Warlord 4th Edition CCG - the epic fantasy card game

by Laurence J Sinclair

The heavy marching of dwarven warriors rushing to their posts, hastened by their king’s words, masked Brom Frostbeard’s retreat from sight. Even as the old cleric hobbled away from the great gate, the clank of armour was replaced by the clash of weapons, Alaric’s battlecry just audible above the screams of the dying. Each night, ever fewer comrades retiring home each evening.

Combat this close to his sanctum didn’t disturb Brom; it was the fifth such incursion in as many hours, and soon enough King Alaric and his soldiers would drive the attackers back. It was truly admirable how quickly the outsider had mustered his troops so quickly for the defence of the city, yet the priest shook his head that so many of his Winterholders should look to the newcomer for leadership. His own voice had barely been acknowledged at the council of war, the fighters caught up in Alaric’s bravado.

Had they so soon forgotten to whom they owed their survival? Brom had not.

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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…)