Daemoncall Enters the Living Museum

“Here. It is here.”

Thaddeus Daemoncall knew the signs that heralded another concentration of magical artefacts – feelings and impressions only open to those with extensive experience of sorcery. They stopped, just before the narrow passageway opened up into a snow-dusted square.

The Summoner nodded towards the rows of shattered statues – once proud bearers of exotic treasure in a proud wizard’s private museum, but now just broken lumps of man-sized stone under a wintry sky.

He turned to his warband – the four thuggish tribesmen and their two bowmen cousins, the Hobbit thief and Southlander ranger, the newly-hired knight, loyal warhound and lastly his apprentice, Johannes Oddleigh.

“It was once the custom to keep one’s treasures at the feet of such statues – you can be sure they will not let go of their charges readily. Come, let us advance!”

“Begone! I was here first!”

The challenge echoed across the square as Holbon Toddlebrew and his apprentice Ged Scrollmaster appeared at the opposite side with their band, augmented by a haughty treasure hunter.

“You again Sigilist?” sneered Thaddeus. “Very well, let us begin the d-“

Suddenly an arrow thudded into the chest of the archer standing next to the Summoner. He staggered, clutching his wound. Thaddeus stepped back as his men advanced. Laying his hands on the stricken bowman he muttered a spell, beads of sweat dripping from his forehead and his eyes growing bloodshot.

The archer stood up, but before he could stutter his thanks the wizard weakly waved him on forward before leaning heavily on a ruined wall. Reaching into his robes, he pulled out the healing potion he had found in the previous battle and drank deeply.

“It’s like that is it?” he muttered darkly.

The warband closed in on the statues, spreading out as they moved forward. In the vanguard a small imp appeared, close enough to worry the Sigilist’s men, but not their own party. There was a stronger smell of brimstone to their left, where Halfinch the thief had smashed a potion bottle, releasing the demon from within.

To the right, the healed archer made his way around the edge of the square, keeping a ruined building between him and the archer that had nearly finished him. Climbing up onto the top storey, he would ineffectively cover the square for the rest of the game. Ahead of him trotted Fluffy the warhound, working her way around the flank of her prey.

In support, the other archer had set himself up in an upper level and, perched in his eyrie, exchanged bow shots with his opposite number, who was crouched behind a ruin. He guarded the Sigilist apprentice who, like his master, was busying himself by attempting to cast magical shields over his men.

The released demon screamed in fury, forced to do her master’s bidding, and moved on the treasure. However it was the Sigilist’s men who got there first, pulling out a golden chest from under the rubble. Suddenly one of their number, a bald thug, yelled a warning, as a statue came jerkily to life, looming above him.

As he frantically battled this living statue, the summoned imp was quickly finished off by the Sigilist warhound. Meanwhile the other thug was hauling the treasure chest away, covered by the treasure hunter.

But these small victories were short-lived, for the knight had leaped forward thanks to Thaddeus’ magic, and, ignoring the bald thug’s plight, quickly slew the warhound and clanked straight towards Holbon Toddlebrew and his archer bodyguard.

Thaddeus’ thugs had by now reached the statues, which were coming to life at a steady rate as the treasure chests were touched. However these steely tribesmen were able to attack mob-handed, and with a yell of triumph, soon polished off an outnumbered construct - swiftly followed by it’s neighbour.

The enemy treasure hunter and thug pairing also managed to dispatch a living statue, while their bald compatriot was still locked in an epic struggle with another animated effigy.

The treasure hunter and his friend made a break for it, as did Holbon Toddlebrew, leaving his archer to face the mighty blade of Sir Pierre de Bleu. He did not last long, and neither did the Sigilist apothecary, who had run face-to-face with Fluffy as she appeared on his flank.

A scream rent the frozen air, as the demon, having moved around the opposite flank, fell to the blade of a troublesome archer. Another imp popped into existence, and lolloped towards the bald thug, who was still battling a statue.

Two of the tribal thugs had by now destroyed yet another statue, although one had been wounded in the process, and were now extracting yet another treasure chest from under the snow. A timely leap spell from Oddleigh moved the wounded thug, and the treasure, out of harm’s way, although the miscast had to be boosted, nearly costing the unfortunate apprentice his life.

With a shout, more of relief than triumph perhaps, the bald thug finally dispatched the statue, only to turn and find the imp heading towards him. Groaning, he once again hefted his club, sending the creature back to whatever dimension had spawned it. His enemies overcome, he could finally get at a treasure chest!

But it was not to be. He fell, a look of surprise on his face and a sliver of bone protruding from his back. Thaddeus smiled, flexing his fingers as one of his men raced forward to claim the chest.

By now the Sigilists were in full flight, pursued by a baying Fluffy, with Sir Pierre not far behind. Buying them just enough time to escape, the Sigilist treasure hunter turned and hacked down the demonic hound.

Her howls mixed with a squeal of terror as Nifty Halfinch, Halfling thief, went down under a mighty blow from the remaining statue. However this creature was soon taken care of by Hakim the ranger, leaving the field, and five of it’s six treasures, to Thaddeus Daemoncall. He and his band headed back to the Cloven Hoof, carrying Fluffy and Halfinch’s prone forms. Luckily they were both to make a full recovery.

The Summoners had not only cast half a dozen spells between them, but Thaddeus had also dispatched an enemy thug and had five treasures to his name. In one fell swoop he had risen to a level five wizard. (Edit: After re-reading the scenario, I noticed we also get 25 exp per statue killed, so an extra 100 exp for me, bringing me up to level 6.)

The treasure haul was rather pleasing too, with gold-a-plenty, scrolls, magical weapons and a new elemental ball spell to be learned. Thaddeus’ sojourn into the living museum had proved to be very profitable indeed…

Thaddeus’ First Foray into Frostgrave

“Well then, gentlemen, here we are…”

My warband: wizard, apprentice, thief, ranger, two archers and four thugs. I had also managed to brew up a demon in a bottle during the out-of-game spell phase.

Thaddeus surveyed the ruins of the frozen city, his experienced eye picking out the tell-tail aura wherever there lay an item of magical treasure – left abandoned for centuries and now ripe for the taking.

Except… Movement!

Down a narrow alleyway he saw others moving. A glint of s sword, a swish of scarlet robes.

“Another wizard…” He squinted, before sucking the cold air through his teeth. “A damned Sigilist! Men- forward!”

My gaming buddy Giles very kindly agreed to try his hand at Frostgrave with me, digging out some of his extensive fantasy collection and gamely creating a warband around them, despite not seeing the rules beforehand! We started off with a standard game – six treasure tokens scattered across the board.

My warband split up into two, headed by wizard and apprentice. They advanced, taking cover in the ruined houses. Giles’ Sigilist did likewise.

Oddleigh, half-tripping over the broken flagstones, froze as down the street a thug crept into view. They stared at each other for what seemed like an age, before the apprentice lifted his arm and pointed a trembling finger.

He couldn’t remember what happened next, but the thug lay dead, a sliver of bone protruding from his body. Oddleigh stared at his hands in horror.

“Hah!” The curt laugh of the archer, who was clambering up a pitted wall to get a better vantage point, was enough to snap him out of it. “Good shooting my lord!”

"There!” Thaddeus pointed at the chest, half-hidden in a dark corner of a ruined building. A thug immediately sprang forward and began dragging the booty out. His fellow tribesman, a swarthy archer, brushed past, looking for a way up onto the next storey, while Halfinch, skipping effortlessly over the rubble, ran ahead in search of more loot.

Oddleigh peered at where the prone thug still lay. To his right, the archer had scrambled up a ladder and was preparing to take pot shots at whatever target presented itself, while below him, three of the tribal thugs advanced, years of field craft learnt on the steppes being put to good use.

To Oddleigh’s left, a shower of loose bricks heralded Hakim the Ranger, climbing effortlessly up another ruin, towards the treasure chest secreted there.

“Faster – I want it all!” Thaddeus raged as his warband crept forward, archers exchanging shots with their adversaries. Skulking in a shadowy doorway he could make out the Sigilist’s men, dragging chests of treasure away from his grasp. Suddenly, he grinned. “This will slow you down…”

A few muttered words and a well-practised wave of the hand and ‘poof!’ a small red creature appeared in the midst of the enemy.

In advance of the apprentice, the thugs continued forward, until one of them suddenly flew backwards, as if pushed by a mighty invisible palm. A figure in red robes strode from behind a corner. “Halt knaves! I am Holbon Toddlebrew, wizard, and I claim this place and it’s treasures!”

“Oh aye?” drawled one of the thugs. “Well I’m Greybeard of the Black Hill tribe, and I claim your head!” As their winded comrade picked himself up, the thugs leapt forward, quickly striking down the Sigilist.

Thaddeus sensed the demise of his fellow wizard and grimaced, despite his hatred of such runesmiths. He ducked from out of the doorway, bone dart ready to cast at his rivals, but no target presented itself. The imp he had conjured was meanwhile in combat with a fierce war hound, but by the sound of it's squeals, was not to last for long. One of his thugs was surging forward; hoping to catch the Sigilist apprentice and his entourage as they frantically dragged away their share of the treasure.

By now Halfinch the Halfling thief, Hakim the ranger and one of the thugs were similarly dragging away treasure chests. Could Thaddeus snatch one more? He concentrated on the thug in front of him, who suddenly he leapt into the air, landing neatly a short distance from the retreating Sigilist warband. However it was too late – they were gone before the started tribesman could recover his wits.

Thaddeus grunted in disappointment. “Come, we are done here!”

A little while later and the band were nursing their aches in front of a roaring fire – with even the taciturn ranger Hakim swapping stories of what had occurred that day. The inn that they had discovered, and subsequently dubbed the Cloven Hoof, was comfortable enough, even if in dire need of restoration.

At the very least it suited Thaddeus. “Enough room for another warrior,” he mused, “and we will need a kennel for Fluffy."

Oddleigh shuddered at the thought of this half-demonic warhound. “It’s going to cost a lot to build a kennel strong enough to hold her!”

Thaddeus nodded, looking glumly at the meagre contents of the three treasure chests they had snagged. “Well we have some gold… and if we sell these magical weapons we will have enough for a kennel and another man – that knight, Sir Pierre de Bleu, see if he’s available.”

Oddleigh nodded, and left for The Market, while Thaddeus totted up the rest of the finds. “A potion of healing – add that to the demon potion we didn’t use today… scrolls… oh and a grimoire! Animate construct eh? Could be useful…”

Thus ends our first game of Frostgrave! Both spellcasters managed to get of a grand total of four spells each, and it was honours even with the treasure at three apiece. This gave us both enough experience to advance to level 1.

Giles did however do a lot better with his treasure rolls, and his wizard recovered fully from his battering at the hands of my thugs. His account of events can be found here.

Time then, for the second game, in which our wizards hear tell of a ruined museum, brimming with treasure… and strange statues…

Statues

What was once an opulent hall, brimming with treasures and wonders, now lay ruined - a rubble-strewn plaza exposed to the unforgiving elements.

Broken statues loomed over great chests - half crushed under fallen roof beams. A spider, no bigger than a human hand, scuttled over a chest in hunt of prey. It stopped, detecting a slight vibration.

Shards of stone were sloughing off the statue that stood in silent vigil over it's charge. It's remaining arm grated in it's stone socket as it raised it's broken sword. Head tottering on what remained of it's shoulders, in staggered off it's pedestal.

Sensing danger, the spider scrambled off the chest and crawled under a raised flagstone. The statue stopped, before jerkily stepping back into it's original position. The frozen air swirled and it was still.

Treasure!

With my first game of Frostgrave coming up this week (all being well – anyone with young kids will know how swiftly the lurgy strikes at this time of year), I needed to get some treasure tokens sorted.

Now, bits of paper, beads, coins (I use old interwar coins in my VBCW Brink of Battle skirmishes) will do the trick, but I wanted something that looked good.

Step forward the Dice Bag Lady! 

I’ve wanted to send a few bob Annie’s way ever since I heard about her webstore. Her business seems to be really taking off, and I admire the way she’s started selling and producing believable female miniatures (as opposed to the buxom chainmail bikini type) – which will be useful if my plan to get my daughters into wargaming succeeds...

When I saw that she’d made available in the UK some great treasure token’s from Ristul’s Extraordinary Market, this provided me with the excuse I needed to put my hand in my pocket (just a modest order sadly – this is also the time of year for empty pockets!)

Within days of placing the order they arrived, and have finally taken their place at the head of the painting queue.

Adventurers: Part the Third

“This? This is your master?”

The thugs chuckled as the marksman sneered derisively at Oddleigh from across the half-eaten food and empty beakers on the table, his sharp and piercing eyes seemingly whittling the apprentice down to his constituent parts: cowardice, incompetence and failure.

And a small spark of bravery (or at least indignation).

“Wha? Er, I mean - I am no ‘this’ you cur!” he blustered. “I am apprenticed to the noble Thaddeus Daemoncall!”

The marksman glared for a second, before barking out a laugh.

“Hah! At least my kinsfolk will be led into battle by someone with a little spirit!”

The marksman – Uluk whateverhisnamewas – came from the same tribe as some of the warriors that had accompanied Thaddeus and Oddleigh from their exile on the Steppes. While they were newcomers, he and his band had been hiring themselves out for many months. Consequently they were better armed and armoured than their cousins – and more expensive to retain.

“Moghai tells me this is will be your first expedition to Frostgrave. Well I want my kin to survive, so take heed… There is something stirring… I know not what, but I have heard tales of something at the heart of the city. Something worse than the ice toads, ghouls, werewolves and the like. So you be careful, and, if you make it out alive with enough gold, seek me out, for it has been many a winter since my cousins and I fought side-by-side.”

“Er, perhaps you could fight for us now?” smiled Oddleigh weakly. “We’ve spent most of our gold but, y’know, maybe you could give us friends and family rates?”

The marksman glared, his face turning purple. He leant forward, his hand resting on his crossbow.

“HAH! A sense of humour as well as spirit!”

He doubled over, wheezing with laughter.

“You sir, will go far…"

“Oh, thanks!” Oddleigh grinned.

“Or die…” shrugged Uluk. “The ones with a sense of humour always either do very well, or die…”

Oddleigh could only gape as the kinsmen clunked beakers, and shook the tavern with a tribal shriek. One last night of merriment before they set off on their first expedition...

Some more potential recruits for my warband – a marksman, two crossbowmen and a pair of infantrymen, all knocked together from my Fireforge plastic kits.

Adventurers: Part the Second

“Blimey, look at him! I know necromancers are supposed to be pale, but he’s practically see-through!”

After several hours of haggling for lodgings, bartering for supplies and general running of errands, Oddleigh had slumped onto a log next to Halfinch, the Hobbit thief that his master had secured the services of.

Halfinch had taken a shine to the apprentice, much to his annoyance, for the Hobbit talked incessantly. And now, having finally exhausted his large repertoire of stories, personal anecdotes and general wittering, he contented himself with providing a running, and rather uncomplimentary, commentary about the throng as they passed by.

“Hah! Look at that old hag, giving him what-for! They’ve been scrapping over the same treasure, you mark my words.”

Oddleigh sighed, but did not reply – something that Halfinch either failed to notice, or simply didn’t care about.

“Oh, and who’s this? Ugh, an Elf! I hate Elves – poncy, pointy eared pansies!”

Oddleigh observed the Elf striding past. He had seen many Eleves before – the College of Magicke at Ulfenhalle was prestigious enough to attract some students from among their ranks, but this one was different. No fey and aloof magic user here, but a sinuous and feral creature from deep within the forested heart of the Faewold.

“…ooh, look at me, I’m a poncy Elf with long poncy hair!”

“Er, perhaps you’d better keep your voice down – Elves have extremely good hearing…”

“Huh, I’m surprised the big Jessie can hear anything with that women’s hairst-“

The Hobbit stopped, red faced, as the Elf froze in his tracks and with a snarl, dropped his staff and notched an arrow in his bow in one fluid movement.

Oddleigh scrambled behind the log, desperately trying to remember the elemental shield spell he’d half-learned back in some stuffy classroom.

“Greysleaves – come! Our employer awaits us!”

A heavily armoured warrior – a templar by the look of his enormous battle-hammer, called the angry Elf, who bared his teeth before reluctantly lowering his bow and joining his companion.

Oddleigh climbed back onto the log, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Shame,” muttered the Hobbit after a few seconds of silence, “I could’ve taken him you know...”

Two more hirelings at the higher end of the price list - an Elf Tracker (Reaper Bones Elf ranger with replacement hands to give him the requisite weapons) and a Templar (Reaper Bones once again).

Adventurers: Part the First

‘The Market’ sprawled along the swift and narrow river that marked, in this particular area at least, the unofficial border between ruined Frostgrave and the outside world.

The noise was incredible – stallholders hawking their wares from beneath tattered canopies, warriors sprawling drunkenly from tumbledown drinking dens, spellcasters haggling loudly over the price of some magical item, the baying of warhounds and the crackle of wizardry.

What struck Oddeigh most was the sheer numbers and variation of people heading to and from the eerie ruins. Common thugs rubbed shoulders with proud knights, wily thieves bantered with watchful rangers, and sturdy archers tested their bowstrings while callow apprentices practised their art in secluded corners.

“This is where everyone comes to before they launch their expeditions, and then buy and sell stuff afterwards.”

The Hobbit Halfinch had been mercifully quiet during the last leg of their journey, cowed perhaps by the stillness and quiet of those last few miles through the wilderness, but now, as if animated by the sudden cacophony, he was in full flow once again.

Oddleigh grunted, still stunned by the spectacle. He turned to look for his master, but found his way blocked by two huge shapes.

“You want fighters?”

A mound of muscle, in amongst which must have been some kind of man, thumped his chest, and then that of his equally large companion.

“We Gog and Magog – we fight for you – hundred gold each!”

“Oh, er..” stammered the apprentice.

“We consider offer!” grunted the Hobbit, which seemed to placate the pair, who nodded solemnly before wandering off. He grinned and turned to Oddleigh.

“You have to speak the language see? Barbarians – not the sharpest swords on the rack, but bloody good fighters.”

“Er, they’re practically naked…”

“Huh, the cold doesn’t bother them. Born of the Great Wilds see? Everything there wants to kill you – hell, even their gods hate their guts! Gotta be tough to surv- by the Lords, I don’t believe it!”

He was staring at yet another large, armour-clad figure, who clanked along with an expression of open disdain against everyone else in sight.

“Don’t believe what?”

“That’s Sir Pierre de Bleu – haven’t you heard of him?”

Oddleigh squinted at the knight. His armour, once obviously painted a startling blue, was chipped, faded and dusted with rust, although, he noticed, his sword was sharp and well honed.

“He’s famous,” Halfinch continued, “there’s not a princeling in the land that hasn’t heard the cautionary tale of Sir Pierre de Bleu. Scion of the noblest family of the Old Empire, rich beyond comparison and just as spoilt. A talented fighter yes, but one who much preferred a life of wine and wenches to the noble arts of war.”

“Oh.” Oddleigh groaned inwardly as the Hobbit settled into his story.

“He and his mates would ruin half the countryside on one of their jaunts – hunting peasants and outraging their daughters – but each time his dad, the Grand Poobah of wherever, would pay off whoever and let him carry on. However one day him and his mates went too far and raised an entire town. Even daddy couldn’t spring him this time, and so he was banished. Last I heard he was cracking heads in the Southlands, but I guess wizards pay better than pirates…”

Oddleigh watched as the warrior shouldered his way through the throng.

“Takes all sorts I suppose…”

A few more figures to spend gold crowns on. The barbarians are from my good mate Doug of EM-4 miniatures, whilst the knight is a Reaper Bones figure, kindly donated by gaming buddy Rich.