the rest of the daemons reveling in their blood mischief, they popped back out of existence; maybe they knew what was coming…
As the Blackhearts dealt with the remaining orcs, a deep resonating bell could be heard sounding off…
And then again… and again…
Moments later, eerie, guttural horn blows follow, growing louder and more urgent. The ground began to tremble, and from the shadows of the distant corridors, a chittering, skittering chorus rises—a sound like thousands of claws scraping against stone.
From the dark recesses of the hall, countless beady red eyes appear, glowing with sinister intent. The orcs, too, halt their assault, recognizing the danger that even they fear. Then, with a feral roar, a seething tide of skaven pours into the hall, a writhing, gnashing horde of fur and fangs. They surge forward, a relentless swarm driven by primal hunger and bloodlust.
A tremor shakes the foundations of the Great Hall, and then an explosion of rock and stone as something emerges from a newly formed gap in the hall from where the company had come from.
A Verminlord. A Greater Daemon…
A Verminlord, a Greater Daemon of colossal size, claws its way through the shattered stone. Adorned with jagged unholy armor plates that pulse with dark magic and long, sinewy limbs that end in razor-sharp claws. It bore a whip-like tail that lashes out, cracking the air with bone-chilling force. It wields a whip in one hand a razor sharp blade curved with daemonic sigils in the other.
The hair on the back of their necks stand up, and the air gets foul very quickly. Xaltach can barely block out the stench of foul corruption at play, and Ifaris casts his eyes elsewhere for his magical sight shows him the evil aura that surrounds such a Daemon. With insanity at the doors of their minds, the Blackhearts flee, urged on by the dawi who know the skaven threat well.
Ifaris casts a few blast spells at the pillars in retreat in an attempt to stop or delay some of the skaven running out of the horde to kill-kill them.
Xaltach gets bogged down by some gutter-runners who ambush him and Magda. “You is far from home, cold one. Nows you die-die!” remarked a skaven to Xaltach as it went for the kill.
With the horde catching up to them fast, they opt to run (lots of opportunity strikes) from those trying to pin them down. Escaping the Great Hall, they run for their lives down a flight of steps, and make their way across a bridge over a dark chasm. (Yes, I went there… I’m never gonna run LOTR so why not!)
Orcs, also looking to make their retreat, are on the bridge trying to hold up the retreating Blackhearts who are crossing over. One orc up at the top of the steps is “Boss!” while banging on a sturdy rune-carved door that refuses to budge.
As they make their way over and fight three orcs who are in their way, behind them… rubble is sent flying and stepping through the entrance by sheer force of might is the colossus that is the Verminlord. Skaven from the sides approach the bridge, but stop in their tracks in reverence of the Verminlord, bowing and retreating to allow the greater daemon to stride forward.
Through no planning whatsoever on my end (honest), the wizard, Ifaris, is the one who is at the rear and is left to face down the Verminlord. (Cue lots of OCC chatter about him being precisely where he should be). With the orcs dead or fleeing, the rest of the company make their way to the door, but Captain Rylan Karth tries to work up some courage and turns around… much regret is had upon turning around to see what has made its way, precariously so, onto the bridge; terror absolutely strikes him, and his resolve is broken. His courage leaves him, as does the rest of the company. Magda boldly steels some resolve to shoot a bolt towards the Daemon, but the bolt is harmlessly deflected. (ward save)
Ifaris tries for a gamble; he had cast Blast upon the bridge before the Verminlord had stepped onto it; a metallic explosion dents the bridge but it isn’t enough. The Verminlord steps onto the bridge, carefully. It gets close enough to Ifaris who is standing closer to the left side and curls its spiked whip towards him. One strike and it will be all over, but the whip misses as Ifaris ducks in time; being such a small target has its advantages.
He casts Blast again, and he critically casts, scoring a clean break as the bridge support shatters. Unable to bear the weight of the Verminlord, the bridge completely collapses, sending forth the Verminlord into the darkness below.
As skaven slingers shoot at them from afar, they flee up the stairs towards the door. The door won’t budge, but Xaltach remembers the key he took from that dead hanging dwarf skeleton in that room with the undead. The key fits!
The door swings open and the blackhearts flee into the doorway.
Heavy breaths and bewildered prayers are uttered as the madness of what unfolded surfaces to their minds…
GM Notes: The Skaven Reveal
This particular reveal was a nice milestone to reach. The Skaven are always fun to play with, and having them in such numbers certainly did terrify my group. Pretty sure the Verminlord was not expected judging by the loud reactions I had from my group 🙂
I had scattered a few clues about their presence throughout the journey in Ghum’zul, just enough to entice a worry at the back of their minds, but not enough to be taken too seriously. Unless you were a dwarf.
This particular game was tense and dangerous; it could have been much, much worse. Had my shaman not killed himself via a miscast, the party would have to endure the orcs for a bit longer. The daemons could have been a threat to the company, but these uninvited guests needed to go to make room for the real ‘threat’. I had already embraced their chaos long enough.
It’s been many months since I provided an update. The blog receives little attention mostly due to time and priorities, but the games are very much alive and well. There’s been about 13-14 sessions so far of the Ghum’zul dungeon (2-3 sessions per month). I was way off on my early prediction of finishing this dungeon by April/May. Way off.
This isn’t my first dungeon that I designed but it is by far the largest that encompasses 25ish scenes (each scene being a map/transition image) with some very large maps thrown in there. I’ve had to cut some encounters/scenes because they felt out of place or the pacing was wrong. It was a careful balance of making travelling/exploration meaningful and dialing down the amount of small encounters but making large encounters more impactful (the goblin one was a lot of fun).
Ghum’zul started off slow, emphasizing the lore by including elements in scenes for the group to learn more about Ghum’zul. Etched stone tablets and old dusty rotten tomes to the Line of Kings engraved in a grand hall of old gold. The sense of abandonment coupled with the sprinkling of a ‘natural’ encounter here and there; by natural, something mundane such as giant cliff spiders or plague rats (small kind), nothing that would suggest the place was teeming with horrors. Not yet anyhow…
What the party learned was that Alaric Rognisson (Alaric the Mad) came to this hold to entrust the Nemesis Crown to his kingly brother, Barak Rognisson. More detail about this can be found in – https://periloustales.wordpress.com/2023/04/26/karaz-ghumzul/
Ghum’zul, once a mighty dwarven fortress with deep mines, had fallen into dispute with the High King during the War of Vengeance, also known as the War of the Beard by the elves. The noble founders of Ghum’zul, the Magnusson kings, died out when the last of the line King Durak ‘Thunderfist’ Magnusson perished. So began the line of the Rognisson’s, which started with Borri Rognisson who refused the call to war against the elves. As a result of this, his line was forever-known as the ‘Low Kings’; an insult that they wore with pride.
Low King Barak Rognisson is presumably the last King of Ghum’zul, but no evidence of his fate or what happened to him has emerged. The party have discovered however that he very likely was the last one to have had possession of the Crown.
It doesn’t take long however for the tempo to change. I can only summarize some of the events/encounters that took place, because to write about a few months worth of sessions would require too much time.
After they leave the Hall of Ancestors, which was a golden hall that had engraved dedications to their most worthy of fallen as well as the full Line of Rulers of Ghum’zul, they are forced to head up, not down because Azhag the Slaughterer had forced a cave-in on a passage way heading down to prevent would-be pursuers.
The Black Hearts encounter starved-harpies who bear horrific mutations as they swoop down and try to snatch a few of them for din-dins as they cross an open-air segment of the hold high above. Luckily the harpies proved to be more of a dangerous nuisance than a real threat, but it did require extra effort on their part to rescue the halfling Frilda Lightfoot who could have easily ended up as a snack.
Later on they run into a considerable volume of dark magic lingering about in a dark chamber littered with dwarven bones. Strong traces of Dhar hovered around the place. Deep down in a well situated in the center of this chamber was a chorus of deathly cries of despair. Looking down, they could see ghoulish features staring back up, thin fragile bodies desperately trying to scramble up the wall but failing. These were undead, perpetually doomed to exist. Whatever caused the intense concentration of magic here was not known. Dangling over the well tied with rope upon a wooden beam was the remains of a dwarven skeleton, and around his neck was a strange key. Xaltach braved climbing up to grab the key. It was clearly dwarven made, but it’s purpose was unknown. As he pocketed the key, the scattered bones around him began to slither and move, connecting joints before rising as one-whole body. They battled the undead, but they kept on coming and coming, so they made a hasty retreat and collapsed the tunnel behind them.
Then they enter the Ghum’zul quarters.
Ghum’zul Quarters – made by myself
What ensues is a deadly and long fight for survival against a strong nest of night goblins that have settled here. Avoiding traps (and in some cases, springing them and declaring an ouchy), the party find themselves in a truly desperate fight with their backs against the wall (quite literally) as Squigs and goblins bearing poisoned tipped arrows and flinging nasty little bombs took their toll on the company. A goblin shaman proved to be no match for Ifaris, but it was the shaman that allowed the goblins to bust down the reinforced iron doors with Greenskin magic.
Six Blackhearts (npc’s) would lose their lives in this fight, one of them an officer; Corporal Archibald. With no time to mourn, they fought on and even had to contend with a mighty Stone Troll that had wandered into the fight, smashing goblins and anyone in his path. The Blackhearts make a desperate mobile advance as they find a way forward while fighting along the way. They do eventually find a path forward and take it, only to trigger a deadly boulder trap; suffice to say Ser Smoff, the Ogre, took the brunt of that boulder and suffered greatly for it, but alive nonetheless.
They continue with haste and discover a way out; old dwarven steam-run elevators, two of them; one for ferrying cargo down into the deep mines and another for non-cargo. They use the cargo elevator and with a bit of luck and some grease, begin their descent into the deep mines.
Map by DRMAPZO
In the deep mines, they travel for several days. Supplies are getting thin and it won’t be long before they are out. Some limited foraging buys them some time but very little is found to be edible down in the deep mines.
They encounter a ambushing Giant Spider that manages to ensnare one of the black hearts, but in doing so, revealing he is a mutant and appears to be turning into some hideous fish-like creature. He’s quickly abandoned to his fate. They discover some disturbing evidence that Thaggaraki (skaven) were down here a long time ago, the remains of a rat-like skull. The dwarves (Mallus & Magda) are not that surprised but it does make their travels a little more tense; the others don’t know what Skaven are and are under the belief that it’s just some other kind of beastmen. Everyone is on their guard.
Further travelling leads them into a cavern system with natural crystal growths. But it is here that they encounter their most deadly foe yet.
A Shard Dragon.
This massive snake-dragon-wyrm like monstrosity with razor scales and a monstrous beak and teeth that can snap gromril in half is a foe unlike any they’ve encountered so far. It’s favourite meal is metals and raw ore, but it craves one thing above all; Gromril. Unfortunately for the Blackhearts, Mallus Gundersson is decked out in full Gromril plate. Despite their best attempt to stealthily avoid this monster, with early success, it soon catches wind that there’s a juicy meal nearby.
What begins as a cat an mouse chase ends in a grueling battle for survival over the course of 3 maps as this thing pursues the company as they run and travel through the mines. Eventually the chase ends with it catching up to the company. A truly desperate struggle to defend themselves unfolds. Brannigar the Bull charges forward with Hope of the Mountain, a dwarf rune forged blade that was discovered earlier, meant to serve as a gift for a local tribal kingdom of men. The blade’s magic does wonders as it pierces the near impenetrable hide of the Shard Dragon. Ifaris casts Gehenna’s Golden Hounds as two almost demonic metal-encased hounds cast in a gold aura appear by his side and charge forward to snap away at the Shard Dragon.
Most of the black hearts are fleeing, in sight of the Hounds and the Shard Dragon; those few who fight a struggling battle remain to hold it off from pursuing the men.
Brannigar falls from a swipe to his gut, he is dead instantly as he is torn open and falls. Magda picks up Hope of the Mountain and swings the giant blade, albeit clumsily. Mallus tries to lure it away from Magda and he does so successfully, beating his plated chest. With the thing trotting towards Mallus, Captain Rylan shoots at it to draw it’s attention. It works if barely, and he narrowly avoids a strike that would have killed him in an instant; but with Rylan dodging out of the way, it turns back to Mallus. It sweeps Mallus up in it’s jaws and bites down hard. There is a crack, almost like thunder, as the Gromril shatters and breaks.
The Shard Dragon attempts to make a retreat with it’s meal, but Ifaris’s hounds prove far more troublesome. It stops its escape and drops Mallus to gnash at one of the golden hounds. To Ifaris’s surprise, the hound gets chomped and vanishes; the Shard Dragon has a fearsome bite indeed… With one hound remaining and napping at it, the Shard Dragon, wounded and bleeding, makes a retreat by diving into a tunnel it had come out of from earlier.
The party are left to mourn their fallen comrades…
Mallus, at first considered a goner, is treated by Eadulf while Magda kneels at his side. (Player of Magda opted to using his own fate point to spare Mallus; something that I normally don’t allow but I allowed it here as it was a nice gesture and it made thematic sense)
Mallus is severely wounded, and his gromril rendered useless; but he’s alive.
Brannigar on the other hand…
The Bull is gently lowered down into a nearby cavern stream as the Blackhearts give a hasty farewell; the current takes his body downstream and he disappears into the darkness.
The company moral is at its lowest and is not likely to recover; Rylan faces an uphill battle now on any attempt to guide the company and keep cohesion together. With the officers gone, leaving only himself and recently promoted Sergeant Eadulf, it will be a struggle to recover. All they can do now is stride forwards. They are lucky in the sense that staying together in a group is their only option; otherwise a few would have abandoned all hope and fled by now…
GM NOTES
Another post will be due to cover a few more events not covered here.
I’m really enjoying 4th edition Warhammer now (and my group appear to be enjoying it). I’m glad I waited however for Winds of Magic and for some of the rules to be updated before diving in. I do believe if I had started it earlier I would have been turned off by the system. I’m a little bit worried that Cubicle Seven will cut down on plans or even abandon the 4th Ed line with their focus on Old World, but here’s hoping that won’t be the case as there’s still a lot more to do (and fix) for 4th Ed.
As for the Blackheart Campaign – I’ve really enjoyed this campaign so far and it has been a challenge since it’s a fully custom campaign with zero reliance on guidebooks. This was meant to replace the poorly received Something Rotten In Kislev campaign and I think my version is of equal size. This is also helping me setup future things beyond the Enemy Within campaign (plans within plans) but is for the most part a standalone affair with some elements that will be tied into the final chapter.
We are nearly done with Blackheart campaign, and once we are, it is into the Empire On Edge. A custom campaign with elements sourced from the campaign book Empire In Ruins and elsewhere, but for the most part, an ending to the grand Enemy Within campaign that is suited for my game and for where my players will be.
It will also be a whole new party; none of the PC’s in the Blackheart campaign are going to be featured as playable. Possible cameos may exist depending on survivability but no promises on that front.
The Rhinoxen or Rhinox are large bad tempered beasts that inhabit the Mountains of Mourne and less commonly in other eastern mountain ranges when they migrate. They are often found in Ogre tribes either as beasts of burden, food or as mounts to the veterans of the tribe. Rhinoxen are notoriously ill-tempered and extremely difficult to ‘tame’, which is to say it’s impossible to tame one but an Ogre may at least try to break one into cooperating stubbornly. They have very poor eyesight and while they rely on their sense of smell to distinguish friend from foe, all their senses are relatively poor.
A herd of Rhinoxen will never willingly alter its path for anything— be it rockfall, weather, or monstrous predator. Some of this has to do with their own tough nature, as thick skin and shaggy, coarse hair protects the Rhinox from the elements and all but the most horrendous of damage. Doubtless, some of their fearlessness also stems from the creature’s obstinate ways. However, the notoriously bad eyesight of the Rhinox certainly factors into its penchant for walking blindly into precarious situations.
As they live in the extremes of high altitude — with numbing winds, snow squalls and the ever present threat of blizzards, — visibility is often limited anyway, so the fact that a Rhinox cannot see more than a few strides ahead is not nearly as debilitating as it would be for a beast of the plains. To compensate for its near-blindness, the lumbering Rhinox has developed a keen sense of smell and has learned to charge anything that doesn’t reek like another Rhinox. On occasion, they will charge even if its does smell like a Rhinox, as the creatures are just that hostile, and the smell really is that bad. Powered by thick haunches of purest muscle, a ram from a charging Rhinox is devastating and those lucky enough to avoid being gored or skewered by its horns can still be flung airborne by the force of its impact. Dwarf trappers often say that startling a Rhinox is the fastest way of getting down a mountain.
“I tell you, the comparison with Dragons is a highly misleading one. Wyverns are clearly a different order of beast entirely, being as it were four-limbed rather than six-limbed. Furthermore, Wyverns have none of the redeeming qualities of Dragons. They swap pride for arrogance and nobility for cruelty. There is probably no creature quite so vicious as a Wyvern, which of course is why they ally themselves to Orcs so frequently.“ —Waldemarr, Scholar of Nuln
Wyverns are ill-omened beasts that skulk about the heights of mountain tops, dwelling in dank caves save when hunger drives them forth to hunt the foothills and plains below the mountains. They are winged reptiles, eaters of carrion, that bear only the most passing resemblance to Dragons. They are typically far smaller creatures, and lack forelimbs. They are heavily built, like a scaled bull, with terrible eyesight and nasty tempers. The most dangerous of Ork Warlords sometimes ride Wyverns they’ve personally raised, or at least beat into compliance. The Dwarfs have a number of amusing tales involving Wyverns turning on their riders at ‘inconvenient’ moments, like in the midst of a duel.
With their scaled hides and a penchant for mountain-top lairs, Wyverns have often been misidentified as smaller, fouler-smelling and much less intelligent Dragons. In truth, such mistakes are understandable. The two races have many similarities, and their only obvious difference is the Wyvern’s lack of forelimbs – the kind of detail that is easily overlooked when the observer is running as fast as possible in the other direction. For their part, Dragons look down on Wyverns as the lesser creatures they truly are, and embrace the idea that their races might share some thread of kinship with all the enthusiasm of an Elf Prince embracing a particularly drunken and vomit-stained Dwarf.
“I honestly have no idea how such a creature could exist without the touch of Chaos. This creature has all the characteristics of a normal serpent, but in place of its tail, it has a second head. Furthermore, it seems it has strong scales that deflect blows, somewhat akin to those found on a Dragon.“ —Reinholt Schent, Scholar of the Fantastic
The Amphisbaena is a rare creature originally found only in the darkest jungles of Lustria, where strange energies welled up from beneath the ground. It looks like a normal snake, but instead of its body ending in a tail, it sprouts a second head. When discovered by Tilean explorers in the early sixteenth century, they brought the creature back as a symbol of their excellence and as an example of the wonders found in the New World. However, on the way back to Tilea, the creature multiplied, and the new creatures slipped free from their cages. The Amphisbaena attacked the crew and killed everyone on board, causing the ship to smash against the rocks near Sartosa. Since then, these creatures spread throughout Tilea and the Border Princes, even creeping into the southern territory of the Empire. Few have had the bad fortune to see one of these creatures, but it’s well known that an encounter with the Amphisbaena spells one’s doom.
One of the most subtle, deadly, and expensive of all poisons, the ‘Noble’s Death’ commonly known as Heartkill, derives from a lethal mixture of Amphisbaena and Jabberslythe venoms.
Hydras are absolutely huge, possessing many long necks and covered in thick scales. Their heads resemble those of Dragons, although with birdlike beaks. Most have five heads, although the number can vary between individuals.
They can easily tear warriors apart with fangs or even crush them with the lethal coil of their many necks. Not only that, but they’re near impervious to harm, with scales thick enough to deflect most blows. Even if an attack does get through, many enemies have witnessed the tough flesh re-growing within a minute. Their scales are said to be harder than Dragon scales and hence sought out to make armor from, albeit foolishly.
Imperial scholars believe that the brains of Hydras are located at the base of their necks, while the individual heads only have rudimentary minds. The organ that allows the creatures to breathe fire is also located in this area. As such, their torsos are armored with particularly thick scales.
Hydras are exceptionally rare especially throughout the Empire, with only two known documented and verified cases of a Hydra sighting. The Corpse Render of Carroburg is a legendary tale often repeated throughout rural Middenland concerning this particular Hydra. It’s become more of a fanciful tale regaled down at the local tavern, evolving from it’s original intent as a tale of caution. This particular Hydra however is steeped in verified testimony by Midden soldiers who were tasked to root it out from the Mirror Moors, who had, unwisely, brought with them a Steamtank into the wet Midden Moorlands. The Hydra had apparently attempted to eat the Steamtank, but while failing that, it succeeded in killing most of the regiment that had sought it out. The Steamtank is said to be still there in the Mirror Moors, half-sunken in the marsh, dented and ruined beyond recovery. The Dwarves of Middenheim claim that a Slayer had finally done the beast in, but rare and unverified sightings of the Hydra have continued to surface over the many years.
The other documented sighting concerns the Crimson Scourge of Zhufbar which, like the Corpse Render, tales of its existence continues to surface long after its supposed demise.
Preytons are the reason why the famed Knights of Bretonnia will never seek respite within the Forests of Bretonnia; quoting Sir Merovech of Couronne, “I would rather seek comfort in a mausoleum in dread Mousillon than lay beneath the dark canopy of the Arden forest and fall foul of their baleful glow.”
Preytons are the stuff of nightmares throughout Bretonnia; rare that they may be, but their existence is never exaggerated nor are they even told in fanciful tales to scare adventurous children from wandering alone in the forests of Bretonnia, a dangerous endeavor regardless.
Also sometimes known by the peasantry as Shadow Stalkers, for they favor the dark recesses of the deepest forests, they are a savage and hateful breed of Chaos beast that haunts Bretonnia. So renowned is their ferocity that sightings of Preytons will draw knights from many miles around, seeking to prove their valor by slaying the beasts and to keep the land safe.
Mighty and winged but flightless creatures born of the energies of Chaos, hybrid in form like the Chimera Preytons bear upon their savagely equine heads a pair of blackened and serrated antlers, which have caused foolhardy knights to mistake them for majestic Great Stags, much to their error and demise.
It is said they possess a dark cunning, luring knights into the depths of the forest before revealing their blood red eyes and rows of savage fangs, leaping from ambush to rend and tear their prey. The hides of Preytons are torn and mutilated, their fur hanging lank and in many places sloughed away to be replaced by ragged feathers or scales. Their forelegs and body resemble a dark and twisted stag, while their hindquarters sprout clawed, leonine paws and monstrous wings like those of a terrible black eagle.
Whilst their appearance is truly evil, it is the legendary malice of the Preytons that makes them truly dangerous. Corpses mauled beyond recognition and stretches of forest befouled and trampled betray their presence. Anything foolish enough to enter such an area will be hunted down and slain, and often the Preytons will simply discard the torn corpse to rot, killing out of pure hatred rather than hunger.
Dark legend has it that Beastmen shamans are responsible for the origins of this foul creature, created in horrific rituals, corrupting Great Stags before sacrifice-strewn Herdstones. Bereft of their once noble nature, Preytons now know only an all-encompassing hatred for that which they have lost, driving them to rend and kill with terrible malice. Even their own wounds bring them a twisted sense of satisfaction, instinctively realizing that only in death will their torment end.
No Preyton has ever been sighted or heard of in the Empire; which perhaps makes the legend just that, a legend, considering that there are Beastmen in the Empire. Regardless of its origins, the Shadow Stalkers of Bretonnia are not a myth and have throughout Bretonnia’s history, claimed many a questing knight seeking to fell one.
Delving into the obscurity when it comes to the Old World’s bestiary can be a fun exercise as there are many not-so-common monstrosities that are a feature in some form be it old canon, concepts or just rare enough for a party to only encounter them as a rarity.
The Zoat is an enigmatic centauroid reptilian and to look upon one, you may be forgiven to think them as unintelligent beasts but that ain’t true at all. Zoats are highly intelligent creatures that are extremely rare to encounter and often dwell in the deepest parts of the oldest forests within the Old World. They have an innate instinctive natural affinity for the Wind of Ghyran (life) that rivals even the best High Elven mages.
Zoats are centauroid with thick columnar legs and a shuffling, nervous gait. They are reptilian and their skins are covered in scales. They are said to have a ‘wry’ expression because of the twisted or crooked way in which they often hold their heads. This may be due to the way in which they sway their heads from side to side, a primitive mechanism which allows them to scent other living creatures. They have a massive physical presence and superficial ugliness that shields a cunning intelligence. They have heavy plates of fused scales covering their shoulders, back and hindquarters, and are about 6 feet high and 8 feet long. Their heads are reminiscent of snakes or turtles, but with a broad, heavily-armored skull to accommodate their brains, which are proportionally large.
These creatures are solitary and prefer to keep themselves, cementing themselves in tales and legends and unfortunately sometimes such stories of them are thrown together with beastmen.
Zoats are peaceful creatures who prefer to protect their territory and spend their time in solitary reflection but will not hesitate to harm those who fringe upon their territory, regardless of who or what they may be. The wood elves of the Old World are aware of the Zoats but mostly through stories; in a previous age long gone, the Zoats numbered far greater than they are now when encounters with them were common. As a result of this, some Zoats have an understanding of the elven language but otherwise they speak in a grinding rumbling tongue that is slow and methodical.
The squigs are the Old World’s deranged answer to crocodiles in the sense that they experience continued growth throughout their lives. It’s a blessing then that it’s rare for them to get as big as the Colossal Squig. These humongous squigs tend to habit the deep vaults of mountain ranges and large caverns of the Old World. Night Goblins, who are the frequent tenuous ally of these beasts find it nigh impossible to train or even utilize a squig of this size. Where-as those who succeeded through drugged meat and shaman magic often find that the high maintenance in keeping such a squig around will prove to be their undoing when it comes to paying the cost.
“When Indrika roar, the sky falls. When Indrika stamp their foot, the earth trembles. When Indrika die, the land will die.” – Baba Olga, Kislevian Ungol. Cited from Realms of the Ice Queen sourcebook, 2nd edition.
The size of an ogre and equal to if not slightly larger than a Giant Ice Bear, these massive roaming beasts call Kislev their home. Indrika, a name that in Kislev means ‘Mountain Lord’, the Ungol tribes of Kislev revere and respect these creatures. They are not used as mounts or beasts of burden although in rough times however some nomadic Gospodars who do not share the same reverence as the Ungols do for these beasts, hunt them for their hide and meat.
Indrika’s are not defenseless however and aside from their impressive ability to charge and stomp and impale would-be aggressors, their most known for their great thunderous bellows. They can rear up and bring both front legs down hard, creating powerful vibrations. At the same time, it opens up its massive chest and throat and expels a deep baritone call. The combined effect of the vibrations, the call, and the echoing effect of the valleys below means this bellow can be heard more than twenty miles away. Indrika use this to communicate and to ward off aggressors, which can be quite effective. It has the known side-effect of causing avalanches. They are intelligent enough to realize small avalanches at regular intervals prevent larger ones that would destroy the trees from which they get the mosses and lichen they feed upon. Ungol tribes are known to differentiate the slight tremors caused by Indrika’s between their mating calls, communication and those that are meant to ward off aggressors, the latter being the one that will summon Ungol riders as they know that the Indrika’s natural predator is, for the most part, man. It is a death sentence to slay an Indrika if caught, and has often been the root cause of disputes between the Gospodars and the Ungols.
Harpies are a rare winged monstrosity that, from afar, might resemble a naked winged woman, but up close, nothing is further from the truth. These hideous witch-like bird-like creatures are feral sky-screamers that are vicious and spiteful, displaying only the meanest glimmerings of intelligence and, even then, only to malicious purpose. Innately cowardly creatures, Harpies band together in great sky-borne flocks, which roam high above the mountainsides and valleys in search of prey defenseless enough to risk attacking. Harpies care little where their next meal comes from and will as happily steal eggs from a Great Eagle’s nest as raid farmstead for cattle, isolated villages for the old and infirm or battlefields for meagre scraps of flesh from spent corpses. They are the vultures of the sky; scavengers at heart but can be driven to more brazen attacks if on the verge of starving.
The Dark Elves consider them to be the souls of slain Witch Elves while others may see them as the Blessed of Khaine. Harpies are prone to mutations and it’s not uncommon to spot them harboring some unsightly mutations. Three-headed and four armed harpies have been observed before…
A Journey Into The Dark Grim World of Warhammer! 
