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About Me

  1. Hey friends and fellow generals of the Mortal Realms, sorry if this feels like superfluous post compared to what I'm sure are many other pressing matters with the Beta(please don't smite me too hard mods from your rightful positions in Azyr, and a boulder hurled from Ghur by King Brodd). But it struck me that despite how much i'm liking the new app(really smooth searches) I noticed that they left out factionless Scenery Warscrolls entirely. Here's a link to Legends so people can see the older Scenery warscrolls if they don't know what they added to a battle and don't have the AoS2 app to check yet.(2.0 did streamline them a bit which was good though I still loved the older fence's "signpost to war" gave a movement buff. What a fun detail!) https://www.warhammer-community.com/legends/ Now it is only Beta so they want the shiny factions and endless spells people really care about front and center (though Endless Spells could use a Malign Portents page) but I think it's still valuable to bring this up as all that scenery has such great narrative fluff and flavor that really enhance the battles in the Mortal Realms. It'd be a true shame if this oversight kept someone from stumbling on the fun the Realmgates can bring with quick moving armies or the Occulum and Archway amplifying mystical terrain effects on the field causing even heavier shifts in what an army might aim for as an advantage. My second part on Warscroll fluff/flavor came from seeing some people on Facebook give feedback that the warscrolls don't need anything but rules. I'm definitely of the opinion the flavor texts need to 100% stay(and even have more of it!) The ongoing battle between players who just want to play the game and players who want to be immersed as generals in the Mortal Realms. Which mind can be necessary as we saw with Realm Rules that went from huge lists of purely narrative things to watered down matched play bonuses to now where they strike a great seasonal balance to be hefty enough to please lore lovers and efficiency ruled enough so Matched players don't seem them as unbalanced messes of fluff. In short: when you put in feedback please say something for regular scenery warscrolls and to keep the flavor texts. Mods if this seems unnecessary or "ranty" then by all means delete this thread. I just wanted to get a few more people aware of what made the Azyr App such a joy to browse through even with no games in mind. Best of fortune to all of you and that the new app can become something great.
  2. Hello! I am preparing a mutli-layered present box for my brother to get him into AoS. I know he is into Khorne (in 40k at least) but can't afford another army. So far he wasn't hooked by AoS due to my other brother's Stromcast stomping him while he playtested Daughters of Khaine. The box will include 700+ Points worth of Blades of Khorne and the Battletome. Each layer contains several models and the final layer includes the Battletome. I wanted to make this special with each layer being seperated by one or two scorched pages with Khorne Fluff inscribed on them. I want to symbolize how he strides further and further on the path of khorne until he finally serves Khorne utterly with opening the final layer, which is the Battletome. I was looking for hints on short fluff texts I can use but I was unable to find any so far. So I was hoping you could help me out. I am looking for prayers to khorne, short stories and descriptions of the red feast, eight lamentations etc. Any help is highly appreciated!
  3. Hey Guys! I'm trying to find any fluff or writings or ANYTHING where the Kharadron Overlords interact with a Clan of Fyreslayers or vice versa. I'm a big Dwarf fan myself (currently collecting KO, Dispossessed, and LoA) and I love to see the interactions between the factions. I'm about halfway through Overlords of the Iron Dragon and listened to Realmslayer in it's entirety, so along with any interactions between the dwarven factions, any newer dwarven fluff-stuff would be appreciated as well.
  4. Clan Prepnik This blog is dedicated to my Skaven clan. Please excuse me in advance for the language errors, as I am not a native speaker. I am French but I will do my best to share my clan tales in English. I intend to combine fluff, hobby and play in this blog with stories, pictures of my models, battle reports and list building. I warmly welcome any feedback and hope you enjoy the read. The story of Clan Prepnik originates from the one of Grey Seer Bouldrak, its chieftain. A long time ago, Bouldrak was imprisoned by his sneaky-treacherous acolyte, and consumed with a powerful spell of Black Hunger. For weeks, Bouldrak was left with nothing but his basest instincts, devoured by a terrible need to feed. But he resisted. “Bouldrak is destined to great success, yes-yes. A confident of the Horned Rat cannot starve like a weak-foul skavenslave! No starving anymore, never-never”, he swore. The fear of hunger was born, and it led Bouldrak ever since. Grey Seer Bouldrak, chieftain of Clan Prepnik The birth of Clan Prepnik Once Bouldrak escaped his prison and exterminated his treacherous acolyte, he began to build the largest and greatest food supplies of Skavendom. There will be so much food in this reserve, he thought, that all Skaven, Human-things, Dwarf-things and other weaklings will swear allegiance to him once the Black Hunger strikes all. They will have no choice but to beg Bouldrak or die of starvation. Bouldrak recruited dozens of gullible and starving Skavens of the streets of Blight City and they all fled for Aqshy, the Realm of Fire. This was the perfect place to build a secret stockpile. Nobody would suspect Skaven farming on some arid aqshian land, he thought. Clan Prepnik was born. Thanks to the devoted clanrats and the dangerous power of warpstone, Clan Prepnik managed to farm black corn on Aqshy to a very successful and profitable extent. The supplies grew exponentially, along with the clan population. Aside from farming, Clan Prepnik further increases its supplies through raids, extortion, blackmail and trade in Aqshy and elsewhere. The resources allowed to build a fortified place to keep all this food safe. The organisation of Clan Prepnik Clan Prepnik lives off its tremendous amount of food. Some is traded for warpstone, weapons, resources, machines, slaves and beasts. Most of the supplies comes from black corn farming, which no other Skaven clan masters more than Clan Prepnik. The black corn is kept in gigantic silos guarded by the Grainkeepers, elite stormvermins completely consumed by fear of the black hunger. Bouldrak prematurely expose them to the same treatment he has received: being imprisoned with a spell of black hunger until they either die or escape loyal to Bouldrak. They are no Skaven more loyal to him than the Grainkeepers, and they are thus the ones who are trusted (more or less) to guard the supplies. The leader of the Grainkeepers is Clawlord Snut Grainsplitter. The legend tells he can split a black corn grain in the air. Clawlord Snut Grainsplitter The silos are often the target of great envy, including among some low rats of Clan Prepnik who do not always understand why food must be kept safe rather than eaten quick-now. If a thief were to be caught stealing from the silos after having avoided the Grainkeepers, Clawlord Snut Grainsplitter, Grey Seer Bouldrak (who lives in the silos) and the various traps, he would be condemned to die of starvation in the very silos of his envy. Bouldrak monitors the population of Clan Prepnik very closely. With this much food, it would be easy to expand to a very large number of Skaven, and this is sometimes done before battle to provision for the dead to come. Yet having too many members would put the food supplies on stress and run the risk of not having enough food in reserve. The members of Clan Prepnik are given just the food they need, served as some sort of foul black porridge. Females are genetically bred to have small litters, and carefully monitored by experienced Packmasters and Bouldrak himself. When the population gets too high, a certain number of clanrats are imprisoned and left starving together, until one Skaven emerges as the sole survivor and gets promoted to Clawleader. Clanrats of Clan Prepnik The banner and rune of Clan Prepnik When clanrats are not at war, they endlessly toil in the black corn fields. The manual labour is eased to some extent by the machines and foul brewages of Clan Skryre. Arch-Warlock Deerik supervises these unholy inventions to the greatest yet suspicious satisfaction of Bouldrak. Warpfire Throwers burn what is left to burn on Aqshy to make space for the crops. Gas-masked rats known as the Cornraisers throw globes of foul warpstone-infused pesticide all around to kill whatever or whoever wants to stop the never-ending cycle of black corn. Curiously, the life expectancy of clanrats toiling the fields is quite low, even to Skaven standards... Arch-Warlock Deerik The Cornraisers spreading foul pesticides Clan Moulder provides Clan Prepnik with huge beasts to run enormous mills. When they are not a war either, Rat Ogors and Stormfiends push millstones in circle all day and night to transform black corn into some sort of dark flour used in ignoble preparations. Rat Ogors bred by Clan Moulder Bouldrak is currently considering involving Clan Pestilens and Clan Eshin to begin his masterplan of spreading Black Hunder throughout Aqhsy and the Mortal Realms. Gnawholes are being pierced throughout the Mortal Realms as you read this story. Perhaps one has even appeared in your backyard while you were asleep... <To be continued on this blog>
  5. Introduction One of the things I really like about the latest Warhammer 40,000 releases for 'The Gathering Storm' is the idea of a Triumvirate. This was a word I had not heard before and as well as sounding very cool I also liked the meaning behind it: I have also recently been thinking about backstory writing for my Age of Sigmar mixed Order army, and as I recently finished my third centre-piece model for the army (A Freeguild General on Griffon), it seemed the perfect chance to add my own "Triumvirate" into my army. The Roots of the Story: When Age of Sigmar first came out, I put together a backstory for my army called 'Siegfried's Desperados'. I had a blog on Dakkadakka which was quite popular at the time, perhaps because it was one of the safe havens away from the heat the game was getting from some disgruntled veterans (especially on Dakkadakka). You can check out the thread here if you are interested: https://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/list/663727.page To summerise, the initial background I created for my army was that they were a mercenary outfit (called the 'Desperados') operating out of Azyrheim. I wanted to add a bit more grey and a bit more low fantasy into the backstory (as it was something Age of Sigmar didn't really have at the time), so I came up with some hooks and ideas of the dark side of aelven society in Azyrheim (lots of intrigue and assassinations among the nobles), the ideas of slums in the city, and that a mercenary outfit might employ a necromancer in their ranks. This was also an excuse to add in Aelves, Duardin and even Death into my army which was all a lot of fun to play with before the General's Handbook came out. But since the General's Handbook came out the narrative and story behind my army has taken the backseat. I have been focusing a lot more on Matched play and my narrative outlet has been with Hinterlands. As the recently finished Freeguild General on Griffon was meant to be Siegfried Stormhart once more, I thought it would be fun to update the story of the Desperados, and so the Triumvirate was born. The Triumvirate of Mistmire; Master Geppetto, Siegfried Stormhart and the alchemist, Massym Al-Izzar Creating a Triumvirate: I want to throw out the question to all of you, what cool Triumvirates could you add into your collection? All you would need are the following: 1. 3 Cool Models 2. A Cool Story that connects them For me, I had my 3 Centrepieces. The Griffon, the Steamtank and the Hurricanum. I wanted them to have some sort of purpose other than being in an army together, so I decided to bring back the old Necromancer I used to run in the Desperados pre-GHB. He goes by the name 'Cornacaprious'. I decided that he has since betrayed the Desperados, and has resurrected an ancient vampire (with the title of the "Blood Queen"). This gives me a reason to finally paint my Neferata model and also gives the triumvirate a goal to accomplish (they of course seek to kill both the Necromancer and the Blood Queen). So with the scene set, I put together a 4 pages as if they were from a campaign book and detailed my Triumvirate of Mistmire. I would love to hear what you think, but more importantly I hope this inspires you all to go off and create a Triumvirate for one of your armies too. My Triumvirate:
  6. Version 1.0.0

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    This campaign book includes 5 battleplans, Artefacts, Spells, Prayers, and more to help bring your Warhammer Skirmish battles into the Dark Age of Sigmar. Explore a ruined city with Rewards of Battle tables that tell the story of warbands exploring a ruined city. Follow the Shepherds of Rot as they traverse the Ruins of Hammerstadt in Ghyran. Also, the book includes three Quests for your warband to pursue as they battle and explore.
  7. As the Kastellan drew closer his witch sight began to make out the arcane warding that pervaded the place, and had sealed the ancient tomb shut. There was the symbol of rest. There the glyph of containment. Nine runes of binding glowed faintly around the dais that the tomb rested upon. Senechal Konstantine reached out to the traces of magic, seeking to discover their creator. The weaving of magic was subtle, but had an unmistakable flair. Their author was not a humble spell weaver, no there was power there. There was confidence, pride. The vampire drew his conscious back with a start. Neferata, Queen of Lies and Mortarch of Blood. Whatever lay at rest in this box, the Tyrant of Nulahmia herself had sealed away. The Kastellan proceeded up the onyx steps of the dais with caution, his muscles taunt in expectation. Finally he stood over the Iron-Bound coffin. What could have been so terrible that Neferata herself had seen fit to seal it away? Why would Arkhan want it released? Konstitine shook his head, it did not matter. Arkhan had commanded Konstintine would obey. The Kastellan gathered himself, and set to work unbinding the myriad spells. The vampire's brow furrowed, he felt his mind strain to the breaking point at the extreme difficulty in unweaving such a masterful tapestry of magic. Finally he could take no more, Konstintine stumbled and caught himself on the edge of the tomb. A chill jolted up his arm, Konstintine tried to recoil and found himself stuck in place. The air in the crypt began to move, slowly at first but soon whipped into a fierce gale. The howling wind sounded like the screams of damned souls. The seals Konstintine had been working so hard to dispel flared in strain and the tomb beneath him began to shudder. The Vampire pulled back with all of his unnatural might in a desperate attempt to free himself from whatever trap he had fallen into but he could not. Pain erupted up his arm as a shock of black lightning ripped up his trapped limb, burning the flesh away. Beneath Konstintine the tomb exploded in a blast of magical energy, flinging the wounded vampire across across the barrow. The Kastellan crashed against the rough stone wall with a groan, weakly raising his head to gaze upon the terror he had unleashed. Gazing down back at him, framed in the unnatural glow of wraith fire was a towing wight clad in tarnished baroque maroon and gold plate armor emblazoned with the symbols of death. Upon the wight's skull sat a massive horned helm with a bristling red plume. I am Krell. Lord of Undeath and Mortarch of Despair. The skull of this Krell did not move yet his commanding voice echoed throughout the barrow mound, originating from nowhere and seemingly sounding from every corner of existence. Konstintine scrambled to his feet, and simply stood, mouth agape at the thing in front of him. Krell. He had never heard of any Krell. Then again, he had never paid much attention at all to the hundreds of thousands of deathrattle empires that the wight kings rule over. And yet this Krell had named himself a Mortarch, no mere petty potentate, an equal to Konstintine's master, and to his jailer Queen Neferata herself. Such a thing seemed impossible. That this Krell could be amongst the vaunted Deathlords and for a right hand of Arkhan the most foremost of their number to know nothing of him... It made no sense. Finally sense returned to the bewildered vampire. Konstintine was wounded, exhausted and in no shape to duel with this Krell who may or may have been a mortarch, but whose aura of immense power was palpable in the air. With this in mind, the vampire knelt in the dirt before the massive skeleton. “Hail Krell,” he addressed the wight “Allow me to introduce myself, your lordship. I am Konstintine of House Tervyrn, Kastellan of the Knightly Order of the Blood Wolf. I am here on the orders of his holiness Arkhan, the Mortarch of the Sacrament.” I care little for you name. What is your purpose in releasing me? Speak. “I am afraid I do not know, your lordship. I know only that my master asked me to.” Take me to him, leech. “Pardon me?” Konstintine responded in surprise. Temporarily losing his veneer of polite obedience he stood definitely and sneered “One does not simply demand an audience with my master, wight.” The Kastellan realized his mistake immediately. The wind in the chamber began to howl again, wraith light blazed in Krell's eyes, black lightning cracked through the air blasting holes into the stone. The wight lifted a massive black bladed ax in one hand and began to walk towards Konstintine at a deathly slow pace. I am Krell the Lord of Undeath, and Mortarch of despair. I will be obeyed. Take me to Arkhan or I will destroy you and seek him out myself. “My apologies, your lordship. Please allow me to redeem myself.” Konstintine fell back to his knees “I can lead you to my master, your lordship. Please.” Krell's pace never faltered, the heavy clank of his antique plate heralded each deliberate step. “Your lordship, I swear to you, I will take you to Arkhan directly. Only I know of his location with any certainty, I beseech you, listen to me.” Krell continued his march all the way past the trembling Vampire and into the tunnel leading into the starless night. Come, miserable leech, lead me to Arkhan the Black. Konstintine sucked his teeth. Hate burned through every fiber of his being. Krell was too strong for him to duel outright, but perhaps he could lead the wight into ruin. Thus he is most the master when playing the slave. Yes. This is what he was doing. And it was a brave thing, surely, to plot and attempt the betrayal of such a mighty being. Yes. He was brave, and he was in control of the situation.
  8. Hello - first thread Beyond the change in tone and approach to the more recent AOS fluff (mostly 2017-2018), I'm sure many of you noticed some "retcons" in the "up-to-date" fluff, starting with January Maggotkin of Nurgle Battletome : 1. Nurgle Lord Gutrot Spume does not come from Norsca anymore, but from a coastal village in Ghyran (unlike the Glottkin, still said to be from the World-that-was). 2. The Brimstone Peninsula isn't anymore attached to the Ashlands in the Flameworlds sub-realm of Aqshy (from Godbeasts), but is now set in the Great Parch, on the continent called Khul's Ravage (see attachment). I quite like those changes I found for the better, as Spume is now well established in AOS with notably Plague Garden, and his "screen time" in WFB was short. I also vastly prefer the Great Parch and existant Mortal Realms cosmology than the more vague and often contradictory one found in the initial fluff. Also, the Brimstone Peninsula map itself (from the first AOS "main book", and from Quest for Ghal Maraz) is not invalidated, it's the Godbeasts one that isn't valid anymore. We just need to know where the Solar Drake Ignax was in fact really held chained before being freed (as it's still official fluff, reading the timeline on the MP website). My questions (I guess, mostly for the narrative players and hobbyists ) : - What do you think of those changes ? - Have you spotted other "retcons" like those two ? (P.-S. ; I guess we'll see more of those, as this year was already rich on new and expanded background (Malign Portents, DoK and Idoneth stuff about Slaanesh, etc.), and promises to be even richer with the new Core Book 200 pages of fluff and later the AOS RPG).
  9. Hey, folks. I made an interactive story as the origin of my Ironjawz army. Here's a link: http://chumak.io/twine-megaboss-charnush/ I wanted at least the boss to have a more complex motivation than the usual Ironjawz "biggest, baddest and out to prove it". So I figured what if he's Waaagh!-deaf and doesn't get what the fuss is all about (probably thinks it's all a scam by those pesky shamans!). Anyway, I hope you like! Any and all feedback is super welcome. If you're curious about the technical side, it's a Twine story hosted on GitHub Pages. Cheers. (:
  10. Hi everyone, brand new to the site and to AoS in general. I’m trying to decide on a faction. My friend, who is also brand new, was immediately drawn to Order. I’m thinking Death. My question is: When the chips are down, and it’s ‘end of days’ level of seriousness, would Death and Order side together against Chaos? Like, there is no death without life, from death springs life, that sort of thing, or would they be enemies to the bitter end? Hopefully this is the correct forum for this question
  11. Hi there, at first: I'm pretty new around here and hope, that this is the right forum for the question. I'm not a native english speaker and stumble over the word "endrin" within the Kharadron Overlords Battletome a lot. I assume it's made up by Games Workshop, an should mean something similar to "engine", as there are Endrineers. But I'm not really sure because it's used a bit differently here and there ("endrin-works" and "aether-endrin"). Is there some notion to a native Speaker in "endrin" that goes beyond "engine"? Thanks in advance!
  12. Liberator Prime Stoneham cleaned the ichor from his warhammer and counted his troops: half a dozen Liberators, a couple of Judicators, and Judicator Prime Sparrowclaw. The assault on Marrowpeak had been successful, but at great cost: scorch marks revealed where lightning had burst the faithful back to Azyrheim, and the bodies of broken bloodbound lay heaped around each crater. “Sparrowclaw, get everyone together. We need to find a realmgate to take us back to the musterhalls.” The Judicator Prime nodded, and called orders to the remaining Hallowed Knights. The route to the realmgate would take them through Candlefane Vale. The thought filled Stoneham with something close to dead. He muttered a quick prayer and twisted his hammer in his hand. “Sigmar protect us.” ±±±±±±±±±± The Duke Mauvaises Graines surveyed his estate. He could see workers toiling in the gloom, sowing crops for the changing season. Bitter winds swept through the fields, carrying with it the ever-present howl of nighthaunt. “A storm’s coming, sire,” croaked Morrlyn. The seer consulted a pocket dial, watching its green pin spin slowly counterwise. “Something the matter, old man?” “I’m not sure sire. There’s copper on the air. Blood and thunder.” Lightning cracked. Storms were rare this deep in the Candlefane Vale. When they came they could be brutal, washing hamlets from existence and driving ancient creatures from the barrows. He looked back out at the men in the field, and felt a fatherly tug in his heart. He called into the keep, “Riverblood!” Out from the chamber stepped a colossal warrior. Lord Riverblood was the head of Mauvaises Graines' knightly order, and the Duke’s equerry. “Sire, can I be of service?” “Sound the alarm bell. I want the freemen in from the fields. And form up hunting parties – I want to make sure we’re ready if some foul leviathan crosses the vale.” “As you wish.” From the rear of the castle, an animal cry went up. The smells in the air had drawn the attention of the Duke’s menagerie, and they began to bay at the sky. “Care to take a walk, Morrlyn?” ±±±±±±±±±± Further down the valley, thunder rumbled. The Hallowed Knights paused at the crest of a great barrow, sighting stars to get a fix on the realmgate. “To have Voss’s Prosecutors with us now,” muttered Sparrowclaw, “Or even Otford’s lantern to see by.” “Have faith, friend.” Stoneham clapped the Judicator’s shoulder, “We’ll see the halls of Azyrheim by tomorrow’s night, I swear it.” “Movement!” The shout came from Jentar, a Liberator at the crest of the mound. She gestured to a glimmer some hundred yards off. Gaunt shapes loped across the fields, led by brute in rusty plate. “Form up!" Stoneham bellowed, "Liberators to the front, Judicators behind. Don’t attack until the last second: for all we know they could be the faithful.” “Hah!” Sparrowclaw laughed, “Better to place your faith in gods than miracles.” Beneath his silver mask, Stoneham smiled. ±±±±±±±±±± The Duke halted as he saw the glimmering shape on the hill ahead. Riverblood had taken his knights rimward, while he, Morrlyn and the house guard made for the Marrowpeak pass. In another flash, he saw it: a lightning beetle. Twenty legs tottered, supporting a silver-blue shell glistened in the starlight. Its mandibles clacked together, in some crude approximation of language, shouting at his men. “Steady yourselves, men of Shyish. These things spit electricity and have hides as thick as steel. But, if you can, spare its life. Remember – it, like you, is merely afraid.” Morrlyn cast him a withering look, “Is the menagerie not full enough, sire?” The Duke ignored the old man, and drew his blade. “Form on me, faithful of Candlefane!” Lightning flashed. ±±±±±±±±±± So, with RAW17 just around the corner I figured it was time to paste my hunter and leviathan's backstory. The Duke of Mauvaises Graines is my hunter, a noble warrior and benevolent lord of the Candlefane Vale... sort of... The Duke's my ghoul king, converted from an Orruk brute with leftover bits from a Crypt Haunter kit. He'll be my hunter for the event, seeking to expand his menagerie. He'll be supported by Morrlyn – a necromancer/old Mordheim dreg – and an array of ghouls and gals. Riverblood will be the Court's general, heading up an Abbatoir. I kept the Ironjawz theme for his conversion, kitbashing the weapons from a Morghast as cleavers. He made his debut at Blackout a few weeks ago, and was impressively sniped off the table in the first turn of three of my games. These noble warriors will be defending the Vale from beastly intrusions. Knowing I'd be taking a court to RAW, I got in all kinds of knots about what Leviathan to make. I wanted it to be a metaphor, playing into the delusions the Flesh Eater Courts are known for. Initially I thought about having some sort of large spirit host, the souls of the court, doubling as a monster they wanted to capture. I also thought about having a mirror-tree, in which the court see the monsters they are reflected back at themselves. I then thought about getting some sort of noble stag and making it a hunting party... but I couldn't find the right kind of thing for that. I then listened to the recent Hardcore History about the romans and celtic tribes, and started thinking 'Man, what would the court see those formations as?' The thought was still with me while I read Plague Garden, and I thought there might be something in the whole 'locking shields' vibe of Stormcast chambers. I'll be honest, I hoped the models would be knit together more tightly than the sculpts allow, but I still like the idea. To the Stormcast, acting as one body is the best way to wield the strength of every warrior in the chamber – to be the anvil or the hammer. But to a ghoul king? That's just a great shiny creature with way too many legs and sharp bits. Anyway, four weeks to go and I think everything's together. Just down to list selection now. Might blog about that in a week or so.
  13. Just like the major sky ports, the leaders of Elgi-Bar also interpret the Kharadron Code to reflect thier own way of warfare and trade. When batteling with an army from Elgi-Bar, they follow the Code in the following ways: Artycle Defend your territory - Your units doesn´t need to make any battleshock tests while being in thier own territory. Amendment Trust to your guns - Your units add 1 to thier Bravery as long as there are no enemy units within 3" of them Footnote Heed to your instincts - Once per battle after the first battleround, instead of rolling for whom gets the initiative, you can take the first turn that battleround. Abilities Master monster hunters - Add -1 to all weapons rend characteristic when your units is attacking a unit with the MONSTER keyword. Artifact of power Ancestral gromril chainmail - Cared for since the days before founding Elgi-Bar, this extra layer of armour protects its bearer from all but the most mortal blows on the cost of some mobility. The bearer of the Ancestral gromril chainmail must lower its Move characteristic with 1 and counts as 2 models while embarked upon a SKYVESSEL. When making save rolls for the bearer of the Ancestral gromril chainmail, ignore the enemy´s Rend characteristic unless it is -3 or better. (These rules are not made for matched play, solely for my own amusement and with narrative in mind).
  14. This was an idea for a Hinterlands setting which is actually close to Shadespire, in the Petrified Mountains. It was essentially a city during the Age of Myth that lies within Shyish, an was a popular stopping point for merchants heading to Shadespire from the Petrified Mountains. It was prosperous, until a warband of Khorne Bloodbound swept through it, killing everyone. Here is a bit of cinematic flair from the Storyteller's perspective: "Back during the Age of Myth, the Petrified Road was a long and arduous trek through the appropriately named Petrified Mountains, though, many who made the trek were rewarded for their efforts by gazing upon the City of Spirits, Kalii. Kalii was a popular stop for the many merchant caravans heading to and from Shadespire through the Petrified Mountains, a bustling settlement as far as I could see. They paid their respects to Nagash and he let them be for the most part, a fair trade I say. Kalii was the shining jewel in the mountains, and all who lived there knew prosperity. Then..unfortunately, came the Age of Chaos, and with it, the Goretides of Khorne. In merely a day and night they swept through the city, killing everything they found, and eventually, nothing was left except the few that hid in the deepest crevasses. When they emerged, they had seen their city in ruins, their kin slaughtered, and their prosperity fading away to the annals of time. Now the only thing left are Grots, Orruks and Ogors fighting the descendents of the survivors, backward tribals who pine for a past they no longer remember, for scraps of a dead civilization. A pity really, but so to all who perished in that savage age..." I was inspired by pictures of the city of Cappadocia in Turkey, and I hope that I could find time someday to recreate the city in miniature terrain form. But for now, these pictures and my imagination will have to do....as for the Storyteller, he is primed and ready for paint, I'll try and get to him this weekend. Until then, this is Nash, signing off.
  15. Admiral Skyrock had bearly returned from the siege of Barak-Nar, when she received the news of Elgroz´s failing health and no medical treatment of the Overlords seemed to work. Without even stopping to restock her fleet, she quickly gave the order to set course to Lake Rurbedas where a Realmgate to Ghyran could be found on the lake´s bottom. Once in the Realm of Life, Skyrock hoped she would find a solution to Elgroz illness. Ignoring the safe route to Rurbedas, a journey normally taking 6-7 days she braved monster filled jungles and canyons for a risky shortcut. After being under constant attacks from the predators preying there, Skyrock´s fleet reach the shores of Rurbedas after mere 3 days. Killing the endrins of her ship in mid-flight, Skyrock and her crew plunged through the Realmgate at the lake floor. On the other side of the gate, the small fleet´s vessels float to the surface of Rurbedas twin lake in Ghyran. Not bothering cleaning of the seaweed, they took to the skies once more. Soon after the fleets arrival to the vibrant realm, they came across the Sylvaneths of the Shimmerbark grove. There she made a deal with the Treelord Direroot (after a long complaint from Yllrud about the lack of Sylvaneth clothing) to help the tree folk vanquish a conclave of filth ridden rat men which poisoned the life-giving waterfalls. In exchange of a remedy for Elgroz, Skyrock´s fleet´s cannons brought brutal retribution upon the vermin folk. After receiving the sought prize, the essences of a life pod, and quickly establishing a future trade contract, Skyrock set course home. Back in Elgi-Bar she literally jumped from her ship in flight down to the sky-city to quickly deliver the medication to Elgroz. The jellyfish was brought back from the brink of death, and that´s how Admiral Yllrud Skyrock became the much-praised Admiral she now is.
  16. Somewhat of a celebrity in Elgi-Bar, Admiral Yllrud Skyrock is an obstinate commander of the crews under her command. A veteran from Brokk Grungsson´s counterattack on the siege of Barak-Nar and saviour of Elgroz´s life, she has earned her place as Lord-commander of Elgi-Bar´s sky-fleet. Her most striking trait is however her known dislike to seeing bare flesh. She is considered uncommonly prude among a folk rumoured being savages. This is normally not a problem since most Kharadron Overlords wear covering body armour, but her interactions with the tempered Fyreslayers across the mortal realms have been uncomfortable ones for all included. Some say it is this aversion of undressed folk is the driving force for the expeditions she makes for the Rerekfjiord corporation, rumours which she does not comment on. Aside from this prudish quirk, Yllrud is like all Kharadron Admirals a driven, cunning sky captain and deadly combatant. Her distain of unarmoured foes has made her an expert marksman with her aetheric volley gun Dhurn (slayer), firing them swiftly down before they can reach her. Those that does engage her in melee are mercilessly crushed under her heavy skalfhammer.
  17. While becoming more modern since regaining contact with rest of the Kharadron society and agreeing to the terms to the Code, there is still one grudge every duardin of Elgi-Bar still carries within them. Even though millennia have passed since the age of Chaos began and now recently the stormhost from Azyr have start driven the ruinous powers from the Mortal realms, the Overlords of Elgi-Bar have not forgiven the god king Sigmar for abandoning their ancestors, taking their creator god Grungni with him and fooling the duardin warrior god Grimnir to his death. Even though the Code allows them to do business with other races, the merchant lords of Elgi-Bar have been known to double the prices many fold of their wares and services when encountering inhabitants from Azyrheim and Sigmars armies, or straight out refused to aid them in their need. Emissaries from Sigmars court have been send to try make amends to the rulers of Elgi-Bar, but have only been met with propositions to contracts demanding outrageous prices like the god kings sacred hammer Ghal Maraz and that Sigmar himself should swab the decks on every sky vessel for many generations.
  18. Characterized by the wildlife of Ghur, the Kharadron Overlords of Elgi-Bar are considered poorer and not as civilized as the other major sky-ports and is somewhat looked down upon. It is true some members of the arkanaut companies of Elgi-Bar still uses the same armour their ancestors bore the days when they left their mountain holds, and the city´s technology is not as advanced as others (many foreign admirals often comment this to the fact that the inhabitants of Elgi-Bar still haven´t been able to extract the Aether-gold from the giant jellyfish). The reason some of the companies still uses ancient armours is because that discovering ore-veins in Ghur is a hard task, since the land itself is most of the part animal to. So, the metal they manage to mine and flay of the hides from the metal-beasts at Adamant peaks is often used to build new sky vessels, repair damaged ones and bolstering the defences of Elgroz. What the sky folk of Elgi-Bar makes up for said shortcomings is that they are better at caring for their equipment (it is said that that their fleets flagship “Karak-Dahendra” the everlasting thunders weapons never have malfunctioned even now it is reaching its 500 birthday) and they are the best hunters ever taking to the clouds. Surviving so long in the beast filled landscapes of Ghur have given the crews on the sky ships a deep intuition on how beasts behave and use it to their advantage. This can either be in the form on how to best avoid the winged hydras that nests in cloud-caves or where to fire at a feral preyton´s weakest spots. This alone makes the mercenary companies of Elgi-Bar good choices for escort jobs through monster filled lands, even over the renowned Grundstock corporation’s artillery. What the Overlords of Elgi-Bar undeniable chare with their sky faring kin is their sense of business and inventive entrepreneurship, like having monopoly of trading live basilisks and skywyrm jackets. No grudgebound contract is too dangerous for the fleets hailing from Elgi-Bar, which in the eyes of their richer peers is considered equally admirable and foolhardy. Never less, the beast riding city Elgi-Bar is a rising civilisation and economy in the Age of Sigmar.
  19. It was under the great exodus during the age of Chaos, where the ancestors to today’s Kharadron Overlords fled to the skies, a castaway fleet of frigates in search of a sanctum came across the giant Elgroz. Filled with the well coveted substance “Aether-gold” the refugees first tried to extract it from this sky leviathan, but at the time their tools where not suited to even pierce the transparent skin of Elgroz. Fearing to lose it (and it´s valuable gas) the fleeing duardins decided to settle upon it until they could claim the Aether-gold. This was the start of an unintentional symbiosis. Elgroz unaware of its new inhabitant living upon it, proved to be both a safe home and a mighty guardian. Even due to the call of Aether-gold, many of the lethal beasts of Ghur avoided Elgroz, fearing its mile-long unescapable paralyzing tendrils. Those foes who tried assaults from above were met with fierce resistance from the great cannons of the duardins, utterly devoted not to let their gas formed treasure get lost. As a bi-product of the increasing cityscape on its body, Elgroz was after many years covered with a thick layer of armour making it into the heavenly bulwark it is now. The duardins accustomed to their new way of life and proud of their unique sky-port have giving up on the thoughts of mining Elgroz of its Aether-gold. Instead they see to it with reverence and care, knowing without each other they are nought.
  20. The sky fortress Elgi-Bar in the wild beast realm of Ghur is a peculiar one for the society of the sky faring Kharadron Overlords. In contrast to the fully mechanical city-ports commonly populated by their kin, this metropole is built upon a humongous gas filled jellyfish, named “Elgroz” which in the local tongue translates to “soft skinned giant”, which drifts with the sky torrents.
  21. Part 2 I made up some new stuff like who leads such a horde. Still nameless but it is a Tomb King with a fashion sense. I have lots of parts laying around for the original army idea. My idea was to fill front lines with Empire looking troops and less dressed skeletons in the back. The best of the unit survived the end of the world so the army will look like a weird butchered empire battlegroup. I will paint them like they are from different units. Also made a quest for them. Freeing the controlled undead from necromancers and vampires. Should not be a suprise they were not on friendly terms with necromancers. The Age of Sigmar It was a long long time they felt hope. Their endless torment could end. A final rest was in sight. The world falling apart was that spark of hope..no.. death they were interested in. All this joking around the last centuries would come to an end. They were a lost civilization. Cursed, controlled and used. No future for them and it finally looks like no future for the rest. They waited for the end. But it never came. The sun rose again but it looked different in the distance. They were still in the same town. Still wearing the same.. heads. Count Trollebloed looked at the sky. The vampire lived ages but was unsuccessful in negotiating terms with his this new Boney King of Nowhere. "There There, I quite like this town, let us settle down here." Everything else was destroyed the night before. A little realm for them alone, to torment forever and nowhere to go. The Joke Realm Golden Soldiers entered the realm with a lot of light and thunder. Suspecting Empire survivors they approached the Captain without slamming their hammers in his two faces. "By Sigmar! You smell like you slayed a thousand!" The deception did not hold. How could they fight these Golden Soldiers? Like them they are cursed to fight. The Captain spoke to them. "We are alike." "You are more a force of bad luck." Answered the Lord-Relictor. " You are not bound to Nagash or Chaos nor do you deserve to fight for Sigmar." "No, we will not fight you." Captain Party This is it for now. I have some converted knights somewhere. Maybe make another crazy character out of it. Right now I have the Tomb+Wight King and the two-faced Greatsword Captain.
  22. Just an old crazy army idea. Inspiration from Necron Flayed Ones. Bringing back to life for AoS28. A quick draft and still a bit of a mess. You may notice that english is not my primary language. Cursed in Khemri Those enslaved by necromancy obeyed their masters. No minds of their own, moved from desert to the lands they were ordered. Left behind were the minds slowly turning insane. These dead bodies wanted to die but could not. The cruel joke of immortality turned them fearless and mocking life. How would they like to be flesh and blood again. Eventually they moved from the desert like the others. Skeletons with a mind of their own. Centuries of combat experience. No rest needed. Not even communication. The most horrifying tactic? The will to live. To feel whole again. To be alive again. Lack of respect for the living even less respect for the dead. Wearing the bodies of the defeated, they mock and joke. Like a bad practical joke wearing the most cruel disguise. From a distance they look like allies a Captain says to his group. The missing party has not been found yet. Hounds are barking, must be the smell. Not all wear fresh suits you know. Ambushing always was easy when they started burying themselves in the desert. But now? Just walking through plains straight into towns meeting no resistance. The world ended and they are still not dead. So this is all before they enter the Age of Sigmar.
  23. Chapter 4 – The hull of the boat cut effortlessly through the glistening water as it carried Wjolnir further along the coast line. On the horizon, the sun was beginning to rise and was soaking everything it touched with a peach glow. Any other time this would have lifted his spirits and brought back memories of his childhood summers, spent fishing for small trout in the villages river. Today however it just irritated him. It was a painful reminder of a pleasure he would soon have taken from him by his impending death. The only escape from the plague was death and anything else was just delaying the inevitable. That was if the Tornburgh mercenaries didn’t catch up with him first and put him to the sword. Despondency crept in and he considered putting himself out of his misery while he still had control of his destiny. The thought was a brief fleeting one that held no real bearing on him. He was far too much of a coward to make such a bold move. No, he would wait out his fate and spend his final days lamenting his luck and the cruel humour of the gods. No doubt when the time came for him to shuffle off this mortal coil he would cry and soil himself, making sure he had no dignity to take with him to the beyond. An unexpected giggle burst from his throat as the ridiculous image flashed through his mind’s eye. He idly wiped away tears that had been forming in his tired eyes with the back of his rough filthy hand and let a small grin escape from his chapped lips. He gripped the wheel and pulled it hard toward land. Along the shore was a coniferous forest that dominated the landscape. The great green expanse was thickly packed and would allow him to travel inland without being seen. He knew of several small hamlets where he could live out his days in relative comfort on the coin he had saved throughout his career in the black market, keeping him in wine and women until he eventually succumbed to the rot in his body. He ran the boat at a relative speed into the shallows and the bottom of the vessel ran aground in the rocks, screeching to a halt. Usually this would have angered Wjolnir however he would never captain the boat again and resented the idea of it serving anyone else after him. A fickle thought perhaps but he had spent so long aboard the ship in his years that it felt like part of his very being, to have anyone else at the wheel would feel like adultery. Opening the thick framed timber door to the cabin he began to collect any belongings he thought he may need. Into a small leather knap sack he carefully packed a thick blanket, dried meats, his ancient tinder kit, a change of clothes and the remainder of his coin. He slid out of his fur jacket, carelessly dropping it in a pile at his feet. Over the top of his hauberk he buttoned up a white travelling shirt and slid a heavy woollen, hooded poncho over his head. The oversized hood covered his face and gave him the appearance of a peasant, a look that he hoped would prevent anyone attempting to relieve him of his belongings. He slung the knapsack over his good shoulder and stooped to pick up a rough iron axe with a hickory handle. The axe head was ground heavier on one side to allow the axe to be used for carving timber, however this would not hinder its use in felling a tree or scaring off would be attackers. With his belongings in check he sighed and made his way off his beloved boat. He vaulted the hull and landed with a splash in waist deep water. The shock of the cold water stole his breath and for a moment he could do nothing but exhale in short, sharp breaths as his body adjusted to the temperature. As his breath returned he started to wade toward the forest. His feet sank gently into the sandy, gravel strewn shore, making the walk harder than he had anticipated. By the time he had reached the boundary of the wood he felt drained. The forest looked far more imposing than it had done from the beach and he was beginning to question if entering it was such a good idea. After a small pause to get his breath back he threw caution to the wind and strode into the woodland as confidently as he could. What seemed like hours had passed as he stumbled over fallen trees and forced himself through tightly packed gorse hedges. He had managed to scratch himself on the short thorns above his eyes and the sweat from his brow was stinging as it mingled with the wounds. He paused for a moment to take a pull from his flask and felt a sense of tranquillity wash over him as he soaked in the natural atmosphere. Little light made it through the thick canopy and it lent the forest a supernatural quality. He slid the heavy knapsack from his shoulder to the floor and sat down with his back against a great pine tree. He laid his hand axe by his side and helped himself to a strip of the dried beef from his provisions. Its texture was that of rough leather however he was used to the less than pleasurable rations he had carried with him on his travels. He sat in the dim light chewing the meat and scanning the surrounding area for any movement. A thick layer of moss covered the floor here and he could hear nothing but the evening bird song and the occasional rustle of the forests denizens. He rested his eyes and allowed himself to drift off, planning to continue his journey after a small nap. In his dream, he was running from an unknown assailant through a boggy marsh, each step propelling him through the damp darkness toward a clearing ahead. A droning buzzing noise filled his ears overwhelming his senses, blocking out all other noise. It felt as if it was coming from within his mind instead of around him. Swarms of flies encircled him and darted at his face. He wildly flailed his arms trying to swot them away as he ran. The clearing was closer. He was almost there. He broke through the tree line and the swarm of flies dissipated in the light. He turned his head to see his attacker and saw a wave of shadow rushing toward him. Everything the shadow touched within the marsh shrivelled into an empty husk of itself. Trees collapsed under their own weight as rotten timber gave way, animals and birds decomposed in an instant and the very earth became logged with mould and fungal growth. His foot gave way underneath him as he slipped in the clearing and he fell face first into the wet moss. He panicked and tried to raise himself from the wet floor but found mould and filth growing at an alarming rate over his limbs, pinning him to the ground. He looked up in desperation and saw the ground before him erupt, earth and filth showered over him as a gargantuan figure rose from the crater. The figure was comprised of a huge mound of blubbery flesh that rose higher than the highest tree. The sheer bulk of the creature was impossible to comprehend and it moved in a way that didn’t seem physically possible. Its skin was mottled with pus filled boils, scars wounds and open sores that created a mosaic of pain. Its face was comprised of a long grinning mouth beneath dark pitted eyes that pierced into his very soul and showed a flicker of evil sentience that no man should ever see. Its sour breath reeked of death, decay and faecal matter. The creatures great gut split open and swarms of giggling creatures burst forth dancing and frolicking in the beast’s entrails and bodily fluids, gnawing on his flesh and tearing through his milky yellow fat. Wjolnir retched and spilled the contents of his stomach into the dirt. The great being’s mouth parted revealing worm filled teeth etched with dark lines and stained as brown as earth. It spoke a single word and Wjolnir’s bladder failed him. “SERVE” He awoke with a start and reached instinctively for his axe. He was dripping with sweat and his trousers were soaked with bitter smelling urine. The realisation that it had been a dream crept in and he began to relax as the shame of his ‘accident’ settled in. He reached into his knapsack for a change of clothes and cursed under his breath, was there no end to the torment he must endure? As he was rummaging through his belongings he caught site of a figure out of the corner of his eye. He rose sharply and raised his axe at the unknown person. In front of him, sitting cross legged on mound of moss was a tiny humanoid figure, draped in old torn robes giggling to itself. The face was obscured from his view by the things hood however the skin that was exposed was pitted, pale and translucent. The thin frame of the creature was withered and feeble. It altogether seemed sickly and weak however something primal within him screamed to turn and flee. “Explain yourself or I will sever your head from your body!” he shouted at the thing. It began giggling in a gurgling manner and pointed a thin emaciated finger at him, its hood slipping, exposing a sunken warped face that resembled skin stretched too loosely over a large drum. It spoke with a voice that seemed to come from within rather than from the creature’s mouth. “You have been chosen Master Wjolnir, I have come to aid your transcendence on behalf of the father”. The creatures gurgling laughter reached a crescendo of madness and Wjolnir’s blood ran cold.
  24. Chapter 3 – Escape He trembled with rage and his breath came in short angry bursts. His shirt had been ripped off in the confrontation and he was now squatted, bare chested, over the corpse of the headless man. The small alley resembled a slaughterhouse, blood had pooled beneath the dead body and bits of brain and skull littered the area. Wjolnir had not avoided the bodily debris and was covered in what was left of the bandit’s face. His fists throbbed and ached from pummelling the bloody mass of flesh underneath him and as the adrenaline left his system he became more aware of that pain. His hands darted to his infected shoulder as he remembered his stab wound, however when he inspected it he could only feel mottled flesh and the tumorous tissue of his affliction. He had not imagined the wound, for blood and milky pus still clotted and dried on his chest. He thought that the infection had spread further up his neck but couldn’t be sure without a mirror. Gods, what had come over him! He had never considered himself a violent man and this, this was far outside of his morale capabilities. A sudden sense of shame overwhelmed him and he scrambled to his feet off the desecrated body. A cloying sense of fear creeped in like a cold breeze and his head swam with the realisation of how fucked he really was. He couldn’t stay in the settlement now, someone would have heard the commotion and the thugs that passed for the town guard were probably already alerted. True, these bandits probably wouldn’t be missed by many but no one wants a killer around while they sleep. Wjolnir bent down and retrieved his coin purse from the first bandit’s fingers. They were colder than fingers ought to be and had already begun to stiffen. He pocketed his coin and fled toward the docks. Wjolnir fumbled with the knots that bound his vessel to the mooring post, his usually deft fingers failing him in his panic. His vessel was nothing more than a small sailing boat with a cabin on the rear of its deck. It had no name painted into the hull and no fancy etching or paint work. In the smuggling trade, it had paid to be inconspicuous when travelling and he thanked the gods for that foresight now. Gripping a long wooden pole from within the boat he pushed away from the dock and began to punt the boat towards the flow of the water way. The sail raised easily in the steady evening breeze and began to carry him away from the town. He left the boat to its own devices momentarily while he nipped into the cabin and retrieved a flask of fresh water, a chainmail hauberk and a fur lined coat. He rinsed the filth of the attack from himself with the water and took a long gulp from the flask. The water was cool and made his teeth ache intensely for a moment before dulling away. The chainmail hauberk proved far colder than the water however its metallic rings felt almost soothing against the rotting flesh of his tainted shoulder. Finally, he slipped the coat around his aching body and stepped back on to the deck and the glistening moonlight. The boat had veered toward the bank slightly so he grabbed the wheel behind the mast and corrected its course. From the deck of the boat he could see torchlight at the docks behind him. Judging by the number of torches he could see it appeared that this was not the early rising fishermen attending their vessels. Pulling a tightly would cord above him he dropped the main sail fully and aimed for the ocean. He had no location in mind, however anywhere but here sounded fine to him at that moment.
  25. Chapter 3 – Escape He trembled with rage and his breath came in short angry bursts. His shirt had been ripped off in the confrontation and he was now squatted, bare chested, over the corpse of the headless man. The small alley resembled a slaughterhouse, blood had pooled beneath the dead body and bits of brain and skull littered the area. Wjolnir had not avoided the bodily debris and was covered in what was left of the bandit’s face. His fists throbbed and ached from pummelling the bloody mass of flesh underneath him and as the adrenaline left his system he became more aware of that pain. His hands darted to his infected shoulder as he remembered his stab wound, however when he inspected it he could only feel mottled flesh and the tumorous tissue of his affliction. He had not imagined the wound, for blood and milky pus still clotted and dried on his chest. He thought that the infection had spread further up his neck but couldn’t be sure without a mirror. Gods, what had come over him! He had never considered himself a violent man and this, this was far outside of his morale capabilities. A sudden sense of shame overwhelmed him and he scrambled to his feet off the desecrated body. A cloying sense of fear creeped in like a cold breeze and his head swam with the realisation of how fucked he really was. He couldn’t stay in the settlement now, someone would have heard the commotion and the thugs that passed for the town guard were probably already alerted. True, these bandits probably wouldn’t be missed by many but no one wants a killer around while they sleep. Wjolnir bent down and retrieved his coin purse from the first bandit’s fingers. They were colder than fingers ought to be and had already begun to stiffen. He pocketed his coin and fled toward the docks. Wjolnir fumbled with the knots that bound his vessel to the mooring post, his usually deft fingers failing him in his panic. His vessel was nothing more than a small sailing boat with a cabin on the rear of its deck. It had no name painted into the hull and no fancy etching or paint work. In the smuggling trade, it had paid to be inconspicuous when travelling and he thanked the gods for that foresight now. Gripping a long wooden pole from within the boat he pushed away from the dock and began to punt the boat towards the flow of the water way. The sail raised easily in the steady evening breeze and began to carry him away from the town. He left the boat to its own devices momentarily while he nipped into the cabin and retrieved a flask of fresh water, a chainmail hauberk and a fur lined coat. He rinsed the filth of the attack from himself with the water and took a long gulp from the flask. The water was cool and made his teeth ache intensely for a moment before dulling away. The chainmail hauberk proved far colder than the water however its metallic rings felt almost soothing against the rotting flesh of his tainted shoulder. Finally, he slipped the coat around his aching body and stepped back on to the deck and the glistening moonlight. The boat had veered toward the bank slightly so he grabbed the wheel behind the mast and corrected its course. From the deck of the boat he could see torchlight at the docks behind him. Judging by the number of torches he could see it appeared that this was not the early rising fishermen attending their vessels. Pulling a tightly wrapped cord above him, he dropped the main sail fully and aimed for the ocean. He had no location in mind, however anywhere but here sounded fine to him at that moment.
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