Warlord 4th Edition CCG - the epic fantasy card game

Stronger
by Laurence J Sinclair

“Without the word of my master, I will require a very good reason not to kill you now,” the mask hissed, sections of its obsidian surface rippling out of time with the words.

Arkibold merely glared up at his tormentor, the priest refusing to even acknowledge the pain that the gauntlet clutching his windpipe must have been causing. Godwin had seen the old man face down an entire unit of Elite Hate Guard back in Baraxton, just to protect a group of street urchins. That seemed like it had happened in another world now; this slaver was not intimidated in the least by a show of defiance.

“If your own death does not scare you, what if I were to kill each of your comrades?” (more…)

To Die Free, part 3 - Insiders
by Laurence J Sinclair

How had they known where to find the camp? That’s the first thought through my head the moment the daemons have been dispersed to the ether. Bodies may lie scattered dead around the clearing - variously crushed, torn apart or simply frozen solid - and yet it’s more important to think of those that still live. To ensure that they get to see another day.

“Take only the essentials!” I shout out to the nearest group of men. “And pack quickly! We don’t know how many more of these things may be out there!”

I instinctively move to retrieve my arrows, but think twice upon seeing the entrails in which they’re buried twisting with life, writhing like headless snakes, the air rasping with their movements. (more…)

To Die Free, part two
by anonymous 

He felt weary, like he could sleep forever. He had no idea how the veterans could cope with it, old and venerable as they were. They all had been force-marched to the great battle and that had turned out to be a disaster. Even before the great magic forces had annihilated everything he knew.

Duke Robert’s men had cut a swathe through the enemy hordes, but they had overlooked the Stormwraith flankers who had taken the militia by surprise. He himself had prided himself on his skills with the sword, ever since his brother Timothy had shown him the basics. Back at the farm. Now the farm was gone too, burnt to the ground and haunted by dark shadows.

A strange sound made him raise his leaden eyelids. From the dense canopy above him a colorful furry creature regarded him with hypnotic eyes. Suddenly those eyes flicked away from him, and gazed at some point in the jungle. A silent alarm yelled in the back of his mind and he had just half-drawn the forearm-long sword from his left hip when the dog-like creatures loped from the edge of the clearing. Their true from escaped the eye, but they appeared to be six-legged, beetle-like. What he could see, quite clearly, were the sharp rows of teeth as they severed old Lawrence’s head from his shoulders. A veteran like him shouldn’t have frozen like that, he thought, before remembering he was still sitting on the ground himself. (more…)

War on the Plains, part two
by Laurence J Sinclair

Alexa Genecourt suppressed the urge to curse as her ungainly steed refused to turn at the sting of her spurs. Her fellow knights were having similar problems, unable to bring their camels to bear on the attackers screaming down the dunes toward them. More than one beast had toppled to the ground with crossbow bolts piercing its hide, rider trapped beneath the bulk.

The ambush would have seen the death of each and every Deverenian in the patrol, had it not been for the wizard by her side. Having complained of the unrelenting heat throughout the journey so far, now he was more than willing to channel his power to explode fireballs amongst the enemy, blasting a spray of corpses into the air. That provided time enough to devise an appropriate response. (more…)

The Thorn of Eban-Tarsis
by Greg Melnyk

“Damn Krun, damn the Scarab Legion and damn this swamp. I know we’re better off without Hate, Muddy, but nights like this make me miss the old days.”

“Heh.” Muddflek spits and watches as it falls towards the bog beneath them. He pulls his cloak tighter around his shoulders. “There are worse places to be sleepin’ than in a tree. Gullet of one o’ them landsharks for one.”

Yemat grunts and shifts slightly in his branch, taking care not to lose his balance. “I don’t know why Set’rokh wants this place mapped. There’s nothing here but trees, mud, water and things trying to eat us.”

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The Surge of the Sutek brings the release of the latest Overlord Attack and Drasek the Furious. The new Attack is called O2: The Shadow of Wings, after the following finely crafted story. Enjoy!
 

The Shadow of Wings
by Laurence J Sinclair

The paladin’s expression did not change even as he wrenched his blade from the corpse, striping his face with blood. The speed with which he’d cut down his foe had the gnolls yelping as they dived for cover, but Keziah was more worried by that expression. Most warriors that she knew, had seen, or even heard tell of, showed at least some emotion during battle.

She herself had been attacked by two of the reeking, cackling creatures. It hadn’t been a stretch to duck back from the clumsy sweeps of their hatchets, but the fear had been there. Her loris daggers had killed them, one spinning and slicing a throat, the other stabbing through a chest, but there’d been desperation behind those strikes. Two she could handle, but the score more further up the hill were another matter.

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After finally being able to talk a few minutes to Laurence and getting our ideas for the story behind Warlord on the same page, here is another fruit of Laurence’s labor. Enjoy!

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by Laurence Sinclair

Of course the city is quiet. That’s part of their charm, the appeal that lures people in. What I’ve been longing for these last few months.

Those scouts that I’ve been running with, they wouldn’t understand. They could identify dozens of different animals in a forest from tracks alone, tell which fruits aren’t poisonous and move through the trees as if invisible. One day in a city and they’re lost, though.

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The firestone brazier had burned down entirely. There hadn’t been enough fuel left to keep it stoked. Outside the tent Alaric could hear the first sounds of his people breaking down the camp for the next day’s march. In the darkness the new king sat straight on his camp stool with his fist closed around the symbol of Kor Kohn had given to him as the tent flaps flew back and a dwarf stumbled in stiffly, his ironcloth armor crusted in frozen dirt. It looked like winter was coming swiftly in these mountains. (more…)

The firestone brazier barely lit the shabby tent, nor could it keep the cold at bay beyond preventing the water from freezing on the chests, table and earthenware. Alaric slouched on his camp stool looking at the symbol of their deity, Kor, hanging on an otherwise empty valet stand just within arm’s reach. Kohn had given it to him, asking him to wear it constantly, to drive his dark thoughts away.

Alaric wasn’t prepared for that, yet. Those images, full of fire and pain, his body flayed open and healed again, the hypnotic eyes of Ter-Soth’s torturers, through all the headaches there was something almost comforting, familiar in them. He didn’t have to think, just to resist. Now, Kohn wanted him to take his father’s place. To lead what was left of his people into a bleak future, to step into ironcloth boots large enough to be Hellbringer’s. It was so much easier to stand valiantly before the enemy and die. In vain, Alaric thought moodily.

Just as a new wave of painful images, full of fiery shadows dancing along molten rock and searing lances began to roll through his head, his scarred hand snaked towards the symbol and grasped it in a steady grip. The dangerous throbbing subsided and instead an image of his father appeared, chiding his brothers when he still was a toddler. „No heir of mine will ever shirk in his duty, he needs be as steadfast as we are as a people. You are sons of Hember and you do your duty even if it means that you perish!“ King Xod thundered. Alaric’s eyes cleared, grew hard and determined. Yes, the Dwarves would have a new king and a future.

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