No, really. You do. Go and admire your astuteness in the mirror. This can wait.
Back so soon? It was almost as if you opened the dictionary and turned to Astute. There was a picture of you.
And because you're an astute reader, you probably worked out from the nature of the pictures in my previous blog post that it was not just a scenario.
It was, in fact, a battle report.
The game was with one of my two nearest oldhammerers: one Jeff McC, of Portsmouth. Okay, he has more name than that, but I've not revealed it all just in case MI5 locate him and confiscate his old lead. You'll recognise him as Jeff McC on the oldhammer forum. Well, you will now, given that I've just told you.
Perhaps we should have a prologue, hmmm?
Prologue: The Escape from El Catrase
Tzeentch opened the door. "Khorne! You made it!"
"Wouldn't miss this gig for the worlds! You won't believe what I've cooked up!" Khorne pushed past Tzeentch. "'Sup, ladies!" he barked at Nurgle. "Oh. No Slaanesh yet?"
"Hey, hey - it's everyone's favourite Khorne-dog!" Nurgle purred, slipping slightly as the arm of the chair he was ensconced in finally rotted away. "I just got the board out! Oh boy - you brought some Skulls!"
Khorned winked down at Nurgle. "Wouldn't be games night without 'em!"
The bag melted under Nurgle's gentle administrations, allowing the Skulls to tumble onto the table, a part of which formed into a bowl just as Tzeentch walked in. "C'mon Nurgle! I just got that chair!"
"S'not my fault your stupid chairs only last for a hundred thousand years! You gotta stop buying shit at Eyekea! Happens every time I come over." Nurgle stuffed a fistful of Skulls into his mouth, crunching indignantly.
"Ah, that'll be Slaneesh, then," Tzeentch pronounced, as a multi-coloured arm materialised from the wall before him and pointed to the door. "Don't touch anything else, Nurgle!"
Tzeentch returned with Slaanesh in tow. "Good! We're all here!"
"New 'do?" Nurgle said, bits of Skull drizzling from his mouth.
"Yes, actually," Slaanesh titivated, flicking his hair. "Glad you noticed. It's the day of Saint Valentine around about now, so I thought I'd do something with the colours of disappointment: dates not turning up, finding out your life partner is gay - you know, that sort of thing. I like how it turned out."
"I'd imagine finding out your deity is gay is quite disappointing too?" Khorne muttered.
"I think you'll find my satisfaction ratings are high on both sides of the fence - higher than yours all round, actually," Slaanesh quipped back. "Let me guess," he said, looking into the peculiar bowl, which tipped itself towards him as he leaned over. "Skulls! Originality must be your middle name, Khorne! Oh wait, I forgot - it's Dick!"
"I thought you quite liked dicks? What did you bring, anyway?"
"I don't like them enough to lick my own, though." Slaanesh took his seat opposite Khorne. "I brought some cucumber juice."
"Cucumber juice?" Tzeentch raised his eyebrow. "No fancy dispair-of-finger-nails-being-dragged-down-a-chalk-board-remixed-with-Miley-Cyrus-sings-polka-triple-filtered-through-tax-return-frustration-and-distilled-over-a-thousand-years?"
Slaanesh shrugged. "I thought of that, but we've sort a done that before. Any of you had cucumber juice before?"
The other gods shrugged and shook their heads.
"See? New experience all round. Simple cucumber juice! I see the board's all set up?"
"Yep," Nurgle said. "Picking up where we left off the last time."
"Remind me again?" Tzentch said, sitting down opposite Nurgle.
"So you had a Community Chest card, which you played on the half-orc." Nurgle looked at the card and read it aloud:
Lusty and Late
Play this card against any one opponent's playing piece to cause that piece to miss a turn.
"Yeah, I remember now," nodded Tzeentch.
"So, the half-orc-" Nurgle started.
"Gromeo," insisted Slaanesh.
"-Gromeo - was under Slaanesh's control, but that's caused him to miss his turn. Which makes it Khorne's to go."
"Boom!" barked Khorne, slamming a card down onto the board. "Double move, bitches!"
Slaamesh rolled his eyes. Tzeentch picked the card up and peered at it. "Okay, so what're you going to do?"
"I'm dropping this orc army on Gromeo's arse, is what I'm doing!"
"You're such a pussy, Khorne!" Slaanesh scowled.
"Yeah? Well, you know what pussies do to people don't you? They f-"
"I know what they do, yes," Slaanesh interrupted. "But never having seen one, I bet you don't!"
"C'mon guys," Nurgle admonished. "Go on, Khorne. Roll the dice..."
Jeff swallowed nervously. He considered the door and pondered the various different ways the next few minutes could play out.
"Ahem," he knocked. Softly, if he was honest about the thing. May as well look respectful.
Nothing happened. He could just make out some low moaning and a giggle.
"Um, sir?" he tried again, this time a little louder. Jeff shook his head. He couldn't really understand the desire to use these idiotic human titles. Sir? It sounded weak. At least, it did when he said it. When Gromeo said it, it sounded amazing! He just had, well, a way of saying it.
"Excuse me, Sir!" Jeff tried again, this time thumping the door.
"What is it?" a luxurious baritone demanded. "I'm busy!"
"Sir? Sir! We need to get out of here!"
"I'm not even in her! What are you on about? I'm not about to leave now!"
"Not her! Here!" Jeff croaked, hoarse with frustration. "We need to get out of here!" He pressed his ear to the door, barely catching another giggle.
After much creaking, groaning, grumbling and swearing, Jeff heard a sound that he approved of: the heavy thump of Gromeo's steps towards the door. What the little goblin chief had not anticipated was the door launching open at such a speed that he would have no time whatsoever to react.
The full force of Gromeo's considerable frustration slammed into Jeff's forehead through the medium of the brass doorknob. Jeff Leppard, Grand Nobbe of the Tripe Valley horde of goblins in the command of Roland Stones, 2nd in commnand to Gromeo himself, landed unceremoniously in the mud.
Jeff's jaw dropped in horror as he gazed up at the vast green bulk that was Gromeo. He appeared to be unclothed, but chins covered his belly and his belly covered, well, up to his knees. He watched Gromeo's face crack into a savage grin.
"It's Gromraaz!" Jeff stammered.
"And what, pray tell young Jeff, is a Gromraaz? And perhaps even more importantly, why in the name of all things holy and unholy - and that, let me tell you, is a great many names indeed - did you see fit to interrupt me for it?"
Jeff swallowed again. Gromeo's voice was soft and his face was as gentle as any visage might be when presented on a morbidly obese half-orc. His fear was that Gromeo was one of those commanders that was all calm and serene on the outside and the most depraved of savages on the inside. So far, nothing had happened in the force by way of extreme discipline, which caused a nervous terror amongst the entirety of the greenskin contingent - how could he enforce discipline without outward, obvious and regular displays of violence? Jeff had no plans to discover what it was that Gromeo did. Now was not the time anyway.
"Gromraaz the Poet!" Jeff ejected "He's on his way here!"
Gromeo's eyes roamed the pre-dawn sky as he contemplated the name.
"Minorca?" Jeff prompted.
"Ah," Gromeo grinned. "Good times, Minorca..."
"Gromraaz don't seem to think so! He's coming in force! Looks like he wants to take El Catrase!"
"Is that so?" Gromeo said, scratching his chin. "I s'pose I can't rely on your retards to manage that. Better safe than sorry, eh? Get my chariot ready, then!"
Finally! thought Jeff, the idiot is seeing sense. Jeff winced as he gazed up at Gromeo's considerable belly. "And your clothes, Sir?"
"Oh. Good point, young Jeff," Gromeo chuckled, looking down on himself. "Don't want little Gee to get cold now, do we. Ben? Ben! BEN!" he shouted.
Another goblin scrambled into view. "Yes Sir?"
"Get my chariot ready. Jeff here needs to help me to get dressed!"
"Yes Sir!" Ben Jovey confirmed, before racing into the darkness.
The colour drained from Jeff's face. "Dre... dressed, Sir?"
"Come on, you," Gromeo hummed, hefting poor Jeff up by his throat.
|Look! A table! Every deployment should have one. We are facing north (so the closest table edge is South, see?).|
|And some pictures of things... deployed. Y'know. Cos its deployment.|
|This is the Chaos camp.|
|Gromeo and his Goblin Guard occupy El Catrase|
|Agatha and Christie, two of Gromeo's many squeezes...|
|The southern deployment of the orcs...|
|Their northern deployment...|
|Their western deployment.|
|The field, as seen from the east.|
|Jeff, already totting up victory points in his head...|
|Explanation of the Chaos deployment.|
|Explanation of the Orc & Goblin deployment.|
|A thousand words....|
|...and the extended explanation of the Orc & Goblin deployment, because my camera couldn't fit all the little buggers in...|
All this and more in the next exciting instalment of The Escape from El Catrase!