My Kings of War Free Dwarf army is packed and ready to go this Sunday. When I built and painted them, I designed them to switch between Warhammer 6th edition and Kings of War. However, after playing them in 6th edition, I remembered juat how unbalanced it was for the Dwarfs,… and more importantly, I wouldn’t be able to use my much loved Brock Riders, so I went back to Diorama unit bases and I’ll commit them to KoW. The miniatures themselves are a selection of some of the best Dwarfs available rather than just Mantic Dwarfs
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I’m set to finally play my Free Dwarfs in Kings of War tomorrow. So far, I’ve only played them with Warhammer 6th Edition, (Which did nothing but remind me , why I stopped fielding my Orcs & Goblins and my Dwarf Armies, as the balance was heavily askew for anyone not fielding Vampires or Elves… and why most of the gamers in my group at the time switched to 40K)
Anyway, I’ll finally get to play with my Brock Riders, and a Berserker Lord mounted on a Brock , (if not Sveri Egilax himself.) It’s only a 1000 point per game)
Here is what I have as an army list:
King Braefart’s Wee Free Highlander Dwarfs
Free Dwarfs
Ironclad (Regiment) 110
- Throwing Mastiff 15
Free Dwarf Brock Riders (Regiment) 195
Free Dwarf Rangers (Regiment) 185
Dwarf Army Standard Bearer 50
Free Dwarf Ironwatch Crossbows (Regiment) 135
Sveri Egilax on Hellbrock [1] 210
Free Dwarf Ironwatch Crossbows (Troop) 100
Total Unit Strength: 14
Total Units: 7
Target Points: 1000
Core (Target%): 1000 (100%)
I’d welcome any feedback on what I need to change, if you have any please.
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I got two 1000 point games in yesterday on a 30"x36" table, which kept it intimate and limited manouverability, but were fun. The first was against Ogres, and any betting man would have put a tenner on an Ogre win, but on turn three my Brock Riders got into the fight and single-handedly turned the game around, attacking anything that moved. My rangers blocked the right flank and the pass through to the opponents side, and his objective markers, but the Pot shot rule threw me. a -2 to hit if you move ?! What’s that all about?
Second game was against Goblins, and he had boosted one of his 2 unit of Fleabag riders . With such a small board and him having a plus 1 move bonus , the left flank was going to be tested, and on my right was his trolls, whilst in the middle, he had a legion of rabble, and mawpups, along with a ready supply of reinforcements via a Mawpup launcher. I targettedthis right flank with Sveri Egilax sneaking along the outer edge of the blocking terrain, where only a small unit might go. and stopped just before the end, denying him a charge on the first round, and forcing one unit of Fleabag riders to protect the launcher, as well as his General. My brock riders sat in plain site, on the other side of the blocking terrain, getting the inspiration benefit of Sveri. Again, i dropped the scouting Rangers to block the canyon on the other flank. The Legion in his centre shuffled forward into a focused hail of crossbow arrows from my units. He got the charge in on my Brocks, and my rangers, but that suited me. Unfortunately, just when his rabble should have failed to tuck tail and run, i kindly rolled a snake eyes on their nerve, giving them one more crucial round against my regiment of crossbows and my Ironclad. His trolls , not surprisingly, had charged my rangers and by the end of turn 3, had wiped them out, but they couldn’t move very well, or make any impact on the rest of the battle, due to the terrain. I was slowly, but inevitable chewing up his infantry, and his General and both Fleabag units by turn 5. He had opted to spin around with his trolls, feeling their frustration. Given that my opponent was new to the game, I reminded him of the objective, which was to get units into my deployment area, and that with a unit strength of 3, his trolls would be better utilized to turn back around and race for the finish line, as by the time he got back to charge me, the middle ground would already be decided, unless i rolled a further double 1. Whatever the trolls did, would have little or no impact on his dying army, so he took my advise and in the end it won him the game. as my I would only get 2 unit points in his zone, to his 3 points in mine. Had the game gone another round, i would probable have cleaned the board, but that double one had delayed me long enough to stop my 2 regiments of infantry getting into the deployment zone. All in all, some enjoyable games,
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A wee story for you all…
Morag and the Bán Sidhe Pipes
Morag and the Bán Sidhe Pipes
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King Braefart was the High King of the Wee Free Highland Peaks, and his mountain towered above all of the other mountains, so you couldn’t get any higher than Braefart’s Dun, without taking to wing. Even then, you’d need a good set of lungs to find enough air to breathe and fly at the same time.
Ironically though, for those that jumped or fell off the top of his citadel, (or in some cases were thrown off,) these unfortunates seemed to find plenty of air as they plummeted downward for their short flight.
Living at such dizzying heights was tough, and Braefart’s clan were as tough as they come. The centuries of living on a limited diet of hardy root vegetables, lean game, and oats, had made the Wee Free Folk of the kingdom, as the name suggests, smaller than your average lowlander, and tougher than a Puck goat’s scrotum.
As the undisputed ruler of all he could behold, (which was quite far when the mists dissipated,) Braefart only answered to two people: his wife, Queen Heather, and of course his Mammy, Scáthach.
Needless to say, these two powerful women would not undermine his authority in public. That would do no one any good. Privately though, a soft word or a knowing glance usually coaxed the stubborn king into consider another option, one that kept him in his marital bed rather than sleeping with the hounds. Also one that didn’t bring forth one of Scáthach’s dark gazes of disapproval.
It was into this world that Princess Morag was born. A sharp-minded child with strong women around her, it was no wonder that she grew up to be strong and opinionated. Where other, meeker ladies of the royal court endeavoured to spend their lives weaving, embroidering, and knitting the tough wiry wool of the mountain sheep, Morag constantly searched for mischief.
This came in many forms, before she finally found her voice, or to be more accurate, her shrieking wail.
The sound had come from a very special set of Bagpipes, that had been passed down from generation to generation over unknown centuries. The Druids had, with magic now lost forever, trapped a Bán Sidhe and forced it into a pig’s bladder. They had wrapped the bladder in a woollen bag of Braefart’s tartan colours using powerful glyphs to keep the daemon bound. Finally, with the addition of a few pipes to inflate the bladder the first ever bagpipes were completed. The pipes allowed the Bán Sidhe’s shriek out into the world in a more controlled, and dare I say it, melodious, manner.
There was great power within the wailing of these particular pipes. It could echo across the mountains, haunting the sleep of enemy warriors, bolster the tremorous hearts of the brave highlanders in battle to claim victory when all seemed lost. It could drive hounds to howling at the moon, make a mountain troll attack its own kin, or even soothe an angry bear back into hibernation.
Due to the thin mountain air, it took a powerful set of lungs to inflate these particular bagpipes. Occasionally, an ambitious, (or perhaps reckless might be a better description), young druid hoping to win his fame, asked the Chief Druid for a chance to try the bagpipes. Such a decision was not taken lightly though. Many who tried the fill the bladder, passed out through asphyxiation long before achieving a single note. Those might be considered fortunate, as filling the pig’s bladder was only half the battle. Only the sharpest minds could wrestle dominance over the trapped Bán Sidhe within. She occasionally tried to escape her magical shackles, by slipping into the mind of the Bag-piper. For this reason, any bard trying to pit their wills against the demoness, did so in the sacred grove, where their efforts could be monitored and controlled within the layers of ancient magics that protected the sacred place.
Therefore, when Morag first took an interest in the bagpipes, her mother quickly snatched Morag’s hands away.
Morag, however, only took this as a challenge, and tried again and again to play with this new toy.
Her mother tried to distract her and failed. The clan tried to keep a wary eye on her, day and night, but this too failed. The Chief Druid was sought, and he hid the Royal Pipes deep in the darkest dungeons beneath the mountain.
At first, this seemed to work. Out of sight - out of mind, they assumed.
Morag did not forget.
She stepped up her game, instead.
Appearing content to seek out other amusements to idle away her time with, Morag quietly bided her time, waiting for those who watched over her to grow bored. Once she was sure, absolutely sure that her Mother, her Father, and even the druids had forgotten about her interest in the pipes. Only then did she start to methodically hunt down the mystical bagpipes.
Dawn broke like a volcano erupting one morning. The whole household were driven from their sleep by the shriek of the Bán Sidhe. Even the ancient stones of the keep’s walls trembled with fear at the sound.
Had the Bán Sidhe escaped?
The druids were summoned and sent down into the dungeons to find out what was causing the noise. Bagpipes, even normal ones, were not meant to be played in enclosed spaces. The dungeons, although cavernous, were still far too small to contain the cacophony that Morag was making with these particular bagpipes.
The noise was so bad that some of the younger, less experienced druids were driven mad. In a desperate attempt to rid themselves of the shrieks, they ran away from the sound, heading for the cliffs. One by one, they dived over the edge. The older, wiser druids, rammed candle wax into their ears, gritted their teeth against the images that haunted their minds, and chanted loudly to lessen the effects of those terrible wails.
Cautiously, they crept forward, led by the Chief Druid, Cathal. He stopped close to the young girl. And studied her red cheeks as she blew more and more air into the pig’s bladder. At first, he feared that the young Princess was possessed. One way or another, if she kept playing, it would only be a matter of time, minutes … or seconds even, before her fragile young mind was forever lost.
An idea came to him.
Pulling a honey-glazed oatcake from his robe, he broke it in half and offered the larger part to Morag.
A mental battle ensued between the Bán Sidhe and the Princess, but the honey-glazed Oatcake and Morag’s hungry stomach won out. With a final shriek of frustration, the Bán Sidhe released the young Princess’s mind and fled back inside the pig’s bladder.
Morag accepted the treat with an approving smile of gratitude, ate it quickly, and gazed deeply into the old druid’s eyes… “More!” she asked.
Cathal had only the one biscuit, grabbed in haste as he passed the kitchens. One of the earliest things he had learned in his younger days, training as a druid, was to always have food in a pocket. Whether you were facing a rabid dog, a Puca, or one of the sidhe, or in this case, a possessed child, few things would ignore a honey coated biscuit. It was always a good place to start a negotiation.
“I’m sorry, your highness, but that was my last one,” he said.
Morag frowned.
“But I’m sure we can find more in the kitchen… if we get there before your brothers eat them all.”
Even in her current state, Morag understood the never-ending threat of teenage boys and their hunger.
Gripping the bagpipes tightly to her shall chest, Morag rose, slipped her hand into Cathal’s and lead the way towards the kitchens. “I know a shortcut.”
One of druid tried to take the pipes from her, but her grip was fierce for one so small. She glared at him, a low threatening growl emitting from between her teeth.
“Mine!” she declared stubbornly.
Cathal nodded agreement, and dismissed the others with a shake of his head. “It’s alright lass,” he assured. “No one will take your pipes. They are yours now, and you, theirs. There’s a strong magical bond between you now.”
Many of the clan debated about the bagpipes. Had the Bán Sidhe sung to the child to lure her into the dungeon? Had young Morag snuck away every night while the rest of the Wee Folk slept, and eventually found what she was looking for? After all, the Princess was certainly wilful enough. It was the sort of thing that the headstrong Princess would do.
Morag refused to discuss the matter, even to Cathal.
The King broached the subject with his Mother, Scáthach, suggesting that they throw the pipes down one of the many very deep holes in the mountain. Holes that many said went all the way down to the gates of Hell…and beyond.
Scáthach hissed as if sucking a piece of stubborn meat from between her teeth.
“Hummm,” said the King, knowing that he would get no help there.
Next, he mentioned it to his wife, hoping for an ally, but the Queen ignored him plea… and so, the matter was dropped.
From that day hence, Morag and her magic pipes were bound together, as firmly as if a geas had been placed upon the child. They roamed far and wide together, even slept together in Morag’s bed. Even when Morag took her annual bath, she refused to put aside the bagpipes. Only a lengthy debate with her grandmother finally found a solution. The pipes would remain within easy reach of the Princess, and always in Morag’s line of sight, but she they would stay out of the bath itself. Scáthach’s nose wrinkled at the stench, not sure which smelled worse, the pipes or her granddaughter.
As for the Bán Sidhe, Scáthach, and for that matter, Cathal also, didn’t know how it would react to a plunge into hot soapy water. Would it weaken the binding spells, or weaken the power contained within the Pig’s bladder. No one knew, but no one wanted to find out either.
As for Morag’s ability to wield her bagpipes; (for wield would be a far more accurate description than play,) Cathal had agreed to teach the Princess, but with only one condition: that she never, ever, played the pipes in the dungeons ever again.
Dark and terrible beasties lurked in the dark shadows of the dungeons, and the darkness deeper beneath those dungeons. If given the chance, the Bán Sidhe’s song might tempt something up from the depths in an effort to escape, something strong enough to bypass the glyphs and magical barriers that the druids maintained down there.
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