Flesh-eater Courts Backstory

[Mehman]

Right then, we've got something to discuss, ladies and gentlemen. What has everybody been thinking about for backstory with their Flesh-eater Courts? I've hit the wall (again) when it comes to creating something at all for these cannibals so I wanted to see what everyone else has on the table. Maybe there will be some inspiration in y'alls' work!

[TheEverchosen]

Mine all believe they are noble knights or valiant foot soldiers. 

My Varghulf sees himself as a lord mounted on a Griffon. 

Horrors as knights mounted on mighty horses. 

Flayers as paladins with lances mounted on pegasi

[Mehman]

@TheEverchosen - That sounds excellent! Keep it up !

[Mehman]

Right then, so as not to see this post go down in flames, I'm still curious as to everyone's backstory of our favourite courts. We've had one great tale, will there be more?

Personally, I've been doodling in my head and have come up with this rather rough backstory. I'm sure it will pick up as the days go by but, hey, you've got to start somewhere!

The Deathwhisper Court is the feverish dream of King Samed the White, Pariah of Tulwar Pass. In it, he sees himself as the king of a large tract of fertile land in Ulgu, the Realm of Shadows, his people villagers and farmers who are ruled over by his trusty knights and barons. Reality spins a different tale, though. The sun in those blighted lands barely reaches midday strength as the low-lying clouds continually hide it from view. While there might be arable farmland, no crop would grow to sustain the lives of the people and their supposed animals. In truth, the Deathwhisper countryside is filled with ruins-upon-ruins of fearful and sheltering humans. The rulers of the fiefdoms, the loyal knights and barons - a mixture of Crypt Flayers and Crypt Horrors, along with their respective Courtiers - husband their livestock well and only let the peasants cull what is needed at the time. During times of festive joy, though, the nobles allow their wards to indulge in fatted calfs and large boars for is it not joyous to have a full stomach?

The other bit I've been working on involves Samed the Pariah meeting a friendly Necromancer before he was "crowned king" of his land. It revolves around the pair's journeys through several Realm Gates and Realms as they search out a long lost prince. Stay tuned for that.

As for you lot, get to thinking about how your court evolved. Remember, there are many parts of our hobby and background can be just as fun as painting and playing.

[Nacnudllah]

Gormenghast von Hortlak is the mad patriarch of the von Hortlak Estate (in Ghyran, interestingly enough).  He believes himself to be the ruler of their family's lands when in actuality his heir Ilsa (Vampire Lord) wields all of the true power.  Gormenghast imagines the dank crypts beneath the family's ancestral holdings to be a glittering palace hung with beautiful tapestries detailing the exploits of his predecessors and rarely ventures into "the servants' quarters" upstairs.  Ilsa and her twin consorts Yvette and Merryk are of course merely members of his household staff.  His heirs quietly tolerate this behavior because he commands a sizable contingent of Flesh-Eaters who share in his madness and march in all their gory glory around the Estate grounds in a misplaced display of power.  If it weren't for his presence, the von Hortlaks would probably be a much more subtle vampire coven, but until he finally goes to the grave for good, his heirs must indulge his dementia.

I've had a vague family hierarchy in mind for many many years of playing Vampire Counts, but it was fun to actually type it out.

[Fenske]

Just got the battletome yesterday and have yet to read it through.

I can say that it seems the fluff creation and modelling possible ilities are endless! The Courts are found in every realm and are constantly "recruiting". This is not a new concept by any means, but it's nice to have some good fluff behind this faction of Death.

Really looking forward to reading the rest and getting some inspiration for reinforcements!

[Mehman]

Excellent stuff, @Nacnudllah! Having them set in the Realm of Life sees them in the limelight right now, doesn't it? Do you think they'll find allies in the Stormhosts that litter the land or will they only see frustrating prey? After all, it's hard to eat something that vanishes into nothingness ! Well, I'm glad you finally typed that out. That's the way we all benefit from inspiration and what-not. I'm interested to see what the future holds for Lord Gormenghast.

@Fenske - I've heard it said that this was the faction no one asked for but that everyone now loves. I think there is some truth to that. What they did was genius, in my opinion. We now have a viable faction that doesn't need to rely on the more "civilized" vampires for support (although a Necromancer or two would be nice). All we have to do is buy a normal troop box, paint one differently, and now we have a hero ready to lead our cannibals glorious soldiers to battle. This saves the company money in sculpts, lets our imaginations go wild with conversions and painting, and, in turn, there is more money for more neat stuff down the road for both of us. Anyway, I think you'll like the background in the book and remember to give us what courtly stories you make right here!

[polarbear]

31 minutes ago, Mehman said:

All we have to do is buy a normal troop box, paint one differently, and now we have a hero ready to lead our cannibals glorious soldiers to battle. This saves the company money in sculpts, lets our imaginations go wild with conversions and painting, and, in turn, there is more money for more neat stuff down the road for both of us.

I quite like this approach as well. People have always been converting troop champions to heroes, so making it an official thing to do is great. Makes me more inclined to pick up the boxes too when I can get a unit plus a hero out of it. 

[Grimnaud]

Bit long, but how's this?;

Prince Gilberd leaned over from his saddle atop his mighty hippogriff to address his loyal companion and friend, the Marquis de Rouville. "How are we provisioned? It feels as though I haven’t eaten for days!”

            The road had been long and hard. Their enemies had plagued them every step along the way, and out of the valiant band of knights and footmen that had set out, only a score remained. Beaten, battered, they still made a grand sight, banners flying and heraldry proudly proclaiming their rightful honor. Yet their journey was far from over.

“Not well my lord. The last band of thieves we ran across did not have much food on them”.

            “Is there still no signs of the castle? I dread what my Royal siblings have done in my absence. It is imperative that we return!”

            “The Baron du Combe has taken the last of the footmen out scouting. I have no doubt that he will soon return with good news sire”.

            “Very good. The baron has yet to fail in his quests. I have every confidence in him.” Gilberd looked around them. “This troubles me mightily, but I cannot recognize this place. What sorcery has occurred that a prince cannot recognize his own lands?”

            “Dark arts, surely, sire. I too long for the familiarity of the castle and court. We will find it soon”.

As though summoned by their conversation, the baron emerged out of the forest ahead of them. His fine tunic showed the wear of the past weeks, yet the baron wore it proudly. Ever the nobleman, he approached the prince and bowed graciously.

            “My Lord. There is a city up ahead.  However, we found trouble as well. It has been taken by band of fanatics. We saw them harassing the peasantry.”

            “Rouville, du Combe, give the word to attack. I might not recognize these lands, yet they are mine, and I will not have my people threatened!”

 

Anton frowned down at his empty cup. He was down to three skins of Arbour red, and there was no telling when more could be had. To banish the temptation of another glass, he stod and looked at the ruins in the darkness beyond their campfires.

            “The lack of faith in these lands disturbs me, Bertram. For every soul that have sought our help, twenty have had to be cleansed.”

The warrior priest barely looked up from the tome resting on his lap. “What did you expect witch hunter? These lands have been devoid of Sigmar’s light for too long. Though the Hammers have made them safe from the hordes of Chaos for now, it will take years to remove the taint.”

Anton sneared. “Better to burn it out then. Sigmar can save those he wishes after they have been cleansed.”

Bertram smiled, though his attention was still in his book. “Are all witch hunters so quick to judge Anton? Half of our followers here have been rescued from the wastelands outside of Azyr, yet now there are hardly more devout servants of Sigmar found even within the Shining Walls.

“Their faith remained pure Bertram. Here we have found nothing worth saving but those who have run from their own kin. Skulking in the shadows, weak, pathetic. And yet those with the backbone to fight have fought each other rather than standing against Chaos. Feeding of each other to survive. Abandoning all humanity for another day of life. What is courage without faith?”

 The priests answer was cut short by a wailing shriek in the distance. Anton had his pistol in his hand instantly, years of training taking over. “HOI! On your feet! We’re under attack!”

As their faithful followers scrambled to their feet, grabbing their flails and weapons, Bertram put aside his tome and began singing a chant of purification as he took up his blessed warhammer. His rich baritone echoed of the surrounding structures as Anton moved around their camp giving orders.

“Stay within the light! Stay alert!” He could see their confidence strengthen as they joined Bertram in their chant. He might have preferred trained soldiers, but there really was no doubting the faith and valor of the men who had followed them to cleanse these wastelands.

In the darkness a voice cried out but was abruptly silenced. “The sentries! Give the signal for the rest of them to return. And pray to Sigmar for whoever that was.” As one of the men raised the horn to his lips, another scream tore through the night, making the effort futile.

“Form up! I want eyes in all directions” Anton barked out orders as he rejoined Bertram in the center of the camp. The warrior priest was still leading the chant, his hammer held still in his hands. Anton could still not see the enemy, but he was sure that they were there in the darkness. At the edge of their camp one of the men must have heard something, and beckoned another to help him investigate. Only their backs were visible as they moved out of the light. High-pitched shrieks followed by screams proclaimed their fate.

“Stay within the light, damn you!” Anton screamed.

Minutes passed, counted out by the blood pounding in their chests, and the verses in the chant of purification. Shadows were moving beyond the ring of light, yet their foes had still not revealed themselves. As the last verse ended, all was still. For a moment everyone stood frozen.

The Terrorgheist’s shriek broke the silence as it dived, unleashing a flood of monsters from every direction. From all sides they were being assaulted, ghouls dragging them screaming of into the night, monsters the size of horses wading through the carnage, felling men with each brutal blow of their clubs and claws. At the center of it all the Terrorgheist landed. Anton took aim at the monstrous creature on its back as Bertram raises his hammer and charged. His shot hit the creature squarely in the chest. Bertram had not been so fortunate. Before his hammer could even connect the Terrorgheist had sunk its maw deep into his chest. The broken pieces of the warrior priest were shaken apart as the creature lunged forward into the fray. Anton scrabbled for his other pistol as he looked down at the tattered remains of his friend.

Impossibly fast, the Ghoul King was before him. Anton felt a blow to his chest. His hand was going limp, the pistol falling out of his useless grip. Horrified he saw the bullet wound in the monsters chest reknit itself as the Ghoul King leaned in. “This is my land fanatic” it hissed, tearing Antons heart from his chest.

 

 

Gilberd looked around the clearing. The fray had been short and onesided. He broke into laughter when he saw the Marquis going through the remains of the fanatics camp.

“My god, Rouville! Did you run at them head first? I can barely seen your armour for all the blood!”

The massive Varghulf bowed to its lord before returning to its feast. Absentmindedly munching on the witch hunters heart, Gilberd wandered off.

Drawn by the smell of blood, scores of the cities inhabitants had gathered a bit away from the camp. Beyond starvation, they could hardly be called people at all. Dressed in rags, they were tearing into the remains of a fanatic that had been dragged away from the fray. Cowering every time a ghoul looked in their direction, the hunger and desperation was evident on them. As Gilberd wandered closer, they froze, held captive by the magnetic aura of the Ghoul King. He looked out at the peasants gathered before him, their joy at seeing their lord and savior clear in their eyes.

“Fear not, for your lord has returned. Under my protecting hand this land will flourish once more.”

As one they fell to their knees and bowed as he passed. Order had been restored.

 

 

What the hall had once been was impossible to tell. Gilberd had wandered the the city aimlessly, paying the ruins or the wreckage blocking his way no mind. He had been drawn here. He stepped over the broken down doors and entered. The night sky was visible through glassless windows and crumbling walls. From the floor at the end of the hall he picked up a rusted metal band. Whether it had been part of a wheel or a barrel, in the Ghoul Kings strong hands it was soon twisted and bent.

Gilberd looked down at his fathers crown. This wrong would be avenged.

 

 

They had all gathered in the hall for the coronation. The Marquis du Rouville had been given the honor of placing the crown on his prince’s head. Knights and commoners alike cheered as he solemnly lowered the crown on the kneeling Gilberd and proclaimed him king. Holding a hand for silence Gilberd rose.

“It has been a long and hard journey to find our way back to this hall. You have all demonstrated great valor and loyalty through trying times. Know that you will be rewarded. I am returned to my rightful place, and I will not stop until this land is once more healed from the ravages of my siblings! Now, let us feast!”

Hundreds of hissing ghouls starred as corpses, carcasses, and sweet, squealing captives were carried into the hall. The King had returned to his court, and their tables would once more be filled with flesh.

[Mehman]

@Grimnaud - Good dark gods... I'm going to save this to read later because, y'know, the length! I went ahead and skimmed it. Excellent. Don't go and get a big head over this comment though.

EDIT: Having just finished the tale, I can say that it truly was worth the read. The madness evident in the ghoulish host was executed perfectly. It even gave me an idea or two for when I come to write a snippet or two for my own Court. Excellent work, indeed!

[Nicholas Bollaert]

Because all the Courts' madness are linked to the actual madness and backstory of the Carrion King, I haven't gone whole hog on new fluff as much as I would have liked.  But I am thinking about it.

[Mehman]

On June 2, 2016 at 10:57 AM, Nicholas Bollaert said:

Because all the Courts' madness are linked to the actual madness and backstory of the Carrion King, I haven't gone whole hog on new fluff as much as I would have liked.  But I am thinking about it.

If something in the backstory impedes your personal creativity, disregard it and plow forward - it's idea planting time !

What happens if my Ghoul King's insanity was spurred by something else? Just because they're linked doesn't make them clones of one another.

[Nicholas Bollaert]

Agreed!  It just hasn't been at the forefront of my thoughts, but I will still be doing it :-)

[Eppelwhat]

In the glorious lands of the Shire of Worcestershire, the brave knights and courtiers of the Flesh Eater Court are ruled by Mad King Gorepuppet, advised wisely by his Aborrent Sage.