A Wild Ride Through The Night

Scavius's armoured boots slammed against the shattered pavement as he thundered down the street. Although it was deep in the night, the darkness around him was scattered by the flickering bursts and glows of flames and explosions, playing out beneath an audience of a hundred thousand stars that filled the inky sky above, seated amongst the dull clouds and watched over by the two moons of the world Scavius was currently on. 

It was a Cardinal World, situated in the vast wilderness of the galaxy's east. Sanctus Espirtus was what the slaves of the Corpse God had christened it. It was an old world, and like it's sibling planets much of it's surface was covered by titanic cathedrals, abbeys, chapels and other edifices to the pathetic faith these wretched humans followed. The streets, like the one Scavius was running down now, were cobbled and lined with an unending stream of famous figures of their dogma. Many had already been defaced or toppled. The rest would join them in time, but for now there were still enemies to focus on. 

Though it had negligible value as anything more than a symbol, the False Emperor's minions had already begun to pour onto it in it's defence. They were still mostly lowly soldiery from the Imperial Army, but an enormous force of the fanatical elite guard of the Imperial Church that held dominion over this world had also made planetfall. Scavius had clashed with elements of them before, and he had relished the experience. He longed to hunt them once more. 

Scavius was not without allies either however. Indeed, the warband of Night Lords which he belonged to had been drawn to the conflict as support for the gigantic crusade of Word Bearers that had first assaulted the world. Scathius sneered with contempt at the thought of them. For all their numerical size they were still blind fools who slaved away to uncaring entities. Like all of his brethren, Scavius knew the truth - to follow any form of faith, to submit to anything other than oneself, was nothing more than weakness. Power was all that mattered, and power could only be gained first hand, by tearing it from others. It would not be handed over by some great being or creature. 

A band of mortal soldiers had appeared at an intersection ahead. They were setting up a gunline, but with his enhanced senses Scavius had already seen the palor of their faces, the quiver in their step. Their fear was almost palpable, and when the guardsmen finally started firing it showed in how their timid shots streaked straight past Scavius and his squad, those sporadic few that hit harmlessly glancing their ancient power armour. As the Night Lords closed with their new quarry, they made sure to live up to their nightmarish impression. 

"We've come for you!" They bellowed, the various distorted voices that left the external speakers on their power armour merging together in a hellish twisted echoing cacophony. At once they followed it by unleashing a torrent of shells from their boltguns. Several Guardsmen were reduced to tattered bloody ribbons of shredded flesh and smashed flack plating by the impacts, but the majority were simply maimed by the barrage. They were the unlucky ones. Moments after the last few boltgun shells hit, Scavius and his squad barrelled into the midst of the Imperials, knives drawn. Scavius shivered with ecstasy as he left his mark upon the new victims, taking much pride in how he found new creative ways to carve them apart. He marvelled in the terrified screams they gave. One of the other members of Scavius's squad opened up his flamer on the weaklings, unleashing a magnificent roaring cascade of burning chemicals that sent them reeling and screaming, fleeing wildly in circles as their forms burned. 

Once they had finished their work, the Night Lords made sure to proudly display their latest masterpieces, splaying the mutilated bodies of their adversaries across the statues that lined the road, as a message to both friend and foe, before continuing along the street. Above them the Raptors that accompanied their warband leapt from spire to spire, blazing trails from their jump-packs streaking against the sky. Occasionally a battered corpse fell from their lofty perches as they forged their own bloody carnage through the district. In the distance, Scavius could hear the roaring engines of the warband's bikers as they sped through the city. The Corpse God's feeble minions could not stop them. 

Scavius laughed inside his armour. The night was young, and the night belonged to them. 

Nothing Left

Alright. I was hoping not to have to write something like this, not for a good long while yet (though perhaps that was where I went wrong. Hope, as they say, is the first step on the road to disappointment). I was wishing that I could continue being nice and happy and positive in this blog for at least another month or so. I certainly didn't want to have to write about this particular subject for a long long time. But.. well.. I just can't take it any more. Sometimes you just need to say some things, and get them off your chest, so that they don't keep eating you up inside. This is one of those times.

In case you haven't seen, Games Workshop has just updated their webpage. It's a new, clean look, and in my opinion it exemplifies all that was wrong with the last one. What little was left of article content, and even the daily news piece has been removed, and the entire site has been reconfigured into a giant store. The most painful thing for me though, was seeing the now gutted scenery section.

But that's not what I'm writing this ..... opinion..... rant.... venting..... cry..... thing.. about. No, no. The new website was just the flashpoint, the final straw that broke the Camel's back. The real crux of what this will be about, the real roots of why I'm so heartbroken at the moment, go back much, much deeper.

I first started feeling this way earlier last year, when Games Workshop stopped selling models for it's old Specialist Games ranges. I will probably seem like some overly sensitive little crybaby wuss for saying this, but I really was completely devastated by it. But eventually that feeling faded in time... until a couple of weeks ago, after I managed to rescue a couple of character models from Games Workshop's now sadly gutted Bretonnian range for Warhammer Fantasy. I held them in my hands, and all of a sudden all that same heartbreak came rushing back up to the surface. Then it was only amplified when, while procrastinating about writing an essay for university, I decided to take a trip down memory lane, opened up the Wayback Machine, and loaded up Forgeworld's old website from around 2005-2006ish, and looked on in horror at just how many of the models there were that I used to adore but no longer exist on the site.

See, what happened then, just like when the Specialist Games began disappearing, was that I felt one of my dreams die. I'm not sure if you have ever felt such a thing before, and in the same way, but I personally can thing of few things more agonising than having a dream die.

If you've managed to get this far, I imagine you are very likely to be very confused right now. I apologise for that, this entire post is very much a stream of consciousness typed down, and I tend to be very cryptic even at the best of times. In essence, I'm upset about the models. The ones Games Workshop used to produce.

Simply put, they're vanishing before my eyes.

These are the models I was brought up with. When I was a child (well, around 9-10ish), I used to spend long summer afternoons endlessly looking through Games Workshop's website and Forgeworld, reading through all the articles on the former and marvelling at all the wondrous models on the latter (and the former too for that matter), endlessly lost in a sea of fantastic worlds and amazing models (much to the chagrin of my parents wanting to use the phone, as this was in the days of dial-up internet).

And I came to have a dream: that some day I would own all of them*. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not even for years and years, but one day I would. At some time in the distant future, that day would come.

And I was happy at the time. I envisioned a wondrous golden future of Games Workshop, filled with models, new ones standing with all the classics for all the future generations to enjoy. It didn't matter that all those fancy Forgeworld kits cost an arm and a leg, it didn't matter that I couldn't buy vast armies en masse, it didn't matter at all because I thought, nay, knew that all those models and kits would be there forever. The idea that one day any of them might not be there simply never entered my mind. But why would it? I was young, and new to the hobby. I didn't, indeed couldn't, have known about warehouse space or molds wearing out or anything like that. Such concepts were completely beyond the comprehension of my youthful self. As far as I was concerned, Games Workshop would simply keep on producing the models it had always done for the rest of eternity, and if whatever machines or devices they used to make models broke down, they would simply fix them. Thus, I reasoned, I had all the time in the world to pursue my dream of a vast collection of awesome (now old) miniatures, one that one day might even grow to rival that of Games Workshop's model gallery (I forget exactly what it's called) itself!

As the years went by, my aspirations grew and grew. By the start of last year, I had very big, ambitious, grand plans. A gigantic Tau army for Warhammer 40,000, complete with air support from Forgeworld and a few scratchbuild vehicles, fit for a titanic game of Apocalypse, perhaps even with a Manta or two (it should be noted that this particular part of the dream is still possible, and may in fact come to pass some day, with a ton of luck). An enormous Tau fleet for Battlefleet Gothic, mostly Kor'vattra ships, but with a sizeable Kor'O'vesh element as well for completeness, big enough to rival the mightiest fleets I saw on Port Maw and later Warseer. A Corsair Eldar fleet to fight alongside it, and a Chaos fleet as a deadly enemy for them to fight against. A Dark Eldar fleet (again a dangerous antagonist to oppose my Tau and Eldar). An Ork fleet. An Imperial fleet that would be caught up in this massive struggle for dominance amongst the stars. A fleet for every faction in Battlefleet Gothic, with at least one of every ship made. A Wood Elf army for Warhammer Fantasy. A Bretonnian army. A Vampire Counts one, a Dwarf one, and a Beastmen one too. At least one of every Regiment of Renown (I even had an idea to write a campaign around them). A grand ecosystem of all the different dragon models Games Workshop made. A retinue of Famous Familiars to accompany me and assist me in painting and modelling all my miniatures (and later to help breath some of that old Games Workshop magic into the newer ones). A colossal array of terrain and scenery, hills, forests (some Citadel, some home-made) of every kind, fences, farmsteads, inns, churches or chapels, at least two of all the little doodads Games Workshop was selling (Gothic Scenery, Arcane Books, Buckets, the Mordheim accessory sprue, the Fantasy Graveyard, and so on). I even just recently had an idea to combine the Gothic graveyard, one of the few older scenery kits Forgeworld still sells, and a couple of the metal Fantasy Graveyard sets Games Workshop put out to have a nice quirky spooky graveyard piece that wasn't quite as over-the-top as the Garden of Morr that's currently being sold. I would buy up an extra set of Arcane books and paint them up as modelling/painting guides and army books as a funny little meta-joke. A Warhammer Fortress to fight siege battles over when castle pieces were attacked in the big Mighty Empires campaign I dreamed of one day playing with my friends. A big collection of Warhammer 40,000 terrain as well, filled with buildings and pillboxes and gun towers and dugout emplacements jungle trees and other, stranger things. A whole galaxy full of celestial phenomena for Battlefleet Gothic (again, this is still possible). A Sisters of Battle/Witchunters army, with the Adepta Sorroritas units in it painted up in the colours of the uniform of the catholic girls' school that some of my friends went to. A Slaanesh-aligned Traitor Guard army. A Night Lords force. A Tyranid swarm painted in dark greys and blues like the Aliens in the Alien movies. A band of Spryers for Necromunda, and a force of Arbites for the same system, with their leader named Jav're (a play on Inspector Javert from Les Miserables), who would later, in my background material, go on to become an Inquisitor of the Ordo Hereticus. A Carnival of Chaos for Mordheim. All kinds of strange and wondrous conversions and kitbashes. And many more things that escape my immediate memory. And I would share them with the world too. I would post pictures of them in logs on Advanced Tau Tactica, and Asrai.org, and even Warseer sometimes. I'd start my own blog, and it would become one of the big major ones that every hobbyist and wargamer knew, and all across the internet people would gather and marvel at my amazingly-painted models. And immerse themselves in the rich expansive backstory I wrote for them. And I'd go down in tabletop hobby history as a legend. Now obviously none of this was going to happen all at once, that would just be silly since these things take time. But one day, eventually, I was going to get there. One day, my grand vision would become a reality.

But then last year the Specialist Games ranges went dark. Their models started vanishing one by one into the night. And in the few weeks it took for them to completely disappear, I saw my grand shining dream twist, burn and shatter into a million fragments. And though I did make a big panic-spend and managed to rescue a fairly large Tau fleet (and even a couple of Corsair Eldar ships), it was but a shadow of the mighty armada that I had envisioned.

It was the beginning of a newer, darker hobbyist in me. It opened my eyes to the reality of model ranges and age. Miniatures would be discontinued, things would go out of production, models and kits would not stay around forever. But I went on. I continued to try and make my shining dream come true. The end of the Specialist Games might have been a major setback, I thought, but there were still other models out there I wanted. There was still the Wood Elves and Bretonnians to collect. There was still scenery to make and purchase, and caracterful little collector's pieces to, well, collect. The Tau range was in no apparent danger of fading into the abyss. Forgeworld and all the incredible models it made was still out there. I could still come to own all those. I could still come to realise my dream. Heck, I might even be able to salvage a few Specialist Games models from auction sites while I was at it.

Indeed, I was now even more determined to see that my plans happened. If model lines could end and never become available again, I thought, then I must act to collect all these wonderful models as quickly as possible, so that I might have an example of every one of them preserved for future generations to see, so that they would never be forgotten. My experience with the aforementioned panic buy had shown me that I could make one or two massive purchases a year and not completely break the bank, and so I went out and ordered a horde of Wood Elf models, enough to complete the army of them I had imagined, and more. Indeed, as of the time of this writing, I almost have at least one of every single Wood Elf model in the entire current range, with the exception of Orion, Drycha and the mounted characters. It lifted my spirits. After all these years, it felt like I might actually finally be getting to realising my big dream. I can do this, I thought. My aspirations finally seemed within my grasp.

And then it hit me. I saw how much of the Bretonnian range had been discontinued. I went through archived pages of Forgeworld and discovered all the big models and kits I remembered, almost all of them now long-out of production. And then I even saw many of the little metal scenery doodads on Games Workshop's website were now lost forever. And all over again I saw my big, grand shining dream break apart and die.

And what really stings for me, is why it is. It's not because I never got around to getting them all, until only recently I literally couldn't (nowhere near enough funds and no credit card to bring them to the internet). It's simply because just as I was finally becoming able to get them all, time caught up with them. They were old, and discontinued to make way for new things. And so I feel like I have all this sorrow for no other reason that I existed at the wrong time.

It's a new era for Games Workshop now. One of plastic and resin, and digital sculpting. I'm sure it will make many excellent new models, which will be loved by many and go on to inspire a whole new generation of hobbyists just like those old metal models inspired me so many years ago. Forgeworld is putting out a whole new range just for the Horus Heresy. But as great as all of these things are, they are not for me. I wanted a vast magnificent collection of the models from my childhood, those characterful, wonderful metal and plastic ones from the late 90s and especially the early 2000s that captured my imagination, and still do, not these new ones. There are a fair few good ones for them I will admit, but well, it's just not the same for me. There's something missing from them. And I don't think I'll ever get to see my big shining dream fully realised now. I know there's a whole slew of auction and trade sites where many of these older models can be found, but between their very high prices and my sporadic funding, I don't think I'll be quick enough to get them in time. There's still the Gothic Graveyard from Forgeworld, and a couple of the scenic doodads on Games Workshop's website, but I fear I will be too late for them as well. Already I have missed the Warhammer Fortress set, and while it is still possible to replicate, I may never know what sort of box it came with (it may seem odd to you, but that's actually a very important thing to me. I collect the artwork on model boxes just as much as I do the models themselves. It may seem strange to you, but it's just one of my quirks I suppose). And I know all about all the new model brands that are popping up, and that too is a wonderful thing, but, well, a lot of their models just don't do it for me either. Not at the moment at least. But that is a subject for another ramble.

I suppose too that a large part of it is my age. I'm at a very strange place in that regard, as I straddle the line between two hobby generations, which puts me in the awkward place of being too young to have really fully experienced the Silver Age of Games Workshop (the early 2000s, the era of my childhood, and the one I'm nostalgic for), but at the same time old enough that I have a memory of it and too old and set in my ways to really fully appreciate the new era of Games Workshop as those younger than me may. This does tend to make me feel as though I'm trapped between two worlds a lot of the time. So I remember the older Games Workshop, but at the same time I feel like I never really got a chance to fully enjoy it. I never got to have big armies of all those models I remember. I never even got to participate in a global campaign event. And it's all starting to feel like it's been taken away from me now, lost forever..

I think that's everything. So there it is. That's my story. That's my tale of woe and heartbreak of how I came to be here, and that's most, if not all, of what I wanted to get off my chest. I don't expect anyone to respond to it, I don't even really expect anyone to read it. I've written it only to let my feelings out so they don't chew me up inside quite as much. If you have read it all the way through then thank you, it helps to have someone listen. I'm also sorry for having to drop down this big rambling opinion rant piece, as I try hard to look on the brighter side of the hobby. Maybe next time it'll be back to nice backstory pieces and pretty pictures of models. Until then though, I'm signing out. It's late where I am, and I need to get some sleep and cry for a bit. Goodnight everyone.

And Militant wept, for there were no more metal models left to collect. 

Crying Wolf

Julia tried to shy away towards the back of the crowd as best as she could. She was starting to feel sick inside. She hadn't wanted any of this to happen. It had all gone wrong.

For all of her fourteen years of life Julia had lived in the same place on the same world, named New Heathsfall. It had a few cities and towns that were islands of humanity in a sea of endless plains and fields. Every once and a while a ship would show up in orbit and shuttles and landers would ferry goods between it and the surface all day, and every so often another ship would show up and an enormous number of the world's men would be hauled onto it (and sometimes a few of it's women too). Almost all of them were never seen again, and the few that did never talked about what happened to them after they left. Julia dreaded that ship, because she knew one day it would come for all the boys she knew. She wouldn't mind if some of the mean or irritating ones left and never came back, but there were also ones she was friends with and others she admired, and she'd like them to stay for as long as possible. Julia knew that the world was ruled by a planetary governor, and she knew from her school classes that the world was on the distant edge of the galaxy, and a long, long way from Terra, the home of mankind.

But Julia cared little for that. She was young, a teenager, and her days were still carefree, filled with friends and laughter and parties, in between studying when she had to. She paid homage to the Emperor of humanity just as everyone else did. But her main concerns in life at the moment were good grades, finding a date to the annual dance social, and what her friend Madeline was doing.

Madeline. For almost as long as Julia could remember she had been inseparable from her. Thick as thieves when they were children, best friends when they grew older. They liked the same songs, the same style of clothing, the same books. Whenever one was upset or hurt, the other would be rushing to her side to comfort her. They were like sisters, and Julia had thought she was perfect in every way.

But things had changed in recent times. More and more Julia had started to gain a creeping, growing feeling of neglect. It felt like the spotlight was constantly on Madeline, with her and her actions being constantly praised. Julia had studied just as hard, and earned top marks in her exams, but Madeline had received the academic award that year, amongst others. When Julia had proposed an idea for a class project, she was ignored, but when Madeline proposed an identical one it was chosen. The final straw had been when Julia's crush had asked Madeline to a date, and the two had been in a relationship that seemed to grow ever closer and more romantic ever since.

Julia had started to grow desperate. She knew she was just as deserving of credit and praise and fortune as Madeline was, but no-one seemed to notice her. In her frantic search for something that would shift some of the limelight away from Madeline and back onto her, she had recalled the stories and tales told to her as a child. Tales that were told to every child that she knew, and indeed every child on the world. Strange, frightening tales of evil witches who would gather in the dead of night to spread terror and death, slaughtering beasts and razing fields, and conjuring up horrible monsters to slay and torment townspeople. Julia was certain that they were just simple fables meant to frighten children into obedience, but she also knew that the people of her world were very superstitious. So she did something, something malicious and cruel, but something she did not intend to seriously harm anyone with.

She had said that Madeline was a witch.

She had spread it in secret as a rumour. She had pointed out how people were drawn to her, and said that it was not in fact because of her merits, but because she had cast spells on them. She had even planted some evidence, just a few odd-looking trinkets and an occult book or two, in and around her room and school cabinet. And the word spread like wildfire. Soon all the students in her school were whispering about it, and cold looks were given at Madeline when she went past.

But then things began to spiral out of control. She did not know how, but the story had managed to reach the ears of the planetary governor. And then a few months after Julia had started the slander, a new ship had arrived in the sky. This one carried a tall, brooding man. He wore a long coat and a wide-brimmed hat, and was adorned in seals and I-like emblems. He frightened Julia. He had come with a large number of black and grey armoured soldiers, who carried large weapons that some of the more militarily-interested boys called hellguns (while some others insisted they were lasguns, and others still said they were hotshot lasguns). They had set up a perimeter around an apartment building, cleared out it's tenants, and kept Madeline there for weeks.

Julia's plan had worked. She started getting noticed more. She started getting more praise. In a few days she became the most popular girl in school for exposing the wicked creature in their midst, though they didn't know she had made all that up. Madeline's boyfriend, Julia's crush, had even asked her out. It was everything she had wanted to get, but now she no longer wanted any of it. Especially when she managed to catch a glimpse into Madeline's new prison and saw what was being done to her...

And now it had come to this. Julia was in the middle of a gigantic crowd, gathered in the town square, jeering and shouting and snarling out at what was before it. The object of their attention was a vast stage that had been erected, and on it was dear, innocent Madeline, Julia's best friend, lashed to an enormous black monolith, emblazoned with skulls and other icons of death, and the same I-like insignia the man in the hat and coat wore. It was late afternoon, and the sun was setting and painting the sky a great, agonising, resplendent triptych of reds, pinks, oranges and yellows. At the fringes of the sunset the sky was turning to deep mournful midnight blues, and New Heathfall's two moons were just starting to show in the haze. An icy, bitter wind was scourging through the square, and it pierced straight through Julia. Amber and ochre leaves chased each other on the breeze. A black cat slinked around the fringes of the square. And Madeline waited, her comely, elegant features gripped in a heart-skewering look of confusion and sorrow, her great sapphire-blue eyes brimming with tears as she tried desperately to search for a reason why all this had happened to her, why she was about to die and her family were cheering for it, and why her friend hadn't tried to help. Her long golden tresses feebly reached out in the winds, and struck out like torchlight against the cold grim obsidian black of the device she was tied to.

The man in the hat and coat was on the stage, with a book in his hand, and he was preaching to the crowd about how the righteous must be ever-vigilant in these dark and terrible times for the unclean and the wicked, and that the people had done a great service to humanity for exposing this heretical fiend. He condemned Madeline for consorting with vile powers and acting out against mankind, and said she was now sentenced to death.

Then a great and terrible whirring whine began to radiate out of the black monolith.

Julia looked down and saw herself in a puddle, her raven coloured hair flanking her face and grape green eyes like curtain drapes. She shut her eyes quickly. She couldn't bear to look at herself. Her head was filled with thoughts of guilt and regret. A small voice whispered out amidst the despair, a strange serpentine purr that she did not recognise, and tried to ignore. A voice that said she had done the right thing.

A burning lump was catching in Julia's throat, and her insides churned. Her veins were on fire. She wanted to go far, far, far away from this place, and curl up in a cave somewhere and never come out. She never wanted this to happen. She never wanted her friend dead. She just wanted a bit more attention.

But what Julia didn't know, what she couldn't know, was that those stories told to her and the other children of their world weren't just tales. There really were witches and monsters out there.

And the people like the planetary governor and the man in the hat and coat had very good reason to do what they were doing.

Upon the stage, Madeline gave a sigh, and made one final look upwards into the heavens, calmly resigned to her demise. The whining reached a crescendo, and at once burst into a brilliant flash of light and fire, and a wave of heat roared over the crowd. In the centre of the firestorm, Madeline was turned to silhouette, then bones, then ashes that were swept upwards into the wind.

And as the sparks and embers swirled upwards with them, a shooting star streaked across the midnight painted sky.

Taikatalvi

If you're one of the (very, very, very, very few) people who regularly visits this blog, you'll probably have noticed two things:

1) every weekend a short background story has been posted here, and, 

2) this weekend no such thing happened. 

Some explanation may be wanted. The short stories are the result of an initiative I've begun in response to the new version of White Dwarf now published by Games Workshop. Alas, despite my wishes, the new publication has yielded no new major background pieces I am aware of. Because of this, I have decided to publish a short background story of my own devising, to ensure that hobbyists everywhere can get a regular dose of backgroundey goodness. This will continue every Saturday (the same time that this new White Dwarf is released) until they start publishing short stories of their own again. 

Now for the reason why there wasn't one put up this week. This was because I instead decided to put the time into finishing the second unit of Glade Guard for my Wood Elf army, this one equipped with a Banner of Eternal Flame. Work on this unit is the reason why there have been two short stories before any sort of background on why they're being written, due to me working to what was essentially the tabletop hobbyist equivalent to Stalin's five year plan in an attempt to finish the entire unit before university started back up again. Alas, numerous occurrences in life (not least of which was me coming down with a terrible head cold for about a week), resulted in several delays and eventually caused the endeavour to crash and burn. But now it's finally finished, so you can all have some nice army background instead of a short story. 

Glade Guard: The Warmth of Winter 

Fire is a common danger to any forest, and yet also often tragically inevitable. The great and wondrous forest of Athel Loren is no exception, and over it's long history the forest has suffered many fires, either through unrelenting act of nature or barbaric destruction by the torches of an invader. When such forest fires break out in Athel Loren, Fire Spites are often produced, usually from the transformation of a number of the Spites living in the afflicted area. Born from the burning death of the woodland around them and the destruction of their homes, Fire Spites are consumed by pain and murderous rage at the destruction of the forest, and filled with hatred for those who would instigate it. They are vicious even by the standards of the nature spirits that dwell in Athel Loren, though unlike other Spites they are often brooding and sombre. Fire Spites will often avoid Elves and even other forest spirits, either staying with their own kind or living in isolation. They are driven with an insatiable thirst for revenge upon those who would burn the forest, and the power of fire flows through them. A Fire Spite can unleash blasts of flame, or burn and scorch with a touch, and they vindictively suck all warmth out of the air around them. Should any number of Fire Spites become affiliated with a group of Elven warriors, they will assist them in battle, providing warmth and illumination, as well as magically setting their weapons ablaze to ensure the enemy is burnt just as their woodland home once was. 

The Elves of the Meadows of Heaven make frequent use of Fire Spites, primarily for defensive purposes in siege warfare, where packs of them contained in special mystically-protected baskets fulfil a similar role to the cauldrons of boiling oil employed by other races. Of all the various kinbands in the Meadows of Heaven however, the one with the closest affinity with Fire Spites is the Glade Guard kinband known as The Warmth of Winter. Unlike other Glade Guard kinbands, those in The Warmth of Winter no longer have a hall in which to call home. Instead, it is a nomadic group formed of Asrai who have had their homes destroyed, most often in warfare. While they may visit other halls within the Meadows of Heaven, those of The Warmth of Winter will most often be found roaming the forest, frequently making use of the large number of secret camps scattered throughout the Meadows of Heaven as part of the Invisible Fortress. Their experiences have made them hardened and merciless fighters, who will slay any enemies they come across with neither relent nor remorse unless explicitly instructed to do otherwise by an Elf of higher authority. Their shared painful backgrounds inevitably means that those of The Warmth of Winter become extremely tight-knit, and are very protective of one another and mistrustful of outsiders, even other Asrai. Once their trust has been earned however, they will be staunchly loyal to the end. The Warmth of Winter's close affinity with Fire Spites stems from the nature of the origin of it's members, which invariably causes both the kinband and the Fire Spites that accompany it to find mutual sympathy and kindred spirits within each other. 

For much of the history of The Meadows of Heaven, The Warmth of Winter has been an extremely small kinband, though their connection with Fire Spites and the potent flaming attacks resulting from it made them much sought-after in times of war. The destruction wrought on The Meadows of Heaven during Cyanathair's first assault on Athel Loren at the onset of the Secret War however resulted in large numbers of Asrai loosing their homes, friends and loved ones and consequently The Warmth of Winter grew in size until by the time of Cyanathair's defeat at the Battle of Anguish, it had become one of the largest Glade Guard kinbands in The Meadows of Heaven, and ever since then armies from there will almost always include at least one unit of Glade Guard from The Warmth of Winter. 


So there you have it. Don't worry, there will be another short story next Saturday and in the ones after that. In fact that may very likely be the only updates to this blog for some time as I take a break from tabletop hobby to focus on university work and a terrible new insidious threat to my free time: Sid Meier's Alpha Centauri. 

Baptism of Fire

Shas'la'Kel'shan'Mont'yr'Ta Darted across the alleyway and lunged into the shadow of a nearby building, pressing close to the towering wall and ensuring there was as little chance of him being targeted as possible. Snipers were known to be operating in the area, and he did not intend to be one of their kills today. Despite this supposedly being a relatively calm sector, Mont'yr'Ta could nonetheless dimly hear the sound of heavy automatic weapons fire, making it's way across the dusty air over the buildings from some other block of the city.

A series of ominously deep bass explosions echoed from distant artillery fire as the young Tau paused to take stock of the situation. He was deep within an enormous city, a key strategic location on the planet his hunter cadre was currently deployed on, and all around him were colossal towers and spires, titanic peaks of alloys and concrete that lanced upwards into the sky. It was late in the afternoon, and the world's setting sun cast long finger-like rays of light through the buildings while they stood as defiant silhouettes in it's amber  radiance, casting grim foreboding shadows across the urban forest. Motes of dust and the occasional bright ember drifted through the air. Behind La'Mont'yr'Ta, the main street was illuminated with a flickering glow emanating from the burning wreckage of his team's Devilfish troop carrier, downed by a Gue'la lascannon nest further up ahead. Cycling through the vision modes on his helmet display showed no nearby enemies. Mont'yr'Ta checked his communications channels, and found they were still being jammed. He checked the power cell in his pulse carbine - it was at 75% capacity from the bursts of fire he'd laid down at the Gue'la position while running to the alleyway- and quickly moved up to where the rest of his team were.

There were seven other Firewarriors active at the team's position, including the Shas'ui team leader, who was pondering on a piece of debris. Another four were propped against a wall, they'd been injured when the Devilfish crashed. The Shas'ui looked up as Mont'yr'Ta stopped next to him.

"Good, you made it. We'll need as many of the team as possible if we're going to press onward to the objective. Did you see the others?" he inquired.

"No Shas'ui. I think they must be on the other side of the street. Are the drones from the Devilfish still available? Perhaps we could use them to cover them while they link up with us?"

"According to my tactical display the Drones are still functional, and have taken shelter behind the Devilfish wreckage. If they move past it they'll be easy pickings for the Gue'la's heavy weapons. We're going to clear them off the road before regrouping with the Drones and the other Shas'la, assuming of course they're still alive."

"We're going to storm them? They have a prepared position, that does not seem like a wise course of action to me Shas'ui."

"We're not charging straight in. From the quick look I had as I was getting out of the street I noticed they don't seem to have any troops inside the buildings around their heavy weapons. We can slip in through the back door on one of them, get to a higher level and rain fire down on the Gue'la from there."

"What about the injured?"

The Shas'ui looked down for a moment, as if thinking. "We'll leave two here to guard them while a six-strong fire team makes the attack. Do I have any volunteers to stay here?" He asked the team. Three Firewarriors promptly raised their hands. The Shas'ui pointed at two of them. "You, and you. Everyone else is with me."

A string of mortar rounds impacted just a few dozen metres away from the them. "Right then. Let's move," said the Shas'ui.

Mont'yr'Ta was given point. The Gue'la position was not far, though between the slinking from cover to cover, and moving slowly and carefully to make sure they remained undetected, it seemed to take an unnerving amount of time. Eventually they reached their intended destination, a tall building adjacent to where the humans had set up. It had had several large holes blown in it, but was intact enough that the Tau would be able to move around in it without being seen if they kept away from the lower windows. Mont'yr'Ta felt giddy and on-edge. Although he'd been well trained in the Kel'shan battledome, and had performed admirably in the exercises there, this was his first combat deployment, and all at once he felt that the stakes were much, much higher. These were alien soldiers shooting at him, with lethal force, not training drones and mockups armed with stun-weaponry. In addition, the exercises had been just that - exercises, simulations. They had definitely played a big part in his own life, as well as his Team's, but in the greater scheme of things they had little real impact. Here, an entire world hung in the balance. And perhaps more; Mont'ry'Ta had studied the history of the Fire Caste. He had learnt about the Damocles Crusade, and how the Gue'la had waged near genocide against his people. He'd learnt of the Gue'la assaults on his homeworld of Kel'shan, and how the Gue'la there had only stopped their relentless attack when faced with an even greater alien threat, and he knew they'd almost certainly try again if they weren't stopped.

But that wasn't the main thing motivating Mont'yr'Ta. No, he was driven by the fact that they'd just tried to kill his team. His friends. And if there was one thing that Mony'yr'Ta did not abide, it was those who tried to hurt his friends.

The six Firewarriors slipped into the building and made their way up to the upper floors. Once they reached the desired elevation, the Shas'ui halted them. As one, they crept up to the building's windows that faced towards the street, taking care to keep out of sight. Mont'yr'Ta looked out and down through the window from the side. Below, the Gue'la were still looking towards the Devilfish, likely waiting for the gun drones or the other two Tau to show themselves. Or perhaps they were just ordered to concentrate on that approach.

"Alright Shas," The Shas'ui said as quietly as he could, "On three. One.... two.... "

Mont'yr'Ta moved his finger over the trigger of his pulse carbine.

"three."

In unison, the Firewarriors levelled their weapons out and downwards towards, aimed, and fired. The Gue'la were taken by complete surprise, and most were quickly struck down in the storm of plasma pulse bursts. The Tau made sure to target the small-arms equipped infantry first, those manning the lascannons were not as much of an immediate threat. A few searing beams of lasgun fire shot out in response, most hitting the building's walls. One hit a Shas'la, but did little more than scorch their armour. One of the Gue'la took off up the road. Mont'yr'Ta trained his pulse carbine on the human and dropped them in a single burst. The Gue'la command post and it's jamming equipment, which the team had been sent to neutralise, could not be informed of an imminent attack. They would have doubtless been contacted by these troops, but was likely that the Tau had been reported as eliminated. It was best kept that way.

"Good shooting Shas'la," Said the Shas'ui, "I'm setting a waypoint path for the Drones now. Let's get back to the others, if they're still there to get back to."

As they were making their way back out of the building, one of the Shas'la approached Mont'yr'Ta. All of the team were in full combat armour, including the standard Firewarrior helmet, and as such all looked almost identical besides the Shas'ui and his coloured helmet, but by the way this one approached Mont'yr'Ta he knew it had to be her. Of all his team, Mont'yr'Ta was closest to her. "Nice work with the runner back there," she said, "I'm glad to see you made it out of the ambush."

"I appreciate it," Mont'yr'Ta replied, "I'm just as gladdened to see you made it out uninjured."

"It'll take more than some hot light to keep me down." Mont'yr'Ta liked hearing that. He did not want to loose her just yet. "You and me shas'la, we're going a long way together."

"Perhaps one day I'll be your close protection officer when you're a commander." she said.

Beneath his helmet, Mont'yr'Ta smiled at this.

Dearest Amelia

++++ Correspondance Document ++++
++++Delivery Destination: Ultima Segmentum; Scandiacus sub-sector; Gretchen system, Lacuna Lithia [ERROR: Planetary location address classified]++++
++++Send date: 997.M41++++
++++Recieved: 997.M41++++
++++ Source Location: [ERROR: origin location classified]++++
++++Author: Inquisitor Jav're, Ordo Hereticus++++
++++Attachments detected; recieved. Attachment subject: physical cargo - organic matter. Size class: minoris++++
++++Running security checks++++
++++Weaponry detected: none++++
++++ Toxins detected: none++++
++++Dangerous pathogens detected: none++++
++++Dangerous technology detected: none++++
++++Psychic signature: negative++++
++++Psycho-conductive content: none++++
++++Running purity checks....... probing for taint........ scouring for taint......... checks complete; no taint detected. Purity status: Pure++++
++++Threat assessment: nil. Document and attachments safe to review++++
++++Thought for the day: He who is without righteousness is nought.++++

Dearest Amelia, sweetest Katherine, 

I pray this letter finds you well, in good health, in fine spirits and, above all, by the eternal will and glory of the God-Emperor, alive. You are truly a treasure, both to this honoured branch of the Inquisition, and even more so to me. Already I cannot bear to fathom you lost. 

I also trust that the flowers I send with this letter make it to you intact. As you will probably note upon immediate inspection, they are a rare variety of Cosmorose, found in scant places within the Imperium, and especially scarce in the Galactic East. Indeed, I am told they are thought to be a dying species. Recently we stopped at a small Convent-world, and I found several bushes of them growing around the primary Ecclesiarchal chapel present, and their icy blues and violets recalled the infinite depth and beauty of your eyes. The Sororitas there, of the Order of the Celestial Cross, were kind enough to help me pick and preserve in stasis a few of them for deliverance to you. Some of them commented that you were lucky to have the adoration of such a dedicated and pious servant of humanity. I myself beg to differ, for I consider myself far luckier to have discovered you. It was a wondrous little 
world, full of light and colour and pretty little horticulture arrangements, and the chapel was a thing of marvel. Perhaps one day we might have the good fortune of uniting there in marriage someday, when this darkness finally breaks. 

I am afraid to say that I cannot reveal where I currently am at the moment. As I'm sure you know full well, secrecy is paramount in this business, and information is dangerous if left unguarded. Suffice to say I am somewhere far far away from Holy Terra, where the blessed light of the Emperor does not quite reach, and as always hunting something particularly dangerous. The particular heretics I have secured of recent in my pursuit of the heart of their blasphemous coven have proven notably resistant to both interrogation and pennant cleansing techniques. They revel in any sensation, even excruciating pain, and unlike many others of their ilk, sensory deprivation only seems to incite them to dream up imaginary experiences to feel. I have come to employ a method where the subjects are heavily sedated, before being put through various tortures, such as the Martyred Widow, the Crucius Gibbet, with carefully recorded footage of the procedures being recorded and shown to them once they are fully conscious. It has thus far proven effective enough to glean a number of confessions, and I believe I am coming closer to rooting out this vile tumour. Praise be the Emperor! 

I have also come to discover that these heretics seem to particularly favour port worlds in which to fester in. Indeed, just a few days ago we uncovered the largest cell yet of this insidious cult on a world just bellow a major naval starbase! The heretics had managed to worm themselves into the heart of the planet's cities, with many of their number masquerading as individuals of ill repute and providing 'entertainment' services for Imperial crews on leave. Who knows how many fine upstanding Imperial Navy personnel might have been corrupted by these infernal traitors? Fortunately we were able to wipe the scum from the face of the planet with fire and fury, with the support of the planetary Arbites. It certainly did strike a chord of nostalgia in me to be working with them again. Regrettably however our victory came at the cost of 14 dozen good souls in total. An especially high amount of those were also hardened veterans of my household troops. I do not know how long it will take to find replacements that pass muster. 

The days are long and sore without you at my side. Though the time we spent together was but a short few months, already I feel you in my heart, and coursing through my veins. I see your exquisite beauty in the stars, the void they are suspended in as lustrous and dark as your ebon tresses, and all my dreams are of us sharing a lifetime together. I yearn for your touch and wish nothing more than to hold you again in my embrace. I pray fervently to the Emperor that I may be able to see you again soon. Perhaps you will have Cosmoroses in your hair? 

Yours forever, and forever the Emperor's, 

- Jav're 

Summer Days

Wow it's been far too long since I updated this. I had meant to sooner, but once again I was without wifi, and then other things kept coming up...

So anyway, the other day I bought a copy of the new White Dwarf. In case you don't know, White Dwarf is a magazine published by Games Workshop to cover new products, hobby articles, battle reports and other things. As of late it's developed a bit of a bad reputation, largely due to the scaling back of hobby and background articles, but just this month it's been rebooted as a weekly magazine (before it was monthly).

I'm... not sure how I feel about it. On the one hand, well, it's a pamphlet. it's a mere fraction of the size of the older format, and I don't feel as though I get as much as I used to. On the other hand, it has a much more reasonable price, and I like the way some of the articles are going. I'm a bit disappointed with the lack of new background articles, and the absence of a battle report seems a bit.. odd, but it seems to me like a step in the right direction. They've even started putting in rules again, just like the good old days of Chapter Approved!

So, all in all, the jury's still out as far as I'm concerned when it comes to this new version.

Oh, and guess what I also got...

That's right, a vintage copy of 6th edition Warhammer. I happened upon it in a nearby second-hand bookstore, along with a copy of the rules for 5th edition Warhammer and the 5th edition Orcs and Goblins army book. I was only able to snag the 6th edition book though, but I'm very glad I did. As well as being extremely nostalgic for me, it's also given me more than a few ideas for hobby projects in the future. For those wondering, checking the inside cover shows it's a third imprint from March of 2002.

And I also painted up both of my Wood Elf nobles, to help with all the tedious bureaucratic administrative work that comes with ruling a woodland kingdom. Background ahoy!

Mir'q'arielle the traveler

Like the current Wishmaster, Mir'q'arielle hails from Imaginaerum, the provincial capital of the Meadows of Heaven. Of all the Asrai of the Meadows of Heaven, Mir'q'arielle is by far the most well-travelled, having visited over the course of her life nearly every part of Athel Loren inhabited by the elves, and many many locations beyond the forest's boarders as well. Indeed, Mir'qarielle rarely spends much time at all within her homeland, instead spending her time roaming the forest and wandering between different areas. Strangely however, considering this wonderlust, she has never taken up the path of the Waywatcher. It is likely that this is due to differing focuses in travelling, for where most Waywatchers are content to simply roam the pathways of Athel Loren, Mir'q'arielle also has a rare taste for discovering new lands outside the woodland dominion of the Asrai. Indeed, it is said by many that Mir'q'arielle embodies the spirit and joy of exploration that the first Elven colonists to settle outside of Ulthuan, long before the discovery of Athel Loren and the formation of the Wood Elves. 

As a result of her constant travelling, Mir'q'arielle eschews much of the more traditional wear of the Meadows of Heaven, and instead wears garb and ornaments picked up from other parts of Athel Loren. Her frequent journeys also give Mir'q'arielle a number of important tasks, especially diplomatic roles. It is often Mir'q'arielle that is sent to entreat with other Asrai kindreds and factions, the good reputation built up in previous adventures serving her well. Even when not representing the Meadows of Heaven, she will often accompany delegations from the territory as a guide, ensuring the group reaches it's destination with speed and safety. 

The other important role Mir'q'arielle often fulfils is that of inquisitor or investigator. Her many travels have left her with a number of sources of information, and she is frequently occupied with hunting down potential cures for the Winterheart. Any word of such a treatment, or something that could lead to one, is swiftly pursued, for amongst the Asrai of the Meadows of Heaven Mir'q'arielle is second to none and equal only to Aneaeth Ollissin in her drive to see the end of the Winterheart's malign influence over the Wishmaster. Her connections with the rest of Athel Loren work both ways however, and as much as she debates in the name of the Meadows of Heaven, she is also influenced by the rest of the forest, and so represents the interests of greater Athel Loren within the royal court of the Meadows of Heaven, as well as acting as a watchful eye for the King and Queen in the wood to ensure that the Wishmaster and the irregularities brought on by his condition do not spread to the rest of the Asrai, and that he and the Meadows of Heaven conform to the rest of the forest where possible. 

Regardless of the reason or purpose behind her travels, Mir'q'arielle's journeys frequently take her into danger, and so she has become a competent fighter and expert shot with her longbow, in fact believed to be one of the legendary Hunter's Talons originally crafted for the master Waywatchers in ages past. Not only that, but Mir'q'arielle has also come to form close ties with a Murder of Spites, who now travel within her cloak and protect her from harm by both keeping lookout for danger and striking directly at assailants. Mir'q'arielle is also a close friend of the Eagles in and around the Meadows of Heaven, and has a number of gifts from the noble birds as a result of this friendship, including the great helm of raptors, a cloak of Eagle down, the dense feather coatings of which provide as much protection as an equivalent piece of metal armour while being considerably lighter warmer and more comfortable, and her faithful avian companion, Kaereon, whose vicious beak and talons prove just as effective in combat as any hand weapon. 

Gaerielle, the twilight storm 

Gaerielle is the current leader of the Twilight Glade, one of the smallest and most mysterious of the areas in the Meadows of Heaven. Isolationist even by the standards of the Asrai, the elves that live in the Twilight Glade rarely interact with even their kin in the rest of the Meadows of Heaven, and devote much of their lives to 'mastering the darkness', spending much time perfecting the arts of divination (such that it is said they rival the seers of the Celestial Heath in their ability to navigate the paths of fate), and prowess in combat, and consequently the Twilight Glade produces some of the most incredibly skilled, fearless, merciless and terrifyingly lethal fighters in all the Meadows of Heaven, and for many leagues beyond. Indeed, the warriors of the Twilight Glade are famous for having never surrendered or fled in battle in the entire history of the Meadows of Heaven, and such was the reputation they gained during Cyanathair's first assault on Athel Loren that many Beastmen would panic and run if they believed elves from the Twilight Glade stood against them. 

Because of this, elves from the Twilight Glade have often acted as bodyguards for Wishmasters, and Gaerielle continues this tradition as well as representing both her home and the armies of the Meadows of Heaven in the royal court. Adorned with Amethysts, considered by the Asrai of the Meadows of Heaven to be the gemstone of death, and a Helm of the Hunt formed from the antlers of a mighty Great Stag fallen in battle, and wielding a Spear of Twilight, Gaerielle acts as the Wishmaster's protector and King's Executioner. Almost unique amongst the peoples and civilisations of the world, those who dwell in the Meadows of Heaven hold no dishonour in a leader refusing a challenge, for should a particularly skilled ruler fall in such a test of strength their leadership would be lost forever. Instead, the Wishmaster of the Meadows of Heaven appoints a King's Executioner, a noble invested with the authority to represent their lord in personal combat, as well as to execute those the Wishmaster deems particularly worthy of their wrath. It is considered an honour to be appointed as a King's Executioner, for it is a task that requires exceptional honour, valour, conduct and battle prowess. 

Of the Asrai of the Twilight Glade, Gaerielle easily has the most contact with the world beyond her home, and is one of the most social of the elves of the Twilight Glade, something made necessary due to her role in the politics of the Meadows of Heaven. Even so, she is still sombre, brooding and of few words (a common trait in the Twilight Glade, for it's inhabitants strongly believe that actions speak far louder than words), and often stays to her own company. This is not necessarily a disadvantage, for her cold silent brooding temperament is often enough do discourage any who would intend harm upon the Wishmaster, and is often enough to restore order to a heated debate. Where Gaerielle truly excels, however, is not in court discussions but at the general's table and on the field of battle. Like all nobles from the Twilight Glade, she is an extremely proficient warrior and peerless tactician, and has led armies from the Meadows of Heaven to victory on many occasions, even in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds. However, she is considerably less capable as a strategist, and while she can exquisitely orchestrate battles, she often struggles to master the greater scheme of conflicts, though this is something she would dearly like to rectify. 

There is also one final side to Gaerielle, one that is seen by almost none. For beneath her icy exterior there resides a kind, gentle and poetic soul. While her upbringing has left this aspect of her highly suppressed, she nonetheless is often silently upset when those around her stereotype her as only a cold battle-hungry killer, though she would never let such feelings surface in public. Indeed, it could be that one of the reasons she is so utterly loyal to the current Wishmaster is that he is one of the few who know about this and give her someone to confide in.. 

That's everything for now then, I have more Glade Guard to paint. 

exunt