Race Through The Silver Tower, Company of Sigmar Round 3
Team Name: Company of Sigmar
Team: Manfred the Lord Castellant Norman the Knight Questor Grimli the Cog Smith Felix the Excelsior Warpriest with Fido the Gryph Hound
The Company of Sigmar.
The Fragment of Chamon.
Part 1:
Dutch Courage.
Manfred watched with growing dismay as the giddy Duardin tottered on his stout legs, stumbling sideways for a few paces, until he stuck out a stubby arm and steadied himself against the chamber wall. Grimli gave a raucous giggle that was muffled behind his thick grey beard, and then muttered something gruffly to himself. He shook his head like a dog trying to dry its wet fur and once again set about the arduous task of attempting to walk in a straight line. He managed a few stuttering paces, before his balance failed him again and he went side stepping into the opposite chamber wall, where he once again caught himself, giggled, grumbled and shook his head. Manfred gave a disapproving shake of his head, just as Felix came into his periphery vision, he shot a worried look at the Warpriest, who saw the concern in his eyes, but merely smiled heartily in response. The two watched the Cogsmith set about walking in a straight line again, his staggered steps clattering loudly and offbeat in the large stone chamber.
“He’s drunk again,” Manfred said quietly.
“He’s always drunk,” Felix replied, still grinning, “I would be more concerned if he was sober,”
“He’s a liability,” Manfred retorted seriously, his stern voice however still did not wipe the smile from his master’s face.
“He can handle himself,” Felix soothed with a wave of his hand. “He can keep his whiskey until the moment he shoots himself or us. It’s amazing how well he can aim a pistol considering he can barely aim himself,” Felix’s point was punctuated by Grimli slamming face first into the chamber wall. The Duardin’s thick head bounced off of the stone with a meaty crack. But the Duardin merely laughed, shook his head again and continued onward.
“I thought he would have ran out of drink by now,”
“As did I,” Felix admitted.
“I told you we shouldn’t have paid him up front and with so much,”
“I had to be sure he would join us,” Felix replied with a shrug, “I assumed there would only be so much he could carry. But I underestimated his resourcefulness.” The two of them watched as Grimli, with a sly glimpse over his shoulder, removed his hipflask from underneath the breastplate of his armour, and took another hearty swig.
“His armour must have many compartments,” Manfred muttered,
“I think his armour is just a network of hip flasks,” Felix replied with a laugh. “If any enemy could get close enough to him to pierce his breast it would merely bleed whiskey,”
“Things are only going to get tougher,” Manfred replied sternly, “We all need to have our wits about us. We cannot have Master Ironhand wandering around in this drunken stupor.” But Felix still merely smiled.
“My father always said to me, that the only thing braver than a man with courage in his heart, was a man with ale in his belly,” Felix motioned to the stumbling Duardin with a look of quiet admiration. “I’m beginning to think he was wrong. I’m starting to believe that the only thing braver than a man with courage in his heart or ale in his belly, is a Duardin with whiskey on his breath.” Felix clapped Manfred heartily on the back, and although he nodded in agreement, his face remained stern and silent beneath his golden helm as he watched the Duardin stagger sideward once again, catch himself, giggle, and grumble and shake his head.
Round: Three
Mission: Three - Chamon
Battle Report: Before they started the Company could see that Manfred was lacking in skills and falling behind the rest of the team. Also they had an abundance of Treasure and they should probably use it, Felix had already maxed out. The first room that the Company of Sigmar came across was the explosive chamber that had also been the starting room for their rival team, the Trinity and the Traitor, hopefully this would end better. Manfred wandered cautiously into this room and nearly killed an Acolyte, Norman however did not! The Knight Questor took down an Acolyte with a Thunder-charged Strike and swung wildly at the wounded Acolyte which set off the explosions. These explosions wounded both Norman and the Acolyte which killed the enemy although this meant that Norman was denied a move around the Fate Board. Felix managed a kill without causing any drama. Grimli took on the Kairic Adept his many missed pistol shots causing more explosions which wounded Felix, Fido and Norman (again!). The wounded Company chose to take a respite and heal the wounds caused by the exploding room but unfortunately they were ambushed by 5 fearsome Tzaangors. The ambush was surprisingly ineffective with only Felix taking any damage. In retaliation Norman used the Warpstone Bomb which did some major wounds, allowing the Company of Sigmar to work through the Tzaangors quite easily. the Sigmarites quickly realised that they were going to be bogged down by a lot of ambushes because they have so many Skill cards, so they came up with a new tactic of moving on even it they have enemies remaining. Before they could leave the room they were ambushed again which also included a brief cameo from the Gaunt Summoner who did not achieve much more than simple fear. The Explosives in the room were causing more wounds than either side that were fighting and the players were running out of Wound Markers. At one point Manfred and Norman were both grievously wounded while defending the other two. Manfred selflessly chase to use the Phoenix Heart on Norman who was capable of causing far more wounds than he could. after what seemed like an age of the earth the team escaped from the room but the enemies were still alive so Manfred could not Re-spawn. The mass horde of enemies was Bottle necked behind them but the team moved on regardless while Grimli shot them down. Once most of the party had moved clear, Grimli gave them some much needed breathing space as he took down 5 enemies in a single turn. Every roomed seemed to be deadly so progress was slow, but at least it was progress! Grimli's guns had him flying around the Destiny Board and getting some serious skills although he would have to reduce them to three at the end of the battle. Eventually the Company of Sigmar got some free space where he encountered Blot. This annoying little creature was captured by Manfred who gained his first ever skill card as a prize and he was also he one kill away from earning another one. In a repeat of a previous game the Company came across some prisoners, it worked out well last time for the honourable good guys so they naturally chose to free them again. The prisoners attacked them! hows that for gratitude! The prisoners had the Sigmarites bogged down for a long time but as ever they were put to the sword. Finally after a couple of hours of play the Company of Sigmar found the Fighting Pit! This super cool board tile contained Kairic Acolytes and soon filled up with Grot Scuttlings. The room was the easiest one of the round and all the enemies were easily slaughtered! in the end it was Norman who took the Chamon piece of the Amulet. so many enemies had been butchered this round that the Company of Sigmar had taken all but one of the Skill cards available, Grimli alone had 7! each player would have to reduce their skills to 2 each.
Result: A successful footslog!
Outcome: Manfred: Treasure: None. Skills: Divine Will and Vengeful Strike Amulet Pieces: Ghyran Norman: Treasure: None. Skills: One Step Ahead and Living Fortress Amulet Pieces: Chamon Grimi: Treasure: None. Skills: Chosen and Wellspring Amulet Pieces: Hysh Felix: Treasure: None. Skills: Evasive and Jaws of Death
Current Score: Company of Sigmar: Rounds played: 3 Amulet pieces: 3
The Trinity and The Traitor: Rounds played: 3 Amulet pieces: 1
The Company of Sigmar
The Fragment of Chamon
Part 2:
Blind Luck.
The crowd cheered as the two combatants entered the arena. The hoots and screams reverberated around the chamber, echoing and resounding around the hollow stone room, until the chanting and hollering was deafening. Each of the champions clambered onto their plinth that towered above the jeering and leering acolytes below, the fight would be underway soon, and the excitement and anticipation was building to a dizzying crescendo.
Zarog looked on with a feverish glee, the young acolyte had anticipated this showdown for many days now. It was a big fight; one of the biggest the fighting pits had ever seen. Mang the Mighty was one of the greatest sorcerers in the Silver Tower and had stepped into the arena many, many times. He had felled great worshippers of Tzeentch and had even defeated an Ogroid Thaumaturge in a brutal and bloody one on one combat in this very pit. To challenge him to battle was suicide for Mang was not just undefeated, he was seemingly all but invulnerable. But Zarog had a feeling that today was different, he had a feeling that not only was Mang the Mighty going to make a mistake.
He was going to make Zarog his fortune.
“How much?” Came a sickly voice beside him. Zarog glanced at the owner of that rasping voice for only a moment, he didn’t want to take his eyes off of the fight even for even a second for fear he would miss anything. Even a fleeting glance at the acolyte beside him confirmed his suspicion that it was an old and haggard man named Beezle.
Beezle had been in the Silver Tower for as long as anyone could remember. But for all his time here he had never progressed any further than that of a lowly Acoylte skulking the dark corridors and maddening chambers of this nightmarish maze. Beezle was no fighter, he was renowned for stealing the wealth and possessions of those unfortunate souls who did not survive the Tower’s Trails. He was a legend of the Tower, and he was as much a part of this place as the Guant Summoner himself. Zarog hated Beezle, not for any particular reason however, Zarog had barely seen never mind spoken to the man, but Zarog was in a cult, and to be in a cult you had to fit in: everyone hated Beezle, and so Zarog hated him too.
“How much?” He repeated in his whispering, skittish drawl.
“Four hundred,” Zarog replied absently, he kept his tone flat, ensuring the old miser would not be enticed into continuing the conversation. But Beezle was not easily deterred. The Old Acoylate let a dry, raspy, impressed whistle escape past his cracked lips.
“Four hundred! Quite a sum,” Zarog gave a polite nod, but did not meet his gaze. Again, he was hoping that the conversation would end there. But Beezle was as persistent as he was annoying. “For Mang?”
“No,” Zarog replied plainly. The two combatants faced each other now, Zarog eyed Mang’s opponent, a young, yet gifted sorcerer named Goran. Goran stood proud and tall, he looked confident, Zarog liked that. His bet seemed very safe indeed.
“Goran is a gifted spell weaver,” Beezle nodded, “But he is young. Youth is the enemy of talent, youth knows not how to use it, for it is too brash, too eager. Youth needs to learn from age, not fight against it,” Beezle added wagging a gnarled finger in Zarog’s face. “A chick should only leave the nest when it can fly, and Goran is far from having his wings yet,”
“Sometimes age knows too much,” Zarog spat, “And sometimes it thinks it knows things that it does not,” Beezle smiled at this.
“Then perhaps you would like a wager?” Beezle’s voice oozed coyly.
“I wouldn’t want to take the gold you worked so hard to rob from the corpses of braver men,” Zarog hissed, but he had to admit that it would be tempting to take the old fool’s money.
“Two hundred,” Beezle whispered.
“No bet,” Zarog said sternly. But his voice waivered, two hundred was quite a handsome sum to rob from this elderly moron.
“Two hundred says Goran will not even land a single blow against Mang,” The old Acolyte added. Zarog’s eyes widened at this. This was a fool’s bet indeed. Zarog thought, no he KNEW that Goran would not only land one hit, but a dozen. Zarog cast a cursory glance at Beezle and saw the old man’s eyes glittering wildly in excitement. Zarog gave a small, wry smile; perhaps he would take the old fool’s money after all, for he had not realised how foolish he really was. Zarog would show him that maybe age wasn’t as wise as it believed.
“Then it’s a bet,” Zarog smiled but it was Beezle who smiled wider however, and as the crowd roared suddenly it became apparent that the fight was about to begin. The two champions squared their meaty shoulders and already, their hands began to blaze with arcane fire as they whispered incantations to the air. The fight was almost underway when all of a sudden the large doors to the Fighting Pit suddenly sprang open. The two champions and indeed the whole crowd turned and saw the stout, unmistakable frame of a Duardin standing proudly in the doorway. There was a silence as the crowd watched almost dumbfounded at the unexpected guest. The Duardin reached for his belt and before anyone could react, he produced two pistols. At the sight of the weapons it was Goran who reacted first. High on his plinth, he bellowed an incantation and his hands blazed with a red crackling fire. But the Duardin was too quick, he levelled both pistols at the champion, and with a deafening brace of gunfire, Goran’s head snapped backwards, a great gout of blood flew into the air from the holes in his forehead and his body tumbled to the ground, landing with a meaty thwack on the stone floor.
Zarog stood dumbstruck as he watched the corpse splatter onto the stone and as all the Acolytes rushed forward as one to attack the intruder, who was now being joined by a brace of towering Stormcast Eternals, Zarog still stood rooted to the spot, his eyes fixed on the blood pooling behind the head of his fallen champion.
Four hundred gold coins. Gone. Just like that.
He was roused from his thoughts by a sharp prod into his shoulder. He turned to see the glowering eyes of Beezle glimmering greedily. He outstretched a withered palm towards Zarog and beckoned with his twisted fingers. He grinned a broad smile, revealing a dark, gaping mouth that reeked of stale breath and boasted only a patchy covering of teeth. He laughed hideously as he whispered to the young, foolhardy acolyte:
“Pay up,”
Please comment below with your Silver Tower experiences, let us know how many rounds you gathered all 8 amulet pieces in and whether or not you defeated the Gaunt Summoner! Which characters are best to use in teams of four? Would you use a themed team or a bulked up team? We would love to hear from you! Happy Wargaming!
