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//-->WARHAMMER: BLOOD IN THE SNOWThis was madness, thought Lars Holt as he trudged through the knee-deep snow. There is a very good reason that armies didn’t march during the winter,and Lars couldn’t fathom why he and his lads had been called to arms and led off into the winter snows. They were Talabeclanders! They weren’t a bunchof raucous, brawling Middenlanders, whose penchant for shaggy hair and beards would’ve been far better suited to such conditions. He had heard someold farmhand say that Ulric protects his own, and he was starting to wonder if he should ask the god of wolves and winter what he could do about hiscurrent predicament.They had been trudging south-west through the snow for days now, marching across the Barren Hills and off towards Unterbaum. A bunch of peasants hadgotten themselves killed there, the selfish bastards. It was Beastmen apparently, and Lars hated Beastmen. Not that he cared at this point in time. Rightnow, he would quite happily trade in his own mother-in-law for a flask of brandy to warm his belly. In fact, he’d probably do it for a single swig.Lars wasn’t sure, but he could swear that the storm was deteriorating. As much as his toes felt like they could drop off any moment and he could barely holdonto his halberd, he could just about put up with the snow. But this? Sigmar’s bones, it was getting worse! The blizzard had been gradually condensing,and the sharp sleet pouring down in sheets was starting to lacerate his exposed skin. If it wasn’t for the fact that he would be left on his own, and in themiddle of nowhere, he would’ve almost considered desertion. Oh well, Lars thought with a resigned shrug. Maybe the weather will turn.It didn’t. In fact, the weather had gotten even worse. Lightning now wracked the sky and the wind was blowing something fierce. As if that hadn’t beenenough, General Tulwitz had only gone and led them straight into an ambush, despite scouting ahead from atop his Griffon. A Beastmen warherd. Larsshould’ve known; it was the only way things could’ve gotten even more damnable. The Talabeclanders marched five-hundred strong, yet they were stilloutnumbered a good three times over. The cannons had been overrun before they had even been unlimbered from their horses. Oh well, thought Lars witha wry smile as he hefted his halberd. Maybe his luck will turn.It didn’t. In fact, his luck had pretty much run out. If he wasn’t destined to die at the end of a Beastman’s blade, or get trampled to bits by a rampagingGhorgon, Lars was pretty sure that the weather was going to finish the job instead. As it was, General Tulwitz had already been blasted clean out of the skyby a stray lightning bolt. How the mighty had quite literally fallen. He didn’t mind that the pompous old fool was dead, but the Griffon he rode around on wasa vicious critter, and would be pretty damned useful right about now. So much for that.Lars and his lads were busy sticking it to some horn-headed freaks at the moment, though these were only the runts of the litter. Ungors, the woodsmencalled them. Not much of a challenge for his hardy lads. Lars had trained them well. The true test would come when their larger cousins finished choppingup Randalf’s gunners. If only they had spent more time practicing with their blades than they had polishing their fancy handguns, they might not be faring sobadly. But who was he kidding? They were facing Minotaurs – ten-foot tall amalgams of steely sinew and mindless rage. Lars could only wince as he sawRandalf picked up by one of the monstrous beasts and torn bloodily in half above its head. Evidently not sated by the crimson shower that splashed itsface, the minotaur held Randalf’s rent torso over its open maw and drank greedily as his innards spilled forth into its mouth.Lars was so appalled by the minotaur’s gory display of greed that he retched what little food he had eaten for lunch all down his breastplate. It was all hecould do to avoid being skewered by an Ungor’s spear as he did so, twisting to take its rusty point in the shoulder instead of his chest. Roaring in pain, Larstore himself free and brought his halberd slamming down, bifurcating the insolent creature’s head in a spray of blood, splintered skull and grey matter.The Ungors had evidently had enough by now, turning tail and fleeing into the storm. Lars wasn’t going to let them off that easy. They had lost plenty ofgood men to their stabbing spears. He and his halberdiers gave chase, chopping down the cowardly beasts as they ran. It was at that point that they facedthe minotaurs. Damn, but they were huge. Lars and his lads were no pushover when it came to a good fight, but he had no illusion as to what was about tohappen. But then, over the din of the storm, Lars heard a roaring noise. It definitely wasn’t the Minotaurs. And the sky was getting even darker. The windwas really beginning to pick up too. Lars cursed to himself, ‘Oh, holy Sigmar, no! Not that!’A violently rotating column of air had spiralled its way towards the ground in the distance and was starting to head their way. The cyclone was a swirlingmass of brooding cloud as black as coal, its funnel wreathed in lightning that spat and coursed from its howling core. It was a darkstorm tornado – Lars hadheard tell of them, but never in his worst nightmares did he expect to encounter one, let alone be fighting for his life when he did so.Lost to their blood frenzy, the Minotaurs hadn’t noticed the danger steadily creeping up behind them. They were only interested in their next meal andbellowed in mindless fury as they thundered forwards. Lars was a canny one, though, and wasn’t going to hang about. He could see that the darkstorm wasgoing to reach them before the Minotaurs did and had no intention of staying there to welcome death from either of them. The last thing Lars heard as helegged it for cover was the low braying of the Minotaurs turn into howls of bestial panic as they were swept up by the murderous winds and lost to the storm.During the cold months of winter, an army on the march is a rare sight indeed. With the notable exceptions of the humid jungles of Lustria andthe Southlands, much of the Warhammer world is blanketed beneath heavy snows and subjected to freezing temperatures. Even the Winds ofMagic respond to the wintery cold much as its inhabitants do, the Wind of Ghyran blowing feebly whilst that of Azyr gusts its ascendancy acrossthe lands. Only the boldest – or most foolhardy – commander would attempt to lead an army on the march before springtime, when winter’smerciless grip on the land begins to weaken at last. Yet as the world grows darker and the End Times draw ever closer, these desperatemeasures are becoming increasingly commonplace.Battles in winter are always brutal and bloody affairs, with both sides pitting their strength against the weather conditions as much as each other.Supply lines are especially hard to maintain, for the beasts and bandits of the world grow in confidence as the days grow shorter, and will readilyprey upon caravans that are not adequately defended. For its part, the harsh winter climate is impartial in its murderous assault on those whowould defy its wrath. As the snow is stained crimson with the blood of the slain, the hapless combatants are beset by iceshard blizzards anddeadly lightning murderstorms.THE ARMIESEach player chooses his force from aWarhammerarmy book to an equal points value before the game.THE BATTLEFIELDDEPLOYMENTSet up the battlefield as described on page 142 of theWarhammerrulebook or in a mutually agreeable manner.Roll off to see which player picks the half of the table they will deploy in. Their opponent deploys in the other half.Units may be placed anywhere in their half that is more than 12" from the centre line.Players take it in turns to place units on the table, using the alternating unit method of deployment described on page 142 of theWarhammerrulebook.FIRST TURNRoll off after deployment to see which player takes the first turn. The player that finished deploying his army first adds +1 to his roll.GAME LENGTHThe battle lasts for six game turns, or until a time limit agreed by the players is reached, whichever comes first.VICTORY CONDITIONSUse victory points to determine the winner of the battle, as described on page 143 of theWarhammerrulebook.Designer’s Note:As much as this scenario uses the same core scenario rules as Battleline, the special rules described can be used just as readily forany of the other Pitched Battle scenarios (see page 141 of the Warhammer rulebook) as well.SCENARIO SPECIAL RULESAethyric Winter:The casting value of all spells from the Lore of Life are increased by 2. The casting value of all spell from the Lore of Heavens are [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]