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KoW International Campaign Day OTTer HQ 8th Feb

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This topic contains 21 replies, has 7 voices, and was last updated by  Anonymous 1 year, 5 months ago.

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    Game 1B 10:30 -11:30

    Break 30 mins

    Game 2B 12:00 – 13:30

    Lunch 30 mins

    Game 3B 14:00 – 16:00

    Break 30 mins

    Game 4B 16:30 – 18:00


    If anyone fancies playing any further games after we have finished let me know and I’ll see about setting those up.

    There are bonuses for the winners both locally and overall world wide results, as we are running 30 mins behind our games will be logged in the subsequent game slot but world wide bonuses will be applied as per the campaign organisers.



    06CCFEA0-805D-4612-91DC-05FB621FFC2AMy 2000 points of Dwarfs for tomorrow.




    Thanks for coming and all the games folks, it was a lot of fun. Coleraine ended split 2 Good to 2 Evil victories, but evil still has an edge world wide, so hopefully everyone will be dead and eaten by abyssals soon.

    Here’s a story update for the current state of the campaign.

    Fregmoln stood over the broken bodies of his enemies and those of his own soldiers alike. The mountain top was stained a dark hue of crimson as blood melted the snow and caused small ruby rivers to stream down the slope.

    The sense of dejavu once again washed over the northman as he surveyed the carnage. Had he dreamed this all before? What would cause him to feel the uneasy sense of vertigo that accompanied the hauntingly familiar scene that lay before him? His allies were destroyed and while they had won out over the screaming tribes of Varangur and their fellow destructive worshippers of evil, it had come at a heavy cost. But a growing sense of dread filled Fregmoln and he shifted his gaze towards the sky where he saw a single figure staring down at him.

    The person was hovering beside the rays of the setting sun, a scorched silhouette against a bloody horizon that seemed to be growing larger. Abruptly, Fregmoln realized that the person’s size was increasing because they were drawing closer to him.

    “Splendid, my young warrior. Absolutely splendid.” A voice seemed to be carried on a sudden gust of wind whispered in Fregmoln’s ear. He half turned to look at who had spoken, but found he could not tear his gaze away from the silhouette as it glided closer and closer to him.

    “Who are you?” The Northman whispered.

    “I am that lord which you serve. I am the air with which you breathe your violence and threatenings out, both of which are pleasing unto me.”

    “You are the Warrior? My Lord Korgaan?” Fregmoln fell to his knees, although he could not tear his gaze from the approaching figure, who was now only a few feet above him.

    Up close now, Fregmoln  could see more details. The figure wore a simple suit of armor that consisted of overlapping plates and an open faced helm. A skeletal face stared out from the shadows of that helm and piercing eyes scoured Fregmoln ’s face. In one hand the god of the air held a long, leaf-bladed sword, and in the other was held a strange hourglass.

    “What was the meaning of all this?” Fregmoln  asked. Korgaan landed lightly in the snow before his servant.

    “Why, you are here to feed me!” Korgaan responded, placing a hand on Fregmoln ’s shoulder.

    “I don’t understand.”

    “Of course you don’t, but you don’t need to.” Korgaan laughed, it was a harsh and bitter sound. Then he plunged the blade into Fregmoln ’s gut. The northman gasped and fell into the snow.

    “Why?” His voice was already growing weaker. The god of the air looked down at him and smiled.

    “Because, my existence is far more important than that of you and your allies.” The embodiment of Korgaan seemed to tilt its head back, as if enjoying the taste of a sweet wine. Fregmoln ’s eyes bulged as he felt something pulling at his chest, his fear and anger swallowed up and leaving him a muted shell. Fregmoln ’s eyelids felt heavy, and as the last of his emotions drained from his body like his blood that now stained the snow he saw his god take the frosty hourglass and hold it aloft. Fregmoln  closed his eyes as the first crystals of ice began to tumble through the glass beaker.

    Then his eyes snapped open and he sat bolt upright in his cot. He fumbled at his midriff, searching for the open wound in his gut. His stomach was clean of everything but old scars and the odd tattoo to commemorate past victories. Yet he could still feel the hot steam of his blood as it cooled in the snow around him. He could still remember the sensation of Korgaan’s blade sliding into his middle and pulling his innards free.

    It was far more vivid than any dream he had ever had.

    A soldier appeared from the flap in his tent. Fregmoln  barely noticed the man as he stood there with an anxious energy coming off of him in waves.

    “What is it?” Fregmoln snapped, his voice was shakier than he had meant it to be.

    “The troops are prepared, my lord, and the enemy is moving towards our position.”

    A strong sense of dejavu washed over the northman commander. He closed his eyes and saw the image of the hourglass and the ice crystals that had tumbled through its frosted vial.

    “I will be out momentarily.” When he spoke his voice was husky and he rose wearily from his bed. He had seen this all before. It felt as familiar as a morning routine. How? How was this possible?

    He splashed cold water in his face which did nothing to alleviate the feeling that he was just repeating motions he had covered over a thousand times before.

    The image of the hourglass stuck with him as he strapped on his armor and grabbed his blade from where it lay on his cot. His dream, or vision, or nightmare, or whatever it was, had ended when his god had flipped the hourglass.

    Fregmoln strode out into the morning light, a grim realization hovering on the very edges of his consciousness. The hourglass was the key. But the key to what was still a mystery that clung to the shadowy wisps of his memory.

    • This reply was modified 1 year, 5 months ago by  avernos.


    Sparks flew off the two blades as they spun off each other, their handlers gritting their teeth at the effort. Thordjin and Fregmoln stared at each other with baleful gazes. They were tired, bbut each seemed to know the others’ actions before they took it. They moved as if locked into a choreographed dance. Each stroke was met with a perfect riposte. Each heavy swing shearing cleanly through the air as its intended target stepped nimbly to the side.
    “How many times have we done this?” Fregmoln growled. His arms burned and his throat was raw from thirst and battle cries.
    “I’ve lost count.” Thordjin’s composed stance belied his own exhaustion.
    “Then why do we continue?” There was another lunge, another squeal of metal as the blow was batted aside and the follow up was dodged just as readily.
    “Because what else is there? Neither of us will turn from this fight. Even if we did, our lord would simply start the day over again and show us his displeasure accordingly. All there is left for us is to fight.”
    “There must be a way to finish this, so that we do not have to compete in this eternal struggle over and over again!”
    They stood, panting, their eyes locked on each other. Then, slowly, they looked up to see the hovering figure above them. Korgaan soared in the sky overhead, his hungry eyes staring down at the carnage beneath him. The once wispy figure had solidified into a muscle bound warrior over the course of the countless days that the two armies had repeatedly fought the same battle, drunk on the fear and anger and pain that filled the air with each repeated massacre. Every day always ended the same, with both sides dead to the last warrior and blood soaking the snow beneath their corpses.
    Thordjin and Fregmoln were the only ones that seemed conscious of the repeating days. All the other soldiers were oblivious to the deja vu that washed over the two commanders each morning. In one of the thousands of battles that they had fought, the two generals had discovered that the other was aware of the repeating cycles, the ongoing battle that reset with each morning, and the traitorous sacrifice that their deity had claimed from them at the end of each day as the victor stood on the field alone and Korgaan slid his own blade through their gut before turning the hourglass to again reset the day.
    They had tried not fighting. They had tried running away. Each time Korgaan found them and made them suffer such agony that the next day they dared not resist the air god again. They were captives in an endless loop of violence, caught in an endless cycle of death and rebirth.
    Fregmoln lunged at Thordjin, but it was a clumsy strike and he blocked it easily. However, Fregmoln pressed in and locked their blades together so that he could lean in and whisper. Thordjin stared in surprise as his foe placed himself in such a compromising position. With a slight flick of his wrist, Thordjin could disembowel his opponent quite easily. But he paused as he listened to what Fregmoln had to say.
    “Then we must work together!” He hissed “The hourglass is the source of our torment, is it not?”
    Thordjin gave an almost imperceptible nod.
    “Then whoever wins today’s battle must try and steal it from him. Let the contest end, let us die!” Fregmoln’s voice was pleading with Thordjin. “Are we agreed?”
    Thordjin grunted in response and this time his nod was more defined. The two combatants broke apart and the contest began anew.
    At the end of that day Fregmoln stood over the corpse of Thordjin. His chest was heaving at the exertion. It had been a good fight, but now the desperate moment had arrived. The northman looked up and saw Korgaan descending, his blade in one hand and the hourglass in another. He approached the victor and held out a hand to lay it on the mortal’s shoulder, but before the god’s blade could cut through the man’s stomach he lifted his sword and struck out desperately at the hourglass with the battered sword in his tired hands.
    Lulled into security by the past thousands of battles that had passed, Korgaan had not been expecting the strike and he watched in dismay as the blow connected with his wrist and cleaved it from his arm. He shrieked in rage, not for the lost limb which he would regrow easily as was his ability as a god, but because the blow sent the hourglass spinning away from him end over end and as it landed he watched the ice crystals begin tumbling through the glass vial.
    Fregmoln closed his eyes and waited for his god to strike him down. But he felt nothing but a comfortable warmth that spread over his body. When he opened his eyes he found himself sitting in his cot with heavy fur blankets spread across him and a cold sunrise bringing a blue light to the inside of his tent.
    He sat up and felt a cold, hard object dig into his side. He threw aside the furs to discover the frosted hourglass he had struck from Korgaan’s grasp nestled there. He picked the artefact up and examined it before walking outside into the still light of the new dawn.
    “My Lord!” A voice called to him. Fregmoln looked up to see one of his subordinates approaching him. “The enemy is already upon us!” The man pointed and Fregmoln followed to see a lone figure standing on a ridge about a hundred yards away. He instantly knew that it was Thordjin that stood before him and he held up the hourglass for him to see. The faraway figure nodded and pointed down the slope and instantly bands of skirmishers appeared along the horizon and began charging down toward the camp.
    Fregmoln sighed and began bellowing orders. He cradled his prize as he walked through the camp and ushered his soldiers into hastily arranged battle lines. It seemed as though there was still one more day of battle to fight in order to end the cycle. Hopefully Korgaan would not come for the hourglass, but that was doubtful. It might be better to simply smash the thing now, but Fregmoln was willing to wait and see what might happen in the day’s events. He doubted that Korgaan had reserved a pleasant fate for any of them if the hourglass was shattered.


    Cult of Games Member

    Hopefully  we can get to see some photos and AAR’s

    • This reply was modified 1 year, 5 months ago by  torros.


    Final Results are in and the Forces of Good swung it by 3! 3 victories. Now I’m not saying it was Robert’s fault but those two draws you stole from Paul and myself certainly played a part….

    Let’s see how it ended.

    Thordjin stood over Fregmoln’s body and looked at the frosted hourglass that he held in his hands. That day’s fighting had been hard, but exhilarating. It had been so long since he had felt the thrill of battle instead of the monotony of meaningless violence. This day’s victory meant so much more to him than any of the thousands of victories he had won in the past vain repetitions of that same day. Now he had something to show for his efforts. Now he had something with which he could forge a new future.

    He held his trophy aloft and his army of allies cheered all around him. But Thordjin didn’t dare look up. His eyes refused to cast themselves skyward. He knew that if he did he might see the floating figure of his deity there, as he had so many days before that. Floating above him, slowly lowering to deliver his final judgement. He shuddered at the thought. But Korgaan never came. He had been suspiciously absent in Thordjin and Fregmoln’s battles that day. Thordjin couldn’t believe that he had given up, or that the blow that had severed his hand would have seriously hurt him. Yet he hadn’t appeared in his wrath that day to wreck havoc among the two armies. Thordjin tried to push it from his thoughts, but it nagged at the back of his mind as he lead his tired men back to their tents to rest after and eternally long day of fighting.

    Meanwhile, floating in the corona of the sun, Korgaan looked down at the tiny figure of Thordjin and smiled. He had gorged himself on the emotions and passions of the mortals for what seemed an eternity and he had eaten his fill of their lust, and their vengeance, and their fear. Now as he watched his newly crowned champion return to his tent to finally sleep through the night and awake to a new day, Korgaan’s smile deepened.

    The air deity needed something more. The prayers of the dying were wonderfully sweet, but now he yearned for the thrill of conquest within the minds of his followers. The heady intoxication that came from casting one’s foe into the dirt and knowing that he would not rise again. He had tasted it briefly today when he had thrown down his counterpart, but he wanted more.

    Casting his mind into the future, Korgaan witnessed the wonders of Thordjin’s campaigns in the north against the nameless fear that was awakening amidst the blizzards of the Frozen Lands. He saw monsters struck down before they could reach the soft and weaker cities to the south. He saw demons cast back into the Abyss, which caused Korgaan no small amount of glee.

    Perhaps it was time for another Reckoning. The Fires of the Abyss were crackling in the distance and growing too bold for Korgaan’s taste…

    He saw tribes brought under Thordjin’s banner and welcomed into the worship of the air deity under the guise of the Deceiver and their ranks swelling to fill their devotions to him. Korgaan sighed wistfully and looked down at the figure of Thordjin who stumbled wearily to his bed. He would be unstoppable. With the power of Winter’s Hourglass, any time he made a mistake he would be able to simply reset the day and try again. He would be a cleansing fire in the land of ice and snow, and his devotions would be to him, Korgaan, the God of Air.

    The Deceiver.



    Gerry – Paul beat me.  My only contribution to Good’s win was a draw against you!

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