The War in the Willows

It has been a while since I have managed to get a game in, thanks to shift work, but it has not stopped me from getting a few bits painted.

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Saunders clawed at his missing feathers, a habitual gesture, as he scanned the road ahead. “Kentucky, keep your eyes peeled. We’ve got a job to do.”

Kentucky, a sprightly Rooster with a gleam in his eye, nodded, his comb bobbing. “Aye, Colonel, sir!”

Saunders shot him a stern glance. “Sergeant, Kentucky. Just Sergeant. That was a past life, a different war. Don’t get stuck in the past, lad.”

Kentucky looked sheepish, his feathers ruffling. “Sorry, Sarge.”

Saunders grunted, his expression softening. “Just keep your wits about you, Kentucky. We’ve got a job to do.”

Kentucky nodded, his eyes scanning the trees. “Aye, Sarge. You were saying something about the Necromouser…?”

Saunders’ expression turned serious. “I was saying don’t dismiss it, lad. I’ve seen things you’d not believe in my time. And it’s not just the ale talking.”

Kentucky opened his mouth to reply, but Saunders cut him off with a raised claw. “Listen.”

The two Roosters stood in silence. The only sound was the rustling of leaves and the distant call of a bird.

Kentucky frowned. “I don’t hear anything, Sarge.”

Saunders’ eyes narrowed. “Exactly. It’s too quiet.”

Barry scratched at his whiskers; his beady eyes fixed on the dusty old armour hanging on the wall of his burrow. The dented helmet, adorned with its large spike, seemed to gaze back at him with a knowing gleam. He nodded to himself, muttering, “Aye, solid oak and steel that club.  Dealt many a savage blow…”

The other creatures in Cedarwood might think him mad, but Barry knew better. He’d commanded armies, led charges, and outmanoeuvred foes both real and imaginary. His experience with miniature soldiers and dice rolls had prepared him for this moment – the moment he would face the Necromouser.

As he polished the rusty breastplate, Barry’s mind wandered back to his glory days. “Ah, the Battle of the Red Sands… my mousketeers were taking heavy casualties, but I rolled an 11 on my morale check… outflanked the enemy, I did…” He chuckled to himself, lost in the thrill of the game.

But the memories were interrupted by a knock at the door. It was Mrs Rabbit, the local baker. “Barry, dear, don’t you think it’s time to put away the toys? You’re a respected elder in this community, after all.”

Barry’s eyes narrowed. “Toys? These are the tools of a seasoned warrior, madam! I’ve fought battles, led campaigns… my strategic prowess is unmatched!”

Mrs Rabbit sighed, her ears drooping. “Barry, dear, it’s just a game. The Necromouser is just a myth, a story to scare the young ones.”

Barry’s expression turned grim. “You don’t understand, Mrs Rabbit. I’ve seen the green mists, I’ve heard the whispers in the night… It’s real, and I’m the only one who can stop it.” He tapped his helmet. “Trust me, I’ve got the experience.”

Mrs Rabbit shook her head, muttering something about “hamsters and their games” as she departed.

Barry watched her go, his eyes cloudy with determination. He knew what he had to do. He donned his armour, grabbed his trusty dice, and set off into the woods, muttering, “Time to roll some dice and show the Necromouser who’s boss… 10… ah, yes, that’s a solid initiative roll…”

Maximiliano

Thomas pushed open the door, his expression stern as he led Morrigan and Neville into the Den.

Maverick looked up from sharpening his blade, raising an eyebrow at the trio. “Report,” he grunted. Thomas nodded crisply. “Scouting mission complete. Encountered a Spanish Ferret. He’s…unique. Claims to be an entrepreneur.”

Morrigan slumped against the wall, his eyes rolling dramatically. “Yeah, because nothing says ‘unique’ like a Ferret with a death wish.”

Maverick’s gaze narrowed as Maximiliano stepped forward, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Ah, Capitán Maverick! Enchanted, I assure you.” He bowed low, his accent thick and charming.

Something about Max’s grin – the way it didn’t quite reach his eyes – resonated with Maverick. He sheathed his blade, intrigued. “What’s your story?”

Maximiliano straightened, his smile never faltering. “A collector of secrets, sir. A seeker of…opportunities.”

Morrigan snorted, pushing off the wall. “More like a collector of broken dreams and shattered hearts.”

Maverick’s expression remained neutral, but he was sizing Max up. This Ferret’s got layers.

Thomas cleared his throat. “Maximiliano has agreed to join our… endeavours. Pending approval, of course.”

Maverick nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Max’s face. “Welcome to the Misfits. You’re gonna fit right in.”

Neville bounced forward, his eyes shining with excitement. “Yay! Now, can Morrigan teach me about moshing?”

Morrigan’s expression brightened, his dark mood lifting. “Oh, kid’s got taste.” He cracked his knuckles, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Time to show you the ways of the metal gods, Neville.”

Thomas sighed, his expression disapproving. “This is not a joke, Morrigan.”

Morrigan shot him a withering look. “Chill, Thomas. It’s just a little…headbanging.”

Maximiliano chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Ah, I think I’ll watch this, amigos.”

Maximiliano is a Ferret who is armed with a one-handed sword and wears light armour, thanks to a recent trip to the market with Maverick.

After modifiers his skills are

Fearless

Tough (1)

Maximillian is a charmer – and a bit of a rogue.  He loves to gamble, even though he tends to lose and often ends up in debt.  He is definitely a romantic and will go to extreme lengths to impress the ladies, stealing both hearts and fine jewellery in the process.

The group ducked through the low doorway, Maverick having to stoop to avoid hitting his head on the beam. Bramble pushed aside the thick door, revealing the cosy interior of their den.

The fireplace crackled, casting a warm glow over the space. Maverick gently laid Morrigan down on the bed. Neville hovered anxiously as Bramble began examining Morrigan’s injuries.

Just as Bramble was about to speak, Morrigan’s eyes flickered open. He groaned, twisting his head. “What…what happened?”

Bramble’s face relaxed into a relieved smile. “You got hit by a giant rat with a club.”

Morrigan’s expression screwed up in confusion. “I’m not sure… I saw the club coming, and I stepped back. I think I tripped over…and fainted?”

The group exchanged amused glances. Maverick grunted, “Not your best move, Morrigan.”

Morrigan shot him a weak glare, then winced, touching his shoulder. “Shut it, Maverick. What happened to the rat?”

Bramble answered, “Maverick took care of it.”

Morrigan nodded, closing his eyes. “Good. Don’t let me see that again.”

As the group walked, the trees thinned, and a small clearing opened up.

A slender figure leaned against a tree, dressed in a doublet and hose, with a feathered cap cocked to one side.

Maximiliano, the Ferret, grinned, his sharp teeth gleaming like a promise of mischief. “Ah, buenos días, mis amigos! I see you’re a trio of adventurers, eh?”

Thomas’s hand rested on his mace, his eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

Maximiliano bowed low, his eyes sparkling como estrellas. “Ah, I’m but a humble traveller, sir. Some call me a pirate, others a freedom fighter. I prefer ‘entrepreneur’…or perhaps, ‘collector of fine things’.”

Morrigan raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. “What are you doing out here?”

Maximiliano winked, his charm radiating like sunshine. “Oh, I’m on a mission of…acquisition. Let’s say I’m seeking treasures left behind by the previous tenants of this fair land…or perhaps, the tenants themselves.”

Neville’s eyes widened. “Like a treasure hunter?”

Maximiliano chuckled, a low, throaty sound. “Ah, sí! Exactly like that, Joven sir. Though I prefer ‘collector of secrets’…and opportunities.”

Thomas’s expression remained sceptical. “What’s your business here?”

Maximiliano’s grin broadened. “Merely passing through, Capitán. I assure you, I mean no harm…unless, of course, you’re hiding something worth taking. Then, I might have to reconsider…or make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

Morrigan snorted, a small smile playing on his lips. “I think we’ve got nothing you’d want.”

Maximiliano’s eyes sparkled. “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, amigos. I think we might have…business. Shall we discuss it over a drink?”

Thomas’s face remained stern. “No drinks. What’s your name?”

Maximiliano chuckled. “Ah, forgive me! I’m known as Maximiliano Vulpine, at your service…and at the service of your secrets.”

Morrigan raised an eyebrow. “Vulpine? Sounds like a fox.”

Maximiliano grinned, his accent thick and charming. “Ah, but I’m a Ferret, mi amigo…cunning, clever…and always landing on my feet, like a cat with nine lives…or a Ferret with a plan.”

Thomas said, matter-of-factly, “I thought that was Weasels.”

Maximiliano’s smile broadened, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Ah, Capitán Mollusa, you have much to learn, mi amigo…much to learn. You see, Ferrets are the true masters of…acquisition.”

Maverick, Bramble, and Phillipe trudged through the forest, their boots quiet on the damp earth. The trees parted, revealing a sun-lit clearing. A stately badger, dressed in rich robes, stood before them, his paws clasped together.

“Ah, good people,” he said, his voice deep and resonant. “May the blessings of the forest be upon you.”

Bramble inclined her head. “Greetings, sir. We’re just scouting. What brings you here?”

The badger sighed, his expression wistful. “I’m on a pilgrimage, dear friends. I seek to atone for…past transgressions. My wealth was built on the toil of others, I’m afraid.”

Maverick grunted, his expression unmoved. “What do you want from us?”

The badger smiled, unfazed. “I wish to reward good works. Please, accept this small token of my gratitude.”

He held out a small leather bag, jingling with coins. Phillipe’s eyes widened. “Pennies!”

Bramble smiled, taking the bag. “Thank you, sir. We’ll put it to good use.”

The badger nodded, his eyes shining. “May the road rise up to meet you, friends. May your path be blessed with good fortune.”

Maverick nodded curtly, his expression still gruff. “Thanks.”

The badger watched them go, a peaceful smile on his face. As they left the clearing, Phillipe turned to the others. “Think he’ll be okay?”

Bramble smiled. “I think he’s on the right path, Phillipe.”

Maverick grunted, “Let’s focus on our own path. We’ve got scouting to do.

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Back at the Den, the sound of Neville’s laughter and Morrigan’s crows echoes through the trees. Inside the clearing, Neville and Morrigan were mid-mosh, Maverick standing at the edge, watching with a bemused expression.

Bramble frowned, watching them. “Is Morrigan okay? He’s been…head-banging…for a while now.”

Thomas cleared his throat. “I believe Morrigan is fine, Bramble. It appears he’s forming a bond with Neville. Apparently, ‘moshing’ is a…dance. Morrigan is teaching Neville.”

Phillipe raised an eyebrow. “Morrigan’s teaching Neville a dance?”

Bramble’s concern turned to amusement. “Guess that’s a thing now.”

Maximiliano, leaned against a tree, his slicked-back fur and dandyish attire giving him an air of roguish charm. His bright, beady eyes sparkled with mischief as he watched the group, a lazy grin spreading across his face. He oozed charisma, his very presence seeming to draw the eye – especially from the ladies.

Bramble felt his gaze on her, and a hint of amusement crept into her expression. “Not mosh-ing?” she asked, a touch of playfulness in her voice.

Maximiliano chuckled, low and smooth, his Spanish accent thick and seductive. “Ah, no, mi amor… I’m more of a… Flamenco expert, no? Not exactly a mosher” His voice was like honey, dripping with charm.

Maverick grunted.

Thomas nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I think it’s good for Morrigan. He’s loosening up.”

Maximiliano’s gaze lingered on Bramble, his grin hinting at secrets.

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So, what does all that actually mean?

Well, Morrigan managed to survive without any lasting injuries.  I have to admit I was a bit concerned making his injury roll, especially after all his rather pathetic efforts of trying to get any information out of the villagers.

I sent out two parties to go wandering further afield.  The first group came across a medium creature, which joined our cause.  Which now, of course, means I have to make and paint another model for the warband.

I have decided that it will be a Spanish Ferret, with a somewhat Antonio Banderas from Zorro kind of personality.

The second party came across a caravan and got gifted 4D6 pennies.  I rolled rather badly and only got 10.  When added to my spoils from the mission and my current treasury, gives me 48 pennies.

After upkeep, that leaves me with 32 pennies to equip Maximillian, our new dashing scoundrel.

I decided that Morrigan’s close call with death has had a bit of an impact on him, and he has now started to form a bit of an unlikely friendship with Neville.

The next thing to do is to go shopping.  Maximilliano needs some equipment, so I guess it’s time for Maverick to take our newest member to the markets.

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Maverick and Maximiliano strolled through the market, the scent of fresh bread and spices wafting through the air like a seduction.

Maximiliano’s eyes sparkled como estrellas as he spotted a sword stall, his tail twitching with excitement. “Ah, mi corazón, a sword fit for a galán like myself,” he murmured.  He picked up a flamberge, admiring its balance with a connoisseur’s touch.

Maverick nodded, eyeing the blades. “Need a sword, Max.” Maximiliano’s smile was a work of art. “Sí, amigo, something…suave. For a ferret of my…particular talents.”

As they haggled with the vendor, Maverick spotted a wanted poster on a nearby wall. He nudged Maximiliano, nodding towards the sign. Maximiliano’s eyes danced with amusement, his grin spreading like a sunrise. “Ah, mi amigo, it seems I have…admirers,” he chuckled, taking in the list of crimes. “Seduction, …unfulfilled gambling debts…they flatter me.”

Maverick grunted, “Disguise, Max.” Maximiliano laughed, a low, throaty sound. “Ah, no, mi amor. I shall not hide. I shall transform.” He whipped off his feathered hat, ruffled his fur, and struck a pose, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “¿Qué tal? No one will recognise me now, sí?”

Maverick raised an eyebrow, chuckling. “You think messing up your hair is a disguise?” Maximiliano’s grin was pure charm. “Ah, but it’s not just the hair, amigo…it’s the pasión, the fuego, the…me.”

He winked, his accent wrapping around the words like a velvet cloak. “No one will expect me to be so…devastadoramente handsome.”

Maverick shook his head, laughing. “You’re something else, Max.”

Maximiliano’s eyes sparkled. “That’s why they love me, amigo…and why they’ll never catch me.”

The Misfits were huddled beneath the ancient oak, debating their next move, when a rustle in the branches above caught their attention. Cawliver Longbow, a sleek crow with a bow strapped across his back, peered down at them with piercing eyes.

“Ahem, pardon me,” he croaked, “caw… Ah, excuse me, did you say North Piddle? Why, I’m headed that way myself. Meeting up with the Stillwater Irregulars. And I heard ‘Les Betes Libre’ are heading there too.”

Morrigan spoke up, “Ah, yes. North Piddle was my suggestion, after all.”

The others nodded in agreement, as Cawliver’s gaze lingered on them for a moment.

…The silence stretched out, thick and awkward, like a mist that refused to lift. Cawliver’s eyes seemed to bore into the Misfits, as if searching for something. The wind rustled the leaves, and a twig snapped in the underbrush, but the group remained frozen, unsure how to respond.

Finally, Cawliver broke the silence, his voice low and contemplative. “Caw… that’s peculiar,” he said, brushing away a wisp of black-green mist that had drifted down from the branches.

“Well, it’s been… pheasant company, my friends,” he continued, his tone unchanged. “But I must catch up to the Stillwater Irregulars. As a new recruit, I can’t be late! You know what they say about a group of Ravens, after all… Maybe I’ll see you at North Piddle.”

With a slow flap of his wings, Cawliver took to the air, flying off to the northwest, leaving the Misfits to ponder his words.

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As the Mavericks Misfits continued their way to North Piddle, they spotted a sleek, russet-coated fox standing by the side of the road. She was dressed in a fine velvet cloak and wore a worried expression.

“Good morrow, travellers,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “Forgive me, but I was wondering if I might impose upon you for an escort? I’m Lady Reynardine, and I’m heading home to Foxglove Manor, just outside North Piddle. With all this talk of the Necromouser, I must admit I’m feeling a bit… uneasy.”

Phillipe, doffing his hat with a flourish, stepped forward with a charming smile. “Zut alors, my lady! Ze pleasure ees all mine. I, Phillipe, shall escort you ‘ome, zis very moment! We’re ‘eaded that way ourselves, no trouble at all.”

Maverick nodded in agreement, and Morrigan rolled his eyes with an exasperated look.

Rena laughed, a throaty sound. “Thank you, Phillipe. And thank you, all of you. I feel much safer with you around me.”

As they walked, Phillipe kept up a stream of charming banter, and Rena laughed along with him. The Misfits continued on their way, alert for any signs of danger.

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The mission is to speak with the villagers of North Piddle to gather information points.  Information points are a way of establishing how much intelligence we have gathered about the goings on regarding the Necromouser.  As a side quest, I rolled ‘escort’ and have to ensure Rena gets across the table.

It turns out that this was actually going to be a 4-player game.  I know one of the other Warbands is another group of Free Beasts, but as for the other two, I have no idea.

The Misfits arrived in North Piddle as the sun was beginning to set, casting a warm orange glow over the village. Lady Rena pointed towards a path leading up to Foxglove Manor, her ancestral home nestled in the rolling hills. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get home before nightfall. Phillipe, Maverick, Thomas, would you mind escorting me?”

Phillipe doffed his hat. “Ze pleasure ees all mine, my lady. We’ll make sure you get ‘ome safe.”

Maverick and Thomas nodded, and the three of them set off with Rena, heading up the path towards the manor.

Meanwhile, Bramble took charge. “Right, we’re gonna check the houses on the way to the river. See if anyone’s seen or heard anything about the Necromouser.”

Morrigan groaned. “Seriously?”

Bramble raised an eyebrow.

Morrigan huffed, flapping his cloak as he flew off towards the nearest house. “Fine. I’ll start knocking.”

He landed on the doorstep and rapped on the door, startling a sleepy-looking villager. “Yes? What do you want?”

Bramble scanned the quiet streets. As they walked, a faint green mist drifting from the trees to the west, just across the river, slowly drifted in the direction of the town.

______________________________

It turned out that also visiting North Piddle were not one, but two Undead Warbands and that, just possibly, one of those may also include the Necromouser.  My plan was to get in, speak to people to get some info and get out before the evil forces got too close.

Morrigan stood on the doorstep, his eyes glazing over as the villager, a stuttering old Rabbit, began to ramble.

“…and then, you see, the sheep got sick. Just like that. One minute they were fine, next thing they’re lying about, won’t eat nothing…”

Morrigan yawned, his gaze drifting to the trees across the river. That green wisp was still there, and it was way more interesting than this bloke’s stories.

“Uh-huh,” he said, not really listening. “So, uh, did you see anything… unusual? Like, people lurking about?”

The villager blinked, taken aback. “Unusual? Oh, no, no, nothing like that. Just the usual. Well, except for the mist. It came through a few nights ago…”

Morrigan’s attention snapped back, just for a split second. “What did you say?”

But the villager was off again, rambling about the weather and the crops, and Morrigan’s eyes glazed over once more.

____________________

Maverick, sensing that the misfits could soon be in trouble, left Thomas and Phillip to continue the escort and decided to help question the locals.

He approached the door, his rugged features and piercing gaze making the villager take a step back before he’d even knocked. He rapped on the doorframe, his eyes never leaving the villager’s face.

The villager, a stuttering woman with a basket of fresh bread, looked up at Maverick and seemed to shrink. “Y-yes? W-what can I do for you?”

Maverick’s expression was stone. “Tell me all you know.”

The villager’s eyes widened. “O-oh, the… the obelisk. Y-yes. It just… appeared. Out of nowhere. Like it’d always been there, but… it wasn’t. I swear.”

Maverick’s gaze narrowed. “Where?”

The villager pointed a shaking hand towards the west, in the direction of the river. “O-over there. Past the old mill. It’s… It’s big. Stone. Looks ancient. But… but it wasn’t there yesterday, I swear it.”

Maverick’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes seemed to bore into the villager’s soul. “No one knows where it came from?”

The villager shook her head, eyes darting around nervously. “N-no one. People are… are talking about it. Some say it’s… It’s connected to the Necromouser. But we don’t know.”

Maverick nodded once, a curt gesture, and turned to leave. The villager watched him go, relief washing over her face as he disappeared into the evening shadows.

____________________

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Morrigan rolled the worst for trying to gather any information.  I put this down to the fact that he really didn’t care what anyone else had to say.  On the flip side, Maverick rolled a perfect roll and got the maximum amount of information he could get.  I put that down to the fact that I had boosted his presence when I created the Warband, and I had actually printed him out 10% larger than the others to simulate his greater-than-normal presence statistic.

Meanwhile, Thomas got stuck facing a rather large hedge.  Not fancying my chances of getting past it any time soon with just a D4 for movement, I decided that at this point, the party would split up further.

Bramble made her way down the street, eyes scanning the houses, when a mole suddenly burst from the ground and started frantically knocking at a front door

At the same moment, Neville shouted, “Bramble, look out!”

She followed his gaze and saw the green mist creeping around the corner of the house, heading straight for the mole. Ghasts began to coalesce from the fog.

Without hesitation, Neville cast a haste spell on Bramble. Time seemed to slow as her reflexes kicked into overdrive. She sprinted forward, her bow already in hand.

A ghast lunged from the mist, jaws snapping for the mole. Bramble loosed an arrow, hitting the creature in the back as it pounced. The ghast was stunned, momentarily frozen in mid-air, and the mole took advantage, scurrying for the safety of the nearby trees.

Morrigan rolled his eyes as the villager droned on about the local crops. “Yes, yes, very interesting, mate. Thanks for nothing.”

As he turned to leave, a blur of brown fur and green glow hurtled around the corner. A massive rat, its eyes glowing with an otherworldly energy, charged straight at him.

Morrigan’s reflexes kicked in, but he wasn’t fast enough. The rat swung a huge wooden cudgel that looked like it belonged to a giant – and caught Morrigan square on the shoulder.

He crumbled to the ground in a cloud of feathers, his body limp. The villager screamed, backing away in terror.

The rat loomed over Morrigan, its breath hot and fetid. For a moment, it seemed to grin.

Bramble shouted, “NO!”

And the rat charged her.

Neville’s voice squeaked down the street, “Maverick! Help! Oh no, hurry!”

Maverick burst into a sprint, his boots pounding the cobblestones. Neville’s haste spell caught him, and suddenly he was moving like a blur. He closed the distance in a heartbeat.

The rat, its club mid-swing, didn’t stand a chance. Maverick leapt into the air, his massive two-handed sword arcing down with deadly precision. The blade bit deep into the rat’s face with a sickening crunch.

The creature let out a deafening squeak, its body convulsing. The green glow surrounding it flailed wildly before dissipating, and the rat’s massive form collapsed to the ground.

Maverick landed with a thud, his chest heaving. He turned to Bramble, his eyes scanning for danger. “You okay?”

Bramble nodded, her face set in a grim expression. “Yeah. Morrigan…”

Maverick’s gaze fell to the ground, where Morrigan lay motionless, a tangled mess of feathers and black cloth. His expression didn’t change, but his eyes seemed to harden. “Neville, check on Morrigan.”

____________________

The group trudged out of the town, their faces grim. Maverick strode ahead, Morrigan’s limp body slumped over his shoulders. Bramble walked beside him, her eyes fixed on Morrigan’s pale face.

Neville trotted alongside, his young face pinched with worry. “D…do you think he’s…?”

Bramble shook her head. “Don’t say it, Nev. We don’t know.”

Maverick didn’t look up, his eyes fixed on the horizon. His pace didn’t falter, his determined strides eating up the distance.

As they left the town behind, the trees seemed to close in around them, casting long shadows across the path. The only sound was the soft thud of Morrigan’s boots against Maverick’s back, and the distant call of a bird.

Phillipe and Thomas appeared at the edge of the trees, their faces sombre. “What’s happened?” Phillipe asked, his voice low, the worry causing him to revert to his natural English Accent.

Bramble filled them in, her voice hushed. Phillipe’s eyes widened, his hand flying to his mouth.

Maverick didn’t slow, his eyes fixed on some point ahead. The group’s footsteps blended into the forest sounds, leaving the town and its troubles behind. For now, they had to focus on getting Morrigan help.

______________________________

So that is where the game ended.  Morrigan got king hit by an undead Brown Rat, who in turn received a perfect hit from Maverick with his Two-handed Sword.  Having haste cast on him allowed him to close the gap, focus and then strike, causing a massive 24 points of damage.

With kind permission from David Capon, A lovely guy here in Perth WA, I can share some more details of the campaign.

Players Notes

The campaign will run over approximately 3 months, culminating on the Sunday games day 29/3/2026.

Each month, there will be a “story” scenario, culminating in the final showdown.

Players may play as many or as few games as they like, but story scenarios will have limitations on how many times they can be played.

Existing Warbands with a Rating 20 or less may be used in the campaign.

All games must be played at the PMGG club.

Post-match sequence must be rolled at the club, with some exceptions
•New equipment purchases can be managed as part of the pre-game
•sequence (allowing people to plan their purchases)
•New hires can also be purchased in the pre-game sequence; however, upkeep fees must be paid in addition to hire fees.
•Select “Swords for Hire” will be available and will be announced during the Campaign.

Players are trying to gather information on the location of the Necromouser throughout the campaign. This is achieved through information points gathered through missions.

Players should track their information totals and let the campaign organiser know their new total after each game to determine if they have uncovered any new leads.

Information (leads, not points) may be traded, given away or sold to other players.

Players may always elect to swap a side quest for the “Locate” quest. This quest will generate 1D4 information points, and if successfully removed from the table, an additional 2D6 information points.

In addition, the following quests also generate information.

• Q7 – Recover the Pay Chest: Pay chest roll of 1-2 produces 2D6 information (instead of nothing)
• Q12 – The Caravan: Pay chest roll of 1-2 produces 2D6 information (instead of nothing)
• Q13 – Mole Hunt: Documents also produce 2D6 information if removed from the table.
• Q14 – Den Raid: Attackers who enter the enemy Den can steal information equal to a roll against that model’s Awareness stat from their opponent. The raided player must reduce their total accordingly.
• Q18 – Cult Raid: Players may loot for information instead of pennies. The interact action produces information instead of pennies.

Other Quest Notes

• Quest 9 – Lost in the Fog
The stakes are high, and the Necromouser is merciless. Models that wander off a table edge will be killed by Mist Wraiths unless rescued next game via Quest 15: Lost and Alone. You do not have to pay upkeep on models until rescued, but you will only get one shot before their soul is devoured. You may hire another warband to undertake the rescue if you wish; the price is to be agreed upon by the players.

• Quest 14 – Den Raid. Players are encouraged to build a den entry terrain piece themed to suit their warband. If they do so, they receive 1 free barricade (p191) that must be placed at the entrance of the den (and be modelled accordingly).

• Quest 16 – Interrogate
This mission is the first Story mission. It is only available to each player a maximum of three times (once for each town, Snodsbury, Himbleton and North Piddle) and is not available at all once Story quest 2 drops.

So, there we have it.  This month, the story quest is to try to gather information from the three local towns.

Looks like I will need to get cracking on this because as soon as story quest number two comes out, this one will no longer be an option.

______________________________

Maverick’s Misfits huddled around a makeshift map of the surrounding towns, scratched into the dirt with a twig. 

“Himbleton’s the spot, mate,” Neville said, adjusting his oversized hat. “Biggest tavern in the region. If there’s rumours about the Necromouser, that’s where they’ll be spilling the beans.”

Morrigan snorted, ruffling his black feathers. “Ugh, Himbleton’s full of fluffy bunnies sipping tea and gossiping. North Piddle’s dodgy docks are where the real scum hang out. Necromouser’s type of vibe.”

Philippe shook his head. “Non, non, ze markets of Snodsbury, zey are more… discerning. If someone’s talking about ze Necromouser, zey will be careful. Snodsbury’s ze place.”

Thomas stepped forward, leaving a tiny slime trail on the map. “Protocol dictates we consider traffic, populace, and puddle-depth. Snodsbury’s got mud. Himbleton’s got ale. North Piddle’s got… crime.”

Neville chuckled. “Yeah, and North Piddle’s got that bully Badger Barry the Bastard, probably crapping in the river. Not exactly subtle.”

The group fell into debate, each arguing the merits of their chosen town. Morrigan insisted North Piddle was the only logical choice, while Philippe advocated for Snodsbury’s discretion. Neville pushed for Himbleton’s gossip hub, and Thomas… well, Thomas was stuck on the correct procedures required before questioning anyone.

Maverick listened, arms crossed. “Alright, we’ve got three options. And Koda’s Templars Khaotica are probably already on the move.”

Maverick’s Misfits trekked through the forest, drowsy sunlight filtering through the canopy. Maverick turned to the group. “Alright, we need someone to scout ahead. Look for any sign of trouble.”

The group exchanged looks. Morrigan raised an eyebrow, his expression screaming, “Are you kidding me?” He slumped against a tree, feathers ruffled in disdain.

An uncomfortable silence stretched.

Thomas, determined, stepped forward. “I’ll go.”

Neville’s eyes widened. “But… you’re a… snail?”

Thomas puffed out his chest. 

Morrigan snorted, muttering under his breath.

Maverick intervened. “Forget it. We’ll stick together. Safety in numbers.”

The group nodded, moving off en masse. Morrigan trailed behind, muttering lyrics:

“Shadows dance upon the wall, Echos of a forgotten fall, in twilights hush, where darkness reigns, I’ll whisper secrets of forgotten pains …” 

Neville whispered to Maverick, “Think Morrigan’s alright, old chap?”

Maverick chuckled. “He’s fine. Emo phase.”

Bramble snorted. “More like permanently angry phase.”

Morrigan flipped them off, still muttering lyrics.

Mavericks Misfits

Maverick and Bramble stepped aside, surveying the motley crew with a mix of amusement and despair.

“Right, we need a name for this… lot,” Maverick said, wiping a paw down his face.

Bramble chuckled, eyes scanning the group. “An absolute shambles, aren’t they?”

Maverick snorted. “Understatement. Neville’s going to get us all killed, Morrigan’s going to scare off all the enemies with his whining, and Thomas is going to… well, Thomas is going to be Thomas.”

Bramble giggled. “So, what do we call this disaster waiting to happen?”

They tossed ideas back and forth, stifling laughs. “The Forest Fiasco”? “The Chaos Crew”? “The Muddlewood Muddle”?

Maverick’s ears perked up. “Wait… what about Maverick’s Misfits?”

Bramble’s face lit up. “Perfection! They’re misfits, and we’re stuck with ’em.”

Maverick grinned, nodding. “Maverick’s Misfits it is.”

As they rejoined the group, Maverick announced, “Alright, everyone! We’ve got a name: Maverick’s Misfits!”

Philippe, gave a flourish of his hat. “Oui, oui, ze name, eet ees perfect! Maverick’s Misfits, zis captures ze essence of our… how you say… ragtag crew, no?

Morrigan raised an eyebrow. “Misfits? How… charming.”

Neville beamed. “I like it! We’re all a bit… unconventional.”

Thomas nodded solemnly. “It’s… accurate, we’ll have to lodge it with state records.”

Maverick shrugged. “Hey, we’re not looking for a fancy name. We’re looking for a way to survive. And with you lot… we’re gonna need all the luck we can get.”

So, this is the gang.

6 individual characters, each with their own hopes and dreams.

They come in at 370 pennies, leaving 5 pennies in the coffers thanks to the extra 25 pennies they get for being Freebeasts and have a total rating of 20, which is, ironically, the maximum starting rating for anyone in this campaign I’ve joined.

They start with a Study at their base camp.

The first games of this campaign start this week.

Each month, there will be a specific scenario that can be played, although it is not compulsory.  The first mission is called interrogate, where the creatures are trying to find clues about the Necromouser.

Bramble

Bramble’s gaze softened as she watched Maverick bark orders, his voice firm but laced with a hint of frustration. Neville stumbled, his legs going in opposite directions, while Morrigan complained about the uneven terrain. Thomas, bless his slow heart, drilled on, his snail’s feet tapping out a precise rhythm.

Her mind wandered back to sun-dipped afternoons, Maverick’s laughter echoing as they duelled with sticks, pretending to be legendary heroes. No cares, no worries, just the thrill of adventure.

Now, the stakes were higher. Their parents gone, Mav had stepped up, shouldering the weight of responsibility. He’d grown into a leader, tough and unyielding, but Bramble knew the truth. He was a marshmallow beneath that thorny exterior, fiercely protective of those he cared about.

As she watched him demonstrate a particularly tricky manoeuvre to Neville, Bramble’s heart swelled with affection. He’d do anything to keep them safe, even if it meant facing his fears.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Morrigan’s wretched wailing. “My wings! You’re going to snap my wings!”

Bramble chuckled, “Hey, Mav, I think you’ve got your work cut out with this lot.”

Maverick shot her a wry glance, but his eyes softened, just for a moment, before he turned back to the task at hand. “Alright, listen up! Let’s try this again…”

Bramble is a Fox, sister of Maverick and second in command.  She is armed with a bow.

Her skills after modifiers are.

Strong (1)

Expert Shot

She is level 5 and comes in at 56 pennies.

Bramble is the caring one of the party.  She dreams of how things used to be, when life was simpler, and the conflicts seemed further away.  She is concerned that her brother has taken a lot on his shoulders and intends to do whatever she can to keep him safe.