The War in the Willows

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.

Morrigan

Morrigan perched on a branch, his black feathers blending with the shadows like a manifestation of the night itself. He gazed out at the forest, his eyes lined with an air of perpetual disdain, like he was stuck in some kinda forever-rainy-day existential crisis.

Ugh, the trees were so… pointless. The wind was so… loud. Everything just existed, like, who cares? Morrigan cared about one thing: himself. And even that was a stretch.

He spotted animals gathering below. Morrigan sneered. Amateurs. Trying to change stuff. Like it mattered.

Morrigan dropped down, landing with a soft thud. “Ugh, what now?” he muttered, eyes fixed on Maverick.

Maverick raised an eyebrow. “We need to talk about the Necromouser.”

Morrigan’s gaze drifted off. “Necromouser… like this place isn’t oppressive enough.”

Bramble frowned. “Bird, focus.”

He snapped back, eyes narrowing. “I focus. I focus on me. What do I get out of it?”

Neville piped up, “Ooh, do tell, old chap!”

Morrigan’s look silenced him. “I want in. I want out. I want it dark. And I want it now.”

Maverick, confused and trying to make some sense of what he just heard, nodded. “We’ll make it work.”

Morrigan snorted. “You better.”

Morrigan is a Crow (Large Bird) who is armed with a Bow and a One-handed sword.

His skills after modifiers are.

Flight

He is level 3 and comes in at 59 pennies.

Morrigan is an Emo.  However, if you ask him, he isn’t; he can’t understand what everyone has got to be so happy about and thinks all the other animals are beneath him.  He is the least likely person to volunteer for anything, and absolutely everything annoys him.

Thomas

Thomas walked determinedly, his slime trail marking the brick path like a dotted line of duty. He held a crumbled poster, Maverick’s bold letters staring up at him:

“QUALIFIED VOLUNTEERS WANTED

to promote equal opportunities for all creatures”

Thomas had memorised the words, his heart aflame. He would join. He would prove himself. He would be… THE GREATEST SNAIL WARRIOR IN HISTORY.

Following the map, Thomas slid onto a narrow path leading deeper into Cedarwood. Trees grew darker, shadows stretching like gnarled fingers. He shivered – but didn’t stop.

Hours passed. The path wound on. Finally, the Old Iron Gate loomed ahead, eerie in twilight. Thomas gulped. This was… further from his front porch than he’d ever been.

He stepped closer, reading the gate’s rusted sign: “No Junk Mail.”

Thomas straightened his shoulders. “1700 hours Arrive at Old Iron Gate.” He stepped forward.

Thomas is a Snail (using the Tortoise profile) who is armed with a one-handed mace and a heavy shield, a relic from one of his ancestors.

His skills after modifiers are.

Tough (3)

He is level 2 and comes in at 66 pennies.

Thomas is very serious, even by snail standards.  A real stickler for rules and regulations.  Everything has to be done properly and by the book.  He often rambles on about regulations that no one else has ever heard of.  Fun for Thomas is marching around like in a military parade, or polishing bits of kit, and he cannot understand why no one else enjoys it.

Maverick

Maverick’s pacing grew more agitated, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the clearing. “No dogs, definitely no dogs. Can’t trust those hounds not to… well, hunt me.”

Bramble looked up from her bow, a hint of amusement in her voice. “What about the Otter? He seemed keen.”

Maverick shook his head. “Bad vibe, sis. Don’t like him.”

_He’s too big, too_. Thought Maverick.

The Badger, who’d been quietly observing the exchange, huffed. “Aye, I’m a bit too… Badgery, ain’t I?”

Maverick shot him a tight smile. “No offence, friend. Just need people who fit the… vision.”

_And he’s bloody massive. Not having anyone bigger than me in this group._

Bramble strung her bow, eyes sparkling. “What about the mice then? They’re scuttle and scramble experts.” 

Maverick shuddered, his tail twitching. “Mice? Are you kidding? One gets in, they all follow, and before long, it’s an infestation. No mice.”

The two fell silent, the only sound the rustling of leaves. Neville, a young frog mage, emerged from the underbrush, looking eager.

“Hi! I’m Neville. I saw the flyer…”

Maverick’s expression turned calculating. Now this one… might be useful. And he’s not too big.

Maverick is a Fox, and the Leader of this hapless group.  He is armed with a two-handed sword and wears heavy armour.

His skills after modifiers are.

Strong (4)

Tough (2)

Fearless

He is level 6 and comes in at 83 pennies.

Maverick is not afraid of anyone or anything except what will happen to Bramble should anything happen to him.  He is worried that, should he let any larger animals into the group, if anything happens to him, they will take control rather than it being passed down to Bramble, his second in command.

Neville

Neville, stepped out of his cosy little house into the crisp morning air. A piece of parchment danced in the breeze, caught on a twig by his door. 

“QUALIFIED VOLUNTEERS WANTED

to promote equal opportunities for all creatures.”

He recalled the dusty tome he’d read in his teacher’s library – _The Tale of a Pig called Napoleon who had declared all animals equal_. Hmm, didn’t end well for the other animals… But that was just a story, right?

The forest’s whispers about the Necromouser bothered him more.  Neville wanted peace, not conflict, and he would do whatever he could to secure it. 

He packed a small bag, adding an extra grasshopper shortcake (just in case). His teacher, the wise Beaver, had been… let’s say, “differently-hirsute” since the Great Potion Mishap.

Neville winced, remembering the look on his teacher’s face when the wrongly mixed herbs had caused… _ahem_ “regrowth issues”. His teacher’s normally impressive fur was now… patchy.

Shrugging, Neville grinned. “He’ll thank me when the summer comes.”

He chased after the flyer as it played off into the trees, laughing. Time to find Maverick.

Neville is a young Frog armed with a staff, which counts as a one-handed weapon and the knowledge of both the Cure and Haste spells.

His skills after modifiers are.

Leaper

Swim

Delicate (2)

Weak (2)

He is level 2 and comes in at 36 pennies.

Neville is young and immature; he wants to see the fun in everything and does his best not to allow any of his many mistakes to get him down.  To Neville, everything is fun; he has absolutely no filter when it comes to laughing at things, even at the most inappropriate times.

Phillipe

Phillipe Phillop adjusted his wide-brimmed hat, giving a flourish to his cape. “Zut alors, ze time ees come, no? Ze Phillop, eet ees ready to defend ze realm against ze Necromouser scum!”

Behind the mask of his faux-French accent, a flicker of nerves betrayed him. He was, after all, just a Shakespearean actor from a humble troupe and not a dashing veteran of the cuisses de grenouille conflict.

As he packed his finest clothes and ruffled his cuffs, Phillop muttered to himself, “Alas, poor Phillop, thou hast been found out… by thyself.” He chuckled nervously, reverting to his native English.

The signs on the trees had caught his eye: Maverick’s call for ‘qualified volunteers’ to promote equal opportunities for all creatures. Phillop snorted. “Ze Phillop, eet ees qualified, no? In ze art of… of… checks notes …swashbuckling, oui!”

With a deep breath, he donned his most dashing smile and set off to find Maverick. Time to live up to the legend, even if it meant facing actual danger.

Phillipe is a Toad armed with a Sword and wearing flamboyant clothing, which counts as light armour.

His skills after modifiers for equipment include.

Strong (1)

Tough (3)

Natural Hunter.

He is level 2 and comes in at 70 pennies.

Phillipe has spent his life trying to convince the other local animals that he is a military veteran and believes that his acting skills have convinced them; however, the other animals are just humouring him. Phillipe is not deterred, however, and feels that going on a quest will add credibility to his ludicrous claims.

The Rise of the Necromouser.

The winter has bitten deep into Northymbra. The fields lie barren; the hedgerows rimed with frost.  Yet, in every tavern and burrow where beasts huddle close for warmth, the same whispers are shared — of graves disturbed, of pale lights drifting through the snow, of a shadowed figure glimpsed upon the roads after dark. Some say a Necromouser has arisen, meddling with powers best left to the deep earth.

Most dismiss such talk as the fancies of cold and fear. But not all. Travellers tell of strange happenings spreading from town to town, and a creeping unease has settled across the land. Now, a royal decree has been issued: a bounty offered to any brave souls who can uncover the truth of these rumours and end whatever darkness stirs beneath the soil.

The snows have not yet melted, and the roads remain treacherous, so the hunt must wait until spring’s thaw. But when the rivers break and the first green returns to the land, you and your companions will set out to follow the trail — to seek the source of the dread whispers, and, if fortune favours you, to bring peace once more to Northymbra.

So, that is the briefing I have received from the organiser.  It also included a few player notes, including details on where games were to be played, the fact that existing warbands could be used provided they had a Rating of 20 or less, and specific scenarios that would be played at various points in the campaign.

All those details I will cover as and when they crop up, but for now, as a complete newbie to this system, it was time to set about creating a force and giving them each their own individual character.

The Wind War in the Willows

Burrows and Badgers has been on my bookshelf for a very long time.  I bought the 1st edition and never got around to playing it.  When the 2nd edition came out, I immediately bought that too, and again it sat on the bookshelf gathering dust.

Well, that is about to change.

It was brought to my attention that my Terrainfest2025 project would not only be suitable for my Victoriana and Gothic Horror adventures, but it could also serve double duty as a good setting for some Anthropomorphic escapades.

It then turned out that the club I had recently joined was just about to start a new Burrows and Badgers campaign, and the organiser for it asked if I would be interested. Of course, I leapt at the chance.

There are loads of models from the Oathsworn range that I absolutely love; however, they often seem out of stock, and I needed these in a hurry as the campaign was launching soon.

So off to My Mini Factory to see what I could find and print out.  It was here that Goon Master came to the rescue and had plenty of options to choose from.