Wulfric and his band of warriors have arrived in the damned city of Mordheim, hungry for conquest and loot.
Wulfric himself seeks the glory of battle, to prove himself to Khorne with scores of skulls, and his men follow in his bloodlust willingly.

But their sorceror, Sitri Andrometus, seeks a different goal. He yearns for the possession of a certain unholy relic, no doubt worshipped by some cult deep within the underdark of mordheim. The dark whispers and voices within his head demand this, and so it shall be.

Zyzz had come into being a mercenary Captain rather suddenly, all things considered. One day, a man's a (semi) professional bodybuilder; respected among peers, an inspiration to his fans, and building a growing legacy. The next, plucked off the street by an affluent, if eccentric, recluse who wouldn't stop blathering about something called Wyrdstone. It had been nearly three weeks since Zyzz had met his 'colleagues', and only one since his warband was dumped into Mordheim without so much as a map. Their instructions were clear: make a profit, or don't return to Reikland.

Don't return? Sounds easy enough...

Frustrated by the seemingly imposing castle door, Wulfric smashes against the wooden mass with his twin axes.
Much to his surprise, the rotted wood gives way, clearing a path for him and his warband.
Seemingly upon the cusp of battle, he orders his men to run into ruined fortress, to overwhelm out any possible defenders.

This is a great fortress. Perhaps we could store our loot here.

Sitri paces forward, anticipating a battle. He ponders to himself, to crowd out the voices within.

Heavy air clouds this fetid place.FIND the ARTEFACT Sitri, BRING it to US It is rife with the glorious OBEY your MASTER CHAOS of opportunity

A pungent odor wafted through the air, accompanied by the scratching of claws and mad baying of man and beast alike. Zyzz's heart skipped a beat; the unmistakable presence of a Chaos warband.

"Chaos wretches approach! To me!"

As the hounds approach the other side of the castle, they smell the Reiklander warband.
Their slavering jaws are wet with anticipation, for men are much finer fare than sewer rats and rotted corpses.
Wulfric notices their averted eyes, and screams
WELL, IT LOOKS LIKE WE'VE GOT COMPANY! FORM RANKS!

His men halt behind him, awaiting the order to charge the enemy.

Sitri makes haste towards the khornate champion, keen to witness the slaughter to come. The voices insist that it be so.

Ahnuld let loose an arrow, as the demented hounds crested the slope; a curt yelp marked the end of its pitiful existence. The Reikland warriors rallied around Captain Zyzz, and while confident in their armor, were ultimately apprehensive of the coming skirmish. Chaos has that effect on normal men.

Ahnuld let loose an arrow, as the demented hounds crested the slope; a curt yelp marked the end of its pitiful existence. The Reikland warriors rallied around Captain Zyzz, and while confident in their armor, were ultimately apprehensive of the coming skirmish. Chaos has that effect on normal men.

Sitri casts flickering flames of Tzeentch! A pair of screaming missiles are borne from his staff, chasing between the marauders like festival fireworks.
They seek the spearman, and dash themselves upon his reikland armor.



But the spearman is left unharmed, as the fickle flames dissolve into ash, ember, and smoke upon him.



The warhounds charge, oblivious of their doom! One is impaled by the spearman, while another is struck down by the captain.
Such is the favor of chaos. But lo, a single swordsman was similarly struck down, mauled by another hound.

Wulfric and his band run towards the clash of metal and bone, his men screaming pagan battlecries. The smell of blood and battle entices Wulfric, and he bellows deeply:

MEET YOUR DOOM MANLINGS! MY TWIN AXES SHALL END YOU!

A Reiklander arrow deftly soars on the dead winds of Mordheim, city in ruin; loosed by one of the finest marksmen of the Vaegirs, it would soon find its home.



The arrow's home being a special place in the Chaos champion's heart, where only hate resided, as it connected with a Khornate horn. Zyzz and his men are drenched in blood, as the brawl with the two remaining Chaos warhounds turns out to be inconclusive. The spearmen offers words of impunity to the swiftly-approaching marauders.

The Reikland spearman taunts the khorne warrior,
I bet your daddy was an orc you half-wit troll-breathed ARSE!



He tries to strike the massive warrior, but his spear glances off the blood red armor.
Before he even strikes, Wulfric stares down the small man before him. A man before him, not even worthy of insult.



Only death!



The warhounds and men close in on the few remaining reiklanders, while the axethrowers miss their vital shots, and the sorceror suffers from magical dysfunction (can't even get a spell up poor lad)

Two arrows fly out from the building's upper window, and find their marks inside the sorcerer and his unfortunate, unwitting meatshield. The wounds proved not to be incapacitating, but certainly painful.

So, this was a fun experiment for Faggins and I on playing mordheim. Unfortunately for Leadpumper, the custom chaos warband I picked was incredibly overpowered. We rolled for the next two turns, and I basically demolished the rest of his melee guys and last archer, while his men suffered a rout test and ran away. After this wonderful occurence, we're deciding to switch to coreheim rules (as mordheim was pretty confusing for everyone involved) but we'll plan to have another match in this thread, soon enough.

Although short as it was, it was a good fight.