Grubbi's Tales Of Mordheim

Hello Everyone,

Awhile back I did a monthly chapter by chapter story for another another forum, it has been some time since I stopped, but just recently I have realised how much fun it was. Writing is one of my favourite past time and, well Mordheim is my other, so why not combine them.

I am planning to write a monthly (maybe Bi-Weekly, if I can find the time), chapter by chapter story of a warband (specifically from the leader's eyes). Right now I am up to deciding what warband would be the most exciting one to follow. I want to keep it to only the Official Warbands?

Any ideas? What would you like to see?

Since this is the most neglected of the sub-forums I want you to write about what interests you. There are dozens of threads that have a couple of posts then stop for whatever reason, but they do stop.

I'll read what you write whatever it is, but I'm more likely to keep reading if you enjoy what you are writing about.

Well, here's the first part, I ended up deciding to do the Undead.

Part 1:

The horrific black cloud swamped over Mordheim, eating up the hearts of the living souls that lived through the destruction of the comet. Then the others came, came to make profit out of their nightmares. They came to collect up the stones that filled their heads, the constant pounding of the raw magic. Merchants flocked with the hope of taking away mountains of gold; the risk was not comparable with the profit they could be taking away. This was a once in a millennium opportunity, and they would not scurry away from it. The warriors followed, to serve their kings, their queens, or themselves, it didn’t really matter, everyone just wants you dead, because, if you’re dead, you can’t get in their way. It is not a city of honour and nobility, only the rare few take the pride of their home with them, most just do whatever you can to get the shards. This city was no longer a place of happiness and joy, it is a place for profit, for the warriors with no home, it is the city of the damned.

Varazal had travelled from the north, down to Mordheim to seek the fortune that all of the others loathed. Word had spread around The Empire like a wild fire and by the time Varazal had heard of the city, the Reiklanders were already on their way. He did not have any intentions to miss out on this. Stories told him that these adventurers travelled in groups, but they were just mere mortals, he was Varazal Von Stiyln. Their souls would be no match for his vampiric fury. He had visions of consuming all of their souls and taking the city for himself. The plan was to take over the city and use it as a major foothold for the Vampires to take over The Empire. The city would be no match for his power, it was made up of people who had lost everything, and fat, rich merchants, no one could stand in his way. That was until he had reach the outskirts of Ostermark, that was when he saw the full extent of filth swarming into Mordheim. When he rested in the day, the mortals travelled. He saw groups of men rugged in bear coats passing day by day, and this was the north where the human population was very scarce. What had the south sent? Were their armies heading up here? Surely not. Varazal became worried, maybe he couldn’t take down this repulsive city, he would have to get the assistance of some others. Now, instead of going into Mordheim, he would have to leave now and travel back to his fellow Vampires and seek assistance; that was, until he spied a withering creature shrouded in black gowns, his breakfast.

It was around dusk and the man had no intentions of resting, perfect. The sun had gone down enough for Varazal to make full use of his power. He jumped off his perch on the tree with a satisfying thud, not taking his gaze off his prey. He readied for his sprint, which would take him hurtling into the back of the old man. The air zipped around him as he bolted across the soft grass below him. Then the rocketed onto the dirt path, before something made him stop dead in his tracks, he slid across the gravel for several moments before finally halting. This man was magical, Varazal could smell it, he had been so foolish and missed it his primal hunt. But, he was not a warlock, not an Empire scholar, no, those smelt different, they smelt repulsive. This man, smelt of the dead, he smelt of the earth, he smelt of necromancy. Many Vampires studied necromancy, but Varazal viewed it as cowardly, why would he raise up fodder when he could cut them down himself. But, this could be his salvation, if the enemy fought in groups, so could he, the necromancer could raise up the dead to fight along side them. It was perfect, and the man couldn’t refuse, otherwise he’d die. Slowly, Varazal approached the man from behind with no violent intentions. A cold hand was placed on the shoulder of the old man, but he was not deterred in the slightest.
‘A have been expecting you,’ the old man murmured.
‘Impossible! None can sense Varazal!’
Varazal was getting bad tempered at this man’s attitude.
‘Then Varazal, I know what you want, you want my assistance, to raise the fodder to assist you to take down Mordheim. And I, Kierten accept.’
Varazal’s temper was building up inside, how dare this old man speak out against him, he could not possible sense him, he was a vampire, and this…man, was just a mere mortal. But he could not kill him, that would mean he would have to go back to his fellow Vampires, asking for their assistance, which he did not want to do. And, that was something he did not want to do; he did not like the other Vampires, that was why he lived up north, only travelling back to them in desperate times.
‘Okay Kierten, we leave for Mordheim now.’
Kierten couldn’t help letting out a little smile.

Mordheim was just like the stories, a place of horrors. Cries of pain were heard from where ever you stood and the buildings lay in ruins. Most of all, a dark, black cloud shrouded over the city, this as some would seem as a curse, a omen for worse times. But for Varazal, this was heaven. The sun would no longer drain his powers that reduced him to a filthy man. He could travel when ever he liked, consuming who ever he liked. Varazal’s worries had dimmed as when they entered Mordheim he noticed that there were no armies, only small groups of men, and now with Kierten, this would be a lot easier than first thought. Before they started their mission to take over this decaying city, he needed some minions. Varazal wanted some slaves, but some of the mortal kind, so they could go out and fetch equipment from the merchants. He had other stories, of bands of numerous men, only working to purge this city of Vampires and Chaos. Even though he was sure he could take all of them down himself, he would rather some low life in habitants to get the tools instead. These servants would also be used to sell and store the magical stones called Wyrdstone. Everyone was here for that, money and corruptive power lay in those shards. Varazal planned to consume any that they did not sell. With the power he would tear down the foundations of this city. It was clear just how many people had been affected by the comet’s wrath. Men, women and children sat on the streets, waiting for death to come, those who were not on death’s door were planning futile attempts to clear the city of their intruders. Then there were the deformed, those who had been hit by the worst of the comet, yet still lived. The magical power changed them, some only slightly, others dramatically. They wanted to die yet still had the strength to live on. These were the people Varazal wanted, they did not plan to rid this city, yet they still had the energy to fight.

Varazal passed one almost instantly, the comet had changed his legs into short, stubby logs and he had several lumps sprouting from his back. Varazal took no time in attempting to recruit him.
‘Manling! Join me! I am vampiric, and the power within me shall help me take over this city and every inhabitant inside it.’
Varazal had decided telling this creature that he was a vampire was a good an idea, so he knew that he was almighty and powerful, he did not wished to be confused with a human. Frekel was overwhelmed, no one had wanted him before, he was a freak of nature that people laughed at. He had no hesitation with joining the Vampire who had taken him in with open arms. Shortly after, Kierten introduced himself in a murmur. It was not too long before Varazal had two other servants following him. There was only the final part of his plan before he would start his assault on the city and the warbands that inhabit it.
‘Kierten! Raise the Zombies!’
There was a wild chant as the recently dead around Varazal rose, all of the men, women, and children who had fallen from the comet stood beside him to fight. Soon, they would have the whole city in their grasp. That was before the first gun shot came from the street, killing a zombie instantly.
‘Out Unholy Witch!’ the Witch Hunter Cried.


Grubbi,

Part 2:

The crude bullet plunged deeper into yet another zombie; now only six zombies remained shambling beside Varazal and Kierten. The street was a narrow allow; with nine humans waiting for them on the other side, waiting to burn their bodies. Varazal hissed at the zombies to start their staggering assault towards the enemy. He knew full well that they would take a severely long time to engage their enemy, but he was hoping when they did, they would swamp the foe with their uncoordinated blows. He pointed at the dregs, and then towards the Witch Hunters before he sprinted down the alley. The dregs’ tiny minds interpreted this as to assault the humans. They pretended to smash their wooden clubs against a set of imaginary foes before clambering after their master. Another bullet exploded from the Witch Hunter’s pistol; the projectile hurtled itself at Varazal, but his vampiric flesh shrugged off the wound as if it were from a child. He was far forward from his warband, already preparing to charge into the combat. There was a dreadful hissing sound as Varazal drew out his arcane blade. It was as long as a sword, with a serpent spiralling around the golden hilt, there were only a few precious moment before he would slam into combat. Instantly, the line of the Witch Hunters changed, instead of the three leaders holding the front, four war hounds had pounced through, only being held on flimsy chains which would be dropped at any moment. The leaders had dropped behind their henchmen and into safety, where they would fire a few more rounds at Varazal. All of the formation changing had caused some commotion as everyone formed their ranks again, that was all the commotion Varazal needed. Rapidly, he increased his speed until his legs moved faster than the humans could see. He began to lean towards the wall until he supported himself in the air, running sideways on the buildings. The pot plants and signs were not defence against his immense speed, shattering them as he passed. Now fully behind their lines, he skidded down onto the ground. The whole enemy warband changed direction, the Vampire was the real threat here, and no one wanted their backs facing it. One advantage for Varazal was, now the warbands were stuck behind the forces preparing for combat. He didn’t want to give them any time to get the dogs out the front again, so he pounced into combat, aiming for a Witch Hunter first. The man raised his pistol in defence against the fury leaping at him. Varazal soared through the air, swiping the metal gun out of the man’s hand. With the remaining force left in his leap he kicked the Witch Hunter into the ground. The seconds that it took for the man to recover was all that Varazal needed to kill him. With one swift stab, his sword plunged into the man’s chest. Varazal was not satisfied with that combat, he was not worthy of his power. Now the two other leaders had horded around Varazal and were raising their pistols for one quick shot before their started to hack him with his weapons. Varazal kicked out at one of the pistols, just managing to misdirect his shot by inches, but the other man had a clear shot at his head. That bullet would carve right through his skull; even he couldn’t prevent a bullet from point blank range cleaving through his skull. The man couldn’t possible miss. There was only seconds for him to hear the sound of salvation. There was a short click, the click of a jammed barrel. No bullet…no dead Varazal. The Witch Hunter looked puzzled at first, and then fear filled his face. A volley of slashed rained at his chest, all his armour useless. The limp body dropped down to the ground with no soul keeping it in tack anymore. The other Witch Hunter swiped down at Varazal, however, he smelt the blow coming, pivoting around with moments to spare. His sword met up with his blade before Varazal parried it off to the side. The Witch Hunter stumbled backwards with the force behind the vampire’s parry. This was the perfect opening for Varazal’s strike. Blade after blade tore at the man’s chest until he ended up like the rest of his comrades. All of the warband’s leader lay dead on the floor, yet, the other members did not seem phased. They had taken up their leader’s ways and indented to take down this monster. Varazal did not mind, it had been some time since he had drunk. The six warriors horded towards Varazal anger of their leader’s death. Varazal made the first strike towards one of the warriors, but he shrugged it off with his shield. Varazal began to slowly walk backwards, avoiding the men’s attacks, until he eventually became backed against the wall of a building. Varazal attempted to parry away the horde of attacks coming from the warriors, but soon the numbers flooded him. A blade slammed into his ribs and he gagged as it leeched out some of his energy. The other warriors took at hacking at him like a tree, some were deflected by his armour, and others Varazal cringed to absorb their strength. How could his journey end so quickly, he still had to take over this horrid city, it couldn’t finish here.

Then the most worthless beings came to save the most important. A wooden club came from behind and smashed across at the head of a warrior. The blow struck him to the ground unconscious. Two more hit at their backs, disrupting their blows at Varazal. With the attackers lessened, Varazal could finally strike out. He shot his first blow at one of the warrior’s chest, then another at another’s leg. They fell around him like insects; with the dreg’s help, they were clubbed to death. Within moments of his saviours arriving, their foe had been defeated; that was all, bar one. From a street adjacent came a howl, a howl of one remaining dog that the dregs had not finished off in their advancement to save their master. The wild hound crashed onto the street before leaping across the air and hurtling into one of the dregs celebrating his win. The claws of the beast dug into the poor man’s back before bringing him down to the ground. The dreg was mauled by the vicious teeth and claws of the animal. His two fellow dregs came to his assistance, clubbing at the attacker. There was a whine as the creature finally fell; alas, it was too late. The dreg was covered from head to toe in wounds, he was in another place. There was silence as the other two dregs mourned for their friend, one who felt their suffering. Varazal, on the other hand, did not care, emotions were for the weak. There were more dregs, he could be replaced easily, and right no he was too fixed on feasting on the dead bodies and looting their pouches for Wyrdstone. Tomorrow he would sell any armour and Wyrdstone he could find in the surrounding area. There were more warbands to face, probably stronger ones, but they would be defeated – just like the rest of this city.

Personally, I don't feel that Undead don't have enough character, and I can't really put emotion into them (they feel so heartless). So for the next installment, I shall be changing to Dwarves.

You made a valiant effort with the Undead, but the Vampire character seemed a bit of a killing machine with little to give him trouble.

I await the introduction of the dwarfs with interest.