Wednesday 2 May 2012

May 2012

Copyright of S. Orr.
Now with our Warhammer Fantasy on break while we rotate through some new games and new DM's, I've been at a slight loss of what to do with myself. So far I've taken to doing the proverbial cleaning and tidying you would do at home when stuck for a project. Working my way through all the loose-ends and points on the 'To Do' list to see if there's anything else I can finish off while waiting for inspiration to visit.

A whole wonderful weekend of fever, flu and fun in my bed being best mates with the toilet tissue, and Lemsip, certainly meant I had nothing better to do. Hence, I have been working on getting those last few posts up from our WFRP and writing/editing the last few posts from the Dragon Age : a Throne in Peril

If you find that you too are stuck for something to be reading on these balmy new May eves then please take a look here. Frankly I think that for the vast majority of my audience 'things to do' should rarely be something they are stuck for, but you never know. Remember to pack your reading specs and a snack. Some of the journal entries are rather on the long side. Also, if you are extra bored you could help me try untangle my tense mess. You'll need a giant red marker pen for that task. It seems the hopping from location to location in the last few posts of Dragon Age got me quite confused whether we were coming or going. Lots of fine word repetition too. Needing to dust off the thesaurus... maybe.

For those of you who couldn't give two hoots about Dragon Age as it's not their cup of tchai then keep your eyes peeled for some of our future gaming adventures.

Currently we are playing in a 5th Ed Champions game : London Watch (see image), by DM Stevie. I'm certainly enjoying the setting as I love the whole 'Xmen in London' style of it but the modern setting is something I find I'm useless with in writing. A literary challenge we might say.

One of the next games looks set to be Star Wars: The Old Republic (DM Mecha Ace) where I could be resurrecting my old Zabrak character. More info as it comes in.

There is even talk of a one-on-one game between myself and Dangerous Brian (inspiration a la Ser Larkins and his missus with their Pendragon game). I can only hope and wish really, really, really hard that it works out the way I'm hoping. Talk is that it could be an Artesia campaign! Who couldn't love a gorgeous woman in armour? Seriously? I would say that you need to run out and buy/download (drivethruRPG) Artesia by Mark Smylie now, but you'd only hunt me down and kill me as it's been on quite the hiatus since he started his own publishing company. 

Come on man! Where's the rest of book 4? You promised us 22 novels in the Book of Dooms! 

Incidentally if you do like that kind of thing I would highly recommend Ash by Mary Gentle. That is the chicks in armour thing, not the torture of being hooked on a never arriving, never ending series. That aside, the man is a genius.


Tuesday 1 May 2012

Window on a Soul [2009]


Let me tell you a story; give you a window on a soul, on a moment and on memories.
Colours wash across the cloudless sky, bleeding from empty blue towards twilight. High up, the crescent moon cuts the air and rooks wing home to roost. The air is biting cold and breathlessly still broken only by the song of the robin, crystal clear and poignant. Its song tells of a summer far gone and of autumn turning to winter, that soon it will embrace the enclosing nights and crisp frost morns.
Looking out towards the clear dusk skyline a girl sits, possibly on a rock, or is it a tree stump, on a wooded hill. It’s not clear. She sits at a point between the seasons - between the years - and the diurnal rhythm of life itself. Visions of her at many sunsets merge into one. This point spans time itself linking her to her past and future. 
Memories well up in the swell of emotion she feels and spirits draw near at this time of fluidity and magic. 
Closing her eyes for but a moment she listens to the robin’s song. She slips into the past. 
She remembers.
A warm weight leans against her leg and to her side a familiar solid presence. She smells warm Labrador, engine oil, dubbing, and brylcreem, as well as the freshness of air over woodland. She can visualise the deep sandy-coloured coat of her dog sitting back against her leg - the thick wave of the fur across and down his neck and shoulders, the velvet of his flat ears and the thump of his tail. She can imagine the weathered flat-cap bunnit of her Papa beside her - bunnit of dark blue tweed - darker still with the ingrained dirt of life - sitting atop his dark silver hair and sky blue eyes, his worn Barbour jacket with pockets full of essential odds & ends, and in his hand- the weather-seasoned fruitwood walking stick that goes wherever he does.
She misses this physical presence that speaks of home. She misses the friendship of intelligent minds aware of life. 
She wants to open her eyes and be back there again. To see that quiet smile, to sit in the silent calm of friendship, to go back to a golden time that was somehow the very best and the very worst of times. To be able to see her Papa’s face again or be held in a hug close to a beating heart and to tell everything she wishes she’d said- if she’d just had the chance.
Holding the feeling and the memory still for a moment she pauses, trying to capture it in her mind to save it away for a rainy day, to be brought out when in need of comfort. She holds her breath then lets it go. Reluctantly opening her eyes, seeing a tear-filmed vision of the sky. The past clings to her, the memories too and the spirits nearby. 
The sun sits just on the shoulder of the hill. Slowly, yet visibly sinking into the land. In a wood on the hill the rooks have reached their homes near the last rays of light.
Looking down from her vantage point she gazes into the valley steeply below- fields ringed with woods of skeletal trees. Dry bracken and grasses choke the ground between brambles and bush. She can just make out the curve of the river sliding past between the shadows of branches. 
Mist lifts from the water and ditches to roll through the woods and fields. Dark shapes can be seen through hanging vapour as the day creatures hand over to the night.
It’s darkening now as the croak of pheasant echoes off the land.
She should go home, to her present life. The past is gone and nothing will bring it back. 
Being surrounded with memories can be like sitting under the familiar warmth of a duvet, she feels reluctant to let it go. She sits a little while more. Glad to sit between the worlds and closer to the past - for it to feel like a moment just gone, as opposed to a lifetime. 
Looking up she can see the sun has slipped away; the warm colours fading fast as the dome of cold sky darkens to night, stars pricking points of light high above. 
She closes her eyes to hold the memories close for a moment, aware of the pain in her heart that cuts at her throat and washes down her cheeks. A welcome, if painful connection to a grief that felt long gone. Wet cheeks cool quickly in the air.
Putting the cherished memories away once more she opens her eyes and stands, aware that her face, hands and legs have grown cold from sitting out. As she picks her way through the shadows of the uneven dead-growth to the pathway back home, she can still feel the fading awareness of the spirits that gathered. Her mind is slowly shifting back towards the mundane now. 
The path of churned mud is hard under foot. The pathway is a tunnel through more branches leading down from the valley wall to her home. Half seen in grey twilight shadow ahead she fancies she sees a familiar figure - a man making his way along the path with his dog out for a walk. Waterproof jacket, dark flat-cap, tall barked stick and familiar gait. Closing her eyes to check herself she imagines the smile. Upon opening them again she finds the path as it was - empty and cold. A dark road home. 
   

Sunday 29 April 2012

The Versatile Blogger Award

I would like to first of all thank Evil DM (Mark Kelly), of the DM's Screen, for all his encouraging words given to keep me going with the Van Tanncred Sword campaign journal I was keeping. It really meant a lot. Not only that but I find you have given me this little nomination as well! With both of these and the verbal 'poke' to get me to finish what I started I shall return favour and continue with the award.

The original award was began by Amanda of the blog - Drama, Dice and Damsons. Her original blog award design can be seen below. The first design seen here is by the Evil DM himself.




  1. Nominate 15 fellow bloggers for the Versatile Blogger Award ( I will be nominating fewer - 5).
  2. In the same post add the Versatile Blogger Award (the one you see is not the original - that can be found on Amanda's blog).
  3. In the same post, thank the blogger who nominated you with a link back to their blog site.
  4. In the same post add seven random facts/pieces of information about yourself.
  5. In the same post, include this set of rules.
  6. Inform each blogger of their nomination for the reward with a post in their comments section on their respective blogs.
*Please remember, these things are done for fun and help to promote a greater sense of community and communication, so if declining, at least do so with some grace and warmth.*


My Nominees 


  1. Dreamweaver Designs - an incredibly versatile and gifted crafter and fellow blogger.
  2. Of Dice and Men - always up for a laugh and brave explorer of many roleplay worlds.
  3. Dangerous Brian - prodigious in his posts and varied in his pursuits, check him out.
  4. The Angry Lurker - speaker of truth and a blogger of interest and note.
  5. The Hanger Bay - fellow gamer and recent addition to the blogosphere, Mecha Ace is ace.


Seven Random Facts All About Me

  1. I am in fact the faceless Mrs Lead Legion and Mrs Dangerous Brian of the other blog's legend. If you haven't the faintest idea of what I am on about then please visit these pages now.
  2. My degree was in Zoology, I'm now a call centre monkey, go figure.
  3. My first years of life were spent in Pakistan and Hong Kong. This lead to some fantastic 'first memories'.
  4. Many people think I have two daughters. My girlies are actually my two furry ferret babies - Stephanie Mellerstain and Lyla Furrypaws. I never said I was normal.
  5. I am Pagan. Please refer to my last statement.
  6. I can role my tongue and wiggle my ears. That puts me in a narrow genetic bracket and freaks the hell out of my husband ^_^
  7. I have an equal understanding of Japanese, French and Arabic. I am equally as bad at all of them but at least I have tried. Attention deficit dabblers complain about this predicament a lot.

The Van Tanncred Sword [Warhammer] Season Two Finale


The Van Tanncred Sword ~ Season Two Finale
A word from Amber Renarde, Anya “Mäuschen” Eisenjaeger’s player.
Many thanks to all those who have followed Anya’s story this year in my first foray into Warhammer Fantasy Role Play. Thanks in particular to Mecha Ace our DM and my fellow players Aimee (Danielle), Dangerous Brian (Stefan) (aka Lead Legion), Silviu (Hans) and Stevie (Grunnd). 
It has been a pleasure playing with you all and I eagerly look forward to Season Three!
Happy gaming to all!
Amber Renarde 
xXx



Also to be found at ~
(Updates to all coming soon!) 


The Van Tanncred Sword [Warhammer] Day of the Comet


Wellentag 17th Ulriczeit 2522
Talabheim is thrumming with talk of what happened this day. The clash of the great Temple of Sigmar with the True Church upstarts. The battle between the two orders, heretics and established faith. The battle that took place. 
I am unsure of what to make of what my eyes seen. Do I trust and what do I make of it all?
We made our way quickly to the Temple this morning to offer our services as protection. We were given clean white tabards and vestments to mark us as part of the main train, between the Templars and the common priests at the back. 
After following the traditional pilgrim trail we neared the end - the square in front of the temple itself. The high priest walked at the head of the ceremonial train and up to the lectern on the main steps. He was followed by the censor carriers who had been chanting prayers from the Book of Sigmar throughout the walk. The Templars formed a protective circle between the high priest and the rest of the audience, formality and practicality in one, a space left clear for those who would come forward for his blessings. The City Watch were stretched and observant on every street, supported by the mercenaries brought in for the celebration two days ago.
As the high priest began his speech a commotion of shouting began far at the back of the crowd. 
“Lies! Lies! LIES!” Screamed a single voice tearing the air that had quietened for the blessing. 
I was shocked to see it was one from the other crowds of monks who had thrown the first interruption. More voices began to lift from the lower priests surrounding him. With little else to do we joined in voicing our support for the high priest and the Temple of Sigmar. Urging the high priest to continue and the dissidents to be quiet. Stefan began encouraging a crowd of city commoners to turn on the nay sayers. The others followed suit.
Soon the True Church heretics revealed themselves, the speaker from last night and an incredibly tall priest in robes beside him, both hooded. “Sigmar walks among us!” his voice boomed.
The high priest abandoned his traditional blessings to take up the clarion call of the true way of Sigmar to speak to the people of town and city, all gathered, to listen to the words of truth not treason.  With the rousing of the crowd, and discord rising all around, the holy words were in danger of being drowned by the rabble. Commoners tongue and heretical denouncements. “Chaos I say! Heretic! Unnatural!” Stefan continued to appeal to the better sense of the people. All voices battled in the bright cold air until the hooded speaker of the True Church threw his hood back, “See! See Sigmar and know him!”
At that the tall hooded priest standing by his side dropped his hood to reveal the very embodiment of the spirit of Sigmar. He stood in breathing life for what every description, depiction and statue of Sigmar had ever shown - a head taller than anyone else, muscular and strong with burnished shining gold hair, wielding the hammer Ghal-Maraz, Skull-Splitter. A god among us.
The wind of favor stilled to change, we only had a moment to draw it our way again.
“He looks like he’s wearing makeup! He’s using hair dye! Liar! Liar!” Stefan took the pause to turn to the crowd. "That's just a boy!"
In the sudden break I heard Grunnd pause and exhale. He swore. “Actually looks like him.” I was unsure what was going to happen. My dwarven friend was after all a true follower, he was Sigmar’s hammer, his servant Grunnd. Did Grunnd believe the heretics? Would he turn?
Stefan continued to harangue the crowd as did the others, Danielle the best of them.  Just as my attention was drawn by a taunt from Danielle,  Grunnd stepped forward and laid down a challenge. 
“If you are truly Sigmar then you cannot die. Prove it! Sigmar does not bleed. If you be him you have nothing to fear from me for I am Sigmar’s true servant.”
Stefan lent his support in blessing Grunnd while the crowd quietened to gaze at the events unfolding before them. The head speaker of the heretics whispered something quickly into the tall Sigmar-man’s ear. The tall ones face turned sour and angry, he pushed his companion aside, charging forward to meet with his challenger. Grunnd charged forward too at the speed that always takes me by surprise for such a short fellow. His hammer swung round in a thunderous blow just as the tall one leapt to avoid the weapons path, catching him on the leg at the last moment. The Sigmar man’s hammer swung back in retort hitting Grunnd in punishment for his troubles. 
I noticed as the tall man came to a rest he was not putting all his weight on the leg Stormbreaker had caught in a blow that would have smashed a lesser being’s leg. “You’re dead!” Growled Grunnd, furious at his lack of effect and his wounds received.
The crowd stood in silence, utterly captivated by the spectacle. 
The black mustachioed dwarf grinned and gritted his teeth for the next assault, I prayed to whoever would hear my plea that my friend come out alive. In another flurry he shot forward and smacked a mighty blow clean into the man’s frame, a blow that should have pulped the man into so much ground meat. I could not believe what I was witnessing.
“How’s it feeling Sigmar?” Grunnd swung round to ready for the retaliation. “Not enough of a hindrance to defeat you.” came the reply. “We’ll see.” Grunnd grinned another evil determined smile. 
The tall blonde opponent readied and charged forward for another blow, I closed my eyes, not wishing to see the aftermath. A gasp whispered round the crowd. I opened my eyes to see Sigmar barreling forward to a shaky stop and Grunnd still alive. The wounds were taking their toll, the man had missed!
Danielle let out a fishwives' cackle “I thought Sigmar never misses!” A nervous laugh chittered round those that heard her.
This looked like it could be it. Both dwarve and human turned and faced one another, hammers ready for the final blows. Charging across the muddy cobbles of the square they connected with each other in the same breath. I stared, eyes wide in disbelief, I had to see what would happen. Tears stung and my throat swelled with emotion, my face flushing. 
Both skidded past one another from the crunch of the hammer blows. Both staggering and in obvious pain, both looked in a bad way. 
Just as they turned, time slowed as my heart did, everyone was still. Only breathing could be heard.
Sigmar groaned in pain. All heard the whisper. 
“Well done Master Dwarf, you have undone me.” 
The mans’ skin began to glow as though a torch had lit him from within. His bones and the details of his insides shone through showing up what is normally unseen. Then without a sound he disappeared in a bright blinding flash of light leaving only dust on the breeze and motes in our eyes.
We had won.
Grunnd stood alive and held Stormbreaker aloft in salutation and victory. 
“A true champion of Sigmar!” The high priest’s voice could be heard easily now as not a word was spoken by any. The heretics were shocked to see their god defeated and began to retreat backwards into the crowd as they recovered their senses. 
Time began to move in the usual way once more and life returned to all watching. “Seize them!” roared Grunnd pointing to the moving figures. “Templars seize them!” motioned the high priest. 
As events swung into motion we helped Grunnd to the temple. Danielle brought Stefan’s bag of healing unguents. Soon the high priest joined us. “We’ve certainly had a memorable celebration today.” He nodded his head in part disbelief and part gratitude.
Grunnd did not seem to hear. He was grim through pain and thoughts. He looked up “...there’s no blood.” He looked at his faithful weapon, smoothing the business end. “He didn’t bleed.” He looked back up at us, serious.
Stefan shook his head, “Demons don’t bleed my friend.” 
“Neither do illusions.”, added Danielle.
The high priest nodded “Don’t worry Master Dwarf, I’m sure he was aided by heretical magic.”
“If he really was Sigmar you would be dead.” replied the priest of Morr. Danielle again added her tuppance worth “And if he really were Sigmar he wouldn’t have missed.” She smiled encouragingly. “Twenty by his right hand and twenty by his left.”, Stefan quoted the old story. “You are a brave man Grunnd, but no priest.”
At that Grunnd shook his head and grinned despite his now obvious discomfort, “Aye, but can you just say it was.”
I laughed and so did the others, Grunnd was ok. 
“Ego! All I seem to do is bandage you!” Danielle shook her head in mock displeasure and  wagged a finger at him. Stefan slapped him heartily on the back at seeing the dwarves good humour return, then immediately recoiled in horror at his actions “Shit! You’re stitches!” 
Grunnd growled.
All was as it should be.
As it is the ‘false Sigmar’ stands defeated and the Day of the Comet is drawing to a close. Talabheim is noisy with the news of today. Word has come from the Temple that the Templars have arrested many of the heretical brethren found fleeing from the square. We are told their confessions have lead back to the well known Van Garret house who had been trying to garner more power in the city, especially with the elector count at war in the North. 
The last we heard from the Sigmarites high priest is that the finances of the Van Garret’s will be seized to rectify all damages caused to the families affected by recent events. Templars were sent to aid troops pledged by the Van Keslar household who were marching to seize all persons and property of the Van Garret house. 
The word on the street is that Van Keslar himself has killed Van Garret in the fray. Politics and power continues the traditional jostle.

As I said before I am unsure what to make of what happened. I am also unsure what we are to do now as the trail on the Van Tanncred Sword has gone cold. Our informant being dead and his letter burnt to a cinder. I only hope that as winter howls in from the North we find we are not too late. The Empire's existence depends on us.

How strange to think that just over a month ago the only thing dependant on me was menial tasks in my family home back in Marienburg. Nothing of world shattering import. 

I wonder if I may get some respite from my father's search for me until the spring? One thousand gold crownes is a king's ransom however so it is highly unlikely. I hope we pick up the trail of the sword soon lest I find myself imprisoned again in the gilded cage by the sea. The Eisenjaeger's young wayward daughter returned safe and sound to her families' bosom. 

What would Verstohlen make of that? What would be worse? A cold pistol or my step mother's caress?

We shall see.
Mäuschen
[Next entry - 2013!]
[Previous entry - True Church Heretics]
[First entry - Ranald's Luck]

The Van Tanncred Sword [Warhammer] True Church Heretics


Wellentag 17th Ulriczeit 2522


I am whole and well, though tired from our late night foray. We found ourselves deep beneath a warehouse in the docks for the meeting of the True Church of Sigmar's heretics. Behind a concealed entrance, and down a dank twisting narrow corridor, we entered a dark room with fire-filled braziers hanging from the ceiling and two sat on a raised platform. As my eyes adjusted to the flickering shadows and shapes it formed into a fairly large space with four strong pillars and two rows of pews for the heretical audience to sit upon. There were not too many people in attendance, a crowd of city-folk in the common-dress looking neither fervent nor frightened. They had come to hear what the ‘True Church’ had to say for themselves. An audience of forced participation. 
Hanging above the platform was the symbol of this order that we have found scrawled over doors and windows, down alleys and walls all through the city. The twin crossed hammers surmounted by the twin tailed comet. 
There were ‘brothers’ of the order in each of the corners and centers of the walls, another four on the platform as well, all armed and all with hoods drawn over their faces. The few torches held were doused, deepening the darkness. A door beneath the hammers and comet opened to reveal a man holding a great long handled warhammer, his head was unhooded. He walked forward and began to speak. 
We did listen to what he had to say for a while but it was not long before Grunnd had heard enough. He challenged their reasonings and ways, the thuggish tactics used on Talabheim’s people. He asked for proof that Sigmar had come again. 
The short end of last night’s tale is that none of the audience were killed and some of the priests were arrested when the witchhunters came to intervene. The main speaker managed to slip free into the night but we are sure we will meet him again today in the open daylight of the holy day. This ‘True Church’ of Sigmar are determined to make their stand today on the Day of the Comet. 


Let us see what this brings.
Mäuschen
[Next entry - Day of the Comet]
[Previous entry - Dreams and Portents]
[First entry - Ranald's Luck]

The Van Tanncred Sword [Warhammer] Dreams and Portents


Festag 16th Ulriczeit 2522


It is evening and we await the strike of the clock tower before leaving for the heretics meeting down by the wharf-side. Today has been a strange one of little progress as yet. Stefan surprised us with a visit this morn as we were finishing our first meal. He looked even paler than usual, with dark smudges beneath his tired heavy eyes. A dream had come to him in the night which had driven him into action. Images of heretics overrunning the Temple of Sigmar. This news reaffirmed Grunnd’s decision to seek guidance and assistance at the temple over what we had learned yesterday.
On arrival we found the temple busy in preparation for Talabheim’s great holy day tomorrow - the Day of the Comet. The day the comet struck this land is celebrated as the portent of Sigmar’s birth. People travel from miles around on pilgrimage. Though aware of the presence of heretics in the city the temple was only able to offer two witchhunters to assist in tonights meeting. They will not accompany us inside but wait in the shadows for our signal to help if need be. I only hope this information gathering exercise does not turn deadly. We need all our strength for the Day of the Comet if the heretics are indeed going to try overturn the Temple of Sigmar to their ways. 
I must go for now. Grunnd is readying to leave and so must I. May I be still be alive tomorrow to write the tale of what we find tonight.
Mäuschen


[Next entry - True Church Heretics]
[Previous entry - Sigmar Sees All]

[First entry - Ranald's Luck]