The Wizard's Bookshelf

Battle for the Boarder

With club nights back in partial swing (the kettle is out of commission) and games under my belt for both my Basileans and Slaves its back to pure Ratkin joy (filth to long suffering Steve). I’ve been playing the mighty rats since I started playing Kings of War a couple of years ago and have loved how they’ve evolved in V3. So, to the table. The scenario is Invade, armies are at 2,500 points.

The armies

The Fyrefur Clan (Ratkin)

1 – Kiitsch Sparkthrower – Warlock with Banechant and Inspiring Talisman

2 – Bludjar – Warchief with Fleabag

3 – Demonspawn

4 – Night Terror with Diadem of Dragonkind

5 – Shock Troops horde with Plague Pot and Brew of Sharpness

6 – Tunnel Runner regiment with Caterpillar Potion

7 – Tunnel Runner regiment with Jesse’s Boots

8 – Tunnel Runner regiment

9 & 10 – Mutant Rat Fiend

11 – Strayrat’s Hackpaw regiment

12 & 13 & 14 – Vermintide regiment

The Orcs

1 & 2 – Ax regiment

3 & 4 – Great Ax regiment with Orcish Skullpole

5 – Long Ax horde

6 & 7 – Morax troop with Orcish Skullpole

8 – Wip’s Playmates

9 – Fight Wagon regiment

10 – Gore Chariot regiment

11 – War Drum

12 & 13 – Giant

14 – Godspeaker with Inspiring Talisman and Fireball

15 – Krusher on Gore

16 – Morax Mansplitter

17 – Wip the Outcast

Turn 1

Orc raiders were not unusual, Kiitsch Sparkthrower mused, they just weren’t usually this successful. Most of their raiding parties turned back a long way before making it to the entrance tunnels of the Fyrefur Clan. The more information the Scurriers had brought back, the more he was convinced the Orcs arrival was more down to overenthusiasm following their total destruction of Azzighar’s forces than any grand plan to overthrow his clan.

Certainly the intelligence from the clan’s scouts indicated the army had no real supplies with it and depended on raiding for food and resources to keep it going. As what little civilisation there was had ended twenty or thirty miles ago, and the winter snows were setting in, Sparkthrower was certain the army was on the verge of fracturing with only the promise of another fight keeping it going. That it was with the Ratkin was purely coincidental. The force that gathered before him certainly wasn’t sufficient to pose a serious threat to the tunnels, however the Broodmothers were keen the orcs were stopped before they could cause any real damage. To that end Sparkthrower had been dispatched to stop the orcs from progressing into Fyrefur territory.

Despite Sparkthrower’s suspicions about the orc army’s motivation he was not going to underestimate it. He had met Azzighar on a number of occasions and knew from first hand experience the Iron Caster’s reputation for arrogance and short-sightedness were rarely sufficiently exaggerated to come close to the truth. His demise had been no surprise. Of course the misinformation fed to Azzighar by Strayrat, the leader of the Fyrefur hackpaws, and their early abandonment of the field would not have helped the abyssal dwarves, but it was undoubtedly Azzighar’s talents as a leader that had won the day for the orcs.

It was for this reason Sparkthrower had petitioned the Broodmothers for the release of the Fyrefur Demonspawn. A mighty beast, fashioned in the mould of Scudku-z’luk, the Demonspawn of Diew. Between the intelligence presented by the scurriers, and the carefully considered words of the Warlock, the Broodmothers had agreed to the creature’s release, together with the clan’s two Mutant Rat Fiends. The terrible triumvirate were an awesome sight to behold as they stood in the snow, bellowing out in equal measures of anguish and hate at the orcs that moved inexorably towards them. The rats responded in kind, advancing, but more tentatively, with the exceptions of Vermintide regiments that ran ahead of the main battle line.

Turn 2

The orcs had seemed quite disciplined at first, but as the armies closed the most enthusiastic of their number broke from the ranks hoping to make an early dent in the rat lines. The giant on the rat’s left flank charged into a regiment of Vermintide waving its club around, but the heavy thud of its massive feet hitting the ground was enough to send the giant rats scattering for their homes. In the centre a regiment of Ax attempted to achieve the same against another Vermintide regiment, but this time the response was not quite as final, resulting in the tiny rats wavering.

In response the Tunnel Runners revved their engines and powered into combat. One regiment smashing into the giant on the left flank, whilst a second ploughed into the fight wagons. Despite the weight of the wheels and their massive blades neither regiment was able to cause enough damage to remove their targets. Seeing the failure of the Tunnel Runners on the right flank Strayrat spurred his mount into action. A second giant had burst from the trees in front of him and was threatening the Tunnel Runner’s flank. The Hackpaw leader hoped he would be able to buy the Tunnel Runners, locked in combat with the Fight Wagons, some time.

Turn 3

Strayrat’s intervention worked. The giant grabbed at fleabags, missing the mutts as they darted around defensively trying to avoid its hungry, grabbing hand. Some of the fleabags weren’t quite fast enough and two of their number were plucked out and stuffed unceremoniously into the monster’s great maw. The sight of the giant’s open mouth chewing, combined with the shower of warm flesh and blood that fell as it tried to eat, fight and bawl at the same time was too much for Strayrat and his pets who promptly waivered, equally disgusted and entranced by the spectacle. The Tunnel Runners locked in combat with the Fight Wagons fared less well and soon lay in pieces, much to the excitement of the orc crews.

In the centre the Ax regiment swung at the few remaining rats, forcing them from around their feet. Any joy was short lived as the smartest amongst them noticed not only the Shock Troops in front of them, but also the Night Terror slinking along to their left. Whilst their brethren prepared for a last stand a Morax troop could no longer contain their excitement. With whoops and hollers of blood curdling delight they sprinted forward towards the biggest target they could find, unfortunately for them it was the Demonspawn. Their excitement ceased very abruptly, not long after their charge.

On the left flank the Tunnel Runners that had bravely, but also stupidly, underestimated the giant heard the gleeful chuckling of Wip’s friends joining the fray. With blows from the Giant’s club raining down on them and spiteful Orclings jabbing them with their small spears the drivers decided it was time to abandon their machines.

Warchief Bludjar, overseeing the right flank, looked unimpressed as his forces seemed to be pulled apart before his very eyes. In defiance he smashed his blades together, attracting the attention of the Mutant Rat Fiend closest to him. He gestured towards the giant and without any further command the drawling brute charged headlong into its flank. The mutant lowered its shoulder as it made contact, driving up hard into the giant’s great rib cage. There was an ear splitting snap as massive rib bones cracked and fractured, but the blow seemed to do little more than further enrage the titan. Always looking for an excuse to meet the foe in combat Bludjar beat his fleabag into a charge against the fight wagons. His fleabag leapt through the wreckage of the Tunnel Runners, catching the orcs off guard, allowing Bludjar to kill the crews, taking the strange orcish contraptions out of action.

*There was an ear splitting snap as massive rib bones cracked and fractured…*

In the centre the Shock Troops and Night Terror rapidly finished off the Ax whilst the other Mutant Rat Fiend bundled into the remaining Ax regiment which saw heavy losses, but not enough to destroy it.

Turn 4

Seeing the Morax perish at the hands of the Demonspawn the Krusher spurred his mount into action in the foolish hope of a glorious victory over the beast. Meanwhile, the Giant and Wip’s friends ambled towards the centre of the field.

In the centre the orcs were starting to get bogged down in the mud, blood and bodies that were an inevitable by-product of the fighting. Morax Mansplitter took it upon himself to try and break the deadlock, running into combat against the Mutant Rat Fiend. The horde of Long Ax, on the other hand, decided to hold their ground. Charging the Night Terror would have opened them to a counter charge from both the Shock Troops and the Demonspawn, a fight not even orcs were excited by. By holding back, the rocks to their left and the combat to their right denied the opportunity for both units to attack them.

On the left the beleaguered Giant found a moment of brief relief in the combat as the Gore Chariots made their way out of the forest and flank charged the Hackpaws. Whilst Strayrat decided his job was done and headed for home the Mutant Rat Fiend continued to rain blows on the broken giant. The titan finally gave up. It collapsed to its knees, before keeling over into the woods, trees snapping and splintering under its dead weight.

In the centre the Night Terror was weighing up just what the differences between a rock and a hard place were. The creature stood nervously twitching between the Shock Troops and the Long Ax, it was time to move, but its options were limited to either the remaining Giant or the frolicking Orclings that had taken to blowing raspberries and bearing their dirty little green bottoms at it. Feeling the ground start to shake as the Shock Troops began their charge the creature decided the Orclings were probably the most inviting target and made straight for them.

The impact of the Shock Troops surprised the Long Ax. Humanoid for humanoid the orcs were bigger, but the rats had a vicious streak that exposed itself in their twisted smiles and frothing mouths as their blades found their way around shields and under armour. The ferocity of the attack shocked the orcs, wavering them.

The second Mutant Rat Fiend was unimpressed with Morax Mansplitter, it wanted to get back to picking apart the Ax regiment. It grabbed the orc hero and hurled him into the side of the house with such force a sickening wet splat was clearly heard by the Ax regiment. Sadly, for the fiend, it ran out of momentum before reaching the Ax regiment Mansplitter had been blocking.

The orc Krusher’s bid for glory ended before any fighting even began. Catching sight of the last Giant lumbering towards its flank the Demonspawn turned, its tail whipped out, smashing the orc’s grunta from underneath him and breaking its stout neck. To add insult to injury, as the Krusher’s brain caught up with what was happening it became suddenly aware of the dead weight of the grunta. The dead mount had landed on his legs, preventing him from taking any further part in the battle.

Turn 5

The Gore Chariots were faced with a dilemma. Unable to reach the surviving regiment of Tunnel Runners their only other option was a front charge into the Mutant Rat Fiend. Covered in giant blood and seething with rage neither the gruntas or their orc masters wanted to risk a combat with a questionable outcome that could see them flank charged by the rat wheels, fear turned to indecision and they held their ground.

The Giant eyed up the Demonspawn in the woods, but a momentary glance suggested a far easier option than going toe to toe with the other worldly abomination. Striding past the woods, and the Demonspawn, screeching what must have been pained insults at the massive orc, the Giant raised its club and took a leisurely swing at the rear of the Shock Troops engaged with the Long Ax. Now it was the rats turn to waver.

The regiment of Ax saw no other choice but to press in on the Mutant Rat Fiend in front of them, this time their persistence was rewarded, and the beast feel.

Sensing the excitement of the orcs in the centre, seeing their foes take such heavy damage the orc Shaman and Wip both let out lightening bolts that struck at the Demonspawn leaving the creature confused and wavered.

With the Night Terror at a stalemate with the Orclings and the Rat’s centre wavered there was little to be done. The Tunnel Runners on the left gunned their engines for a final charge into the chariots which saw the rickety carts and their riders reduced to splinters.

Turn 6

Sensing a win the Long Ax surged into the Shock Troops finally breaking them. Unfortunately, the enthusiasm of the orcs resulted in the Long Ax and Ax getting tangled up and stuck between the rocks and the house that marked the gateway to the Fyrefur Clan’s territory, preventing them from entering. Sparkthrower smirked, “Technically speaking no orc ever crossed our border, another set of orders carried out to the letter.”

As the dust settles

Unfortunately for my opponent the terrain prevented his infantry in the centre from crossing the mid-point with the majority of his bases leaving his Orclings and Giant giving him 2 victory points whilst my Mutant Rat Fiend and Chariots edged rats into the lead with 3 victory points.

This was a great game and, on reflection, highlighted just how rusty I am after a long hiatus from gaming over lockdown. My main learning points:

Watch the flanks and the rear – after the first regiment of Ax was removed I had options with the Night Terror to either charge the Giant or the Orclings. I opted for the Orclings on the basis they seemed a squishier target and the charge into the Giant would be hindered and unlikely to do very much to it. From a scenario point of view this was justified on the basis that the Orclings were a scoring unit in my half. Looking back now I realise I should have been much smarter about checking my flanks and rears. Not only to prevent the rear charge into the Shock Troops, but also it would have stopped the giant getting the first blows in on my Demonspawn, had it set sights on that instead. Now I have more time to think about it, this was probably the worst decision of the game on so many levels… I need to move on, quickly.

*Probably the worst decision in the game… for the not orc player, obvs*

Leader points, woods and important minor details – Mantic have an incredible ability to create games you think you know after playing them a couple of times. But they also have massive tactical and strategic depth. A lot of that depth comes from movement rules and scenery interactions. When we set up the terrain, the wood in my deployment zone was designated as two woods with a small gap between them. Foolishly I shrugged and carried on placing my Demonspawn with his leader point between the woods, when I could have moved him down a bit, starting his leader point in the woods in front of him. In reality this had limited impact on this game, other than resulting in cover modifiers for his first round of lightening bolt shooting. But who knows how many wounds he missed out as a result of that pesky cover modifier (I do, and its none, but it’s still a learning point)? On a shootier army though, like my Slave list this could be far more problematic.

Plague pots – I know many in the rat community love these little pots of joy, but I’m still not completely convinced. This has more to do with my play style and army build than the game mechanism itself, which I really like. That being said I am trying them out because my army largely depends on its big hitters to one shot as much as possible. I simply don’t have the number of units to play more of a grind style. Consequently, where I see the pots coming into their own is dropping them on the turn of a charge against something that might survive so their next round of combat will be at -1 to hit, increasing the survivability of my Shock Troops. The Long Ax horde supported by the War Drum definitely meets that criteria, and I completely forgot about the bloody pot! Of course, they’re no protection against a rear charge from a Giant, and yes the Long Ax were waivered, but in a world where I get fundamental decisions wrong… well, every little helps.

Rat of the match

This has to be shared between my Warchief who manged to wound the damaged fight wagons with four of his five attacks and remove them from the board, and Strayrat and his Hackpaws for holding up the giant long enough to allow a flank charge from a Mutant Rat Fiend, something very few things in the game respond well to!

Tales from the Fyreside

Having had a little break to enjoy the hot weather the next battle report is not quite where it needs to be (which sounds better than admitting I haven’t really done anything). So for anyone wanting a bit a narrative fix I thought I’d share my submission from last year’s Mantic story competition. This also neatly introduces Kiitsch Sparkthrower, the scheming Warlock of my homebrew Ratkin clan, Clan Fyrefur, who will be making an appearance next week.

The Survivor

“Would be leaders and survivors have much in common.” The Master Warlock of the Fyrefur Clan had said to his apprentice, Kiitsch Sparkthrower. “They both involve clinging to a dream with a single minded, near obsessive belief that it can be attained. The only real difference is for one the dream is survival, for the other it is the survival of the dream.”

Those words ran around Kiitsch’s mind igniting a smug smile. He watched with immense self-satisfaction as the Ratkin Shock Troops slaughtered the last of the Kin’s chariot hordes. The blood that splattered their bronze armour, slicked their great axes and was starting to dry in dark patches, matting their bright orange fur, was his blood, just as their victory would be his victory.

His careful placement of the warriors in front of his Shock Troops had taken the impetus out of those nasty Elven carts that so easily broke the lines of weaker clans and weaker races. As the chariots had ploughed into the poorly disciplined warriors, scything through ragged bodies, they had started to slow. The smooth turning of their wheels had been interrupted by broken limbs and discarded weapons jamming into wheel spokes. The horses’ hooves found less and less purchase on the soft corpses beneath them.

It was then the drums of the Shock Troops began. Slowly at first as the elite rat warriors started to move forwards. The drums picked up pace broadcasting the heartbeats of Ratmen and Elves to the battlefield. Eyes narrowed, a thousand great axes raised, two thousand clawed feet skittered towards the chariots.

A light rain of crossbow bolts fell on the ratmen, but there was far too few fired too quickly to create even a minor impediment. Their charge gathered such pace that even the handful of troopers who had been mortally wounded by the bolts did not realise until they reached the enemy and fell with their axes. Victory was brutal and decisive, but not without its losses. As the last of the Kin were trampled under claw the drum started to sound again; a slower beat calling them together for the next fight.

It was then Kiitsch saw it. A darkness, an absence, a void in the sky falling irresistibly towards the flank of the Shock Troops. Thinking it might be some kind of magic Kiitsch closed his eyes and focused, drawing deep into his dark soul, searching.

A sound like a thousand screeching gargoyles split the din of the battle, shaking Kiitsch to his core and destroying his concentration. He looked to the sky and realised the void was some kind of dragon. He watched helplessly as the creature barrelled into the Shock Troops sending troopers flying, breaking and disordering their ranks.

Kiitsch watched the troopers waiver. The drum started pounding erratically, desperately calling for any kind of order. Kiitsch screamed in rage. This was not how it was meant to go. He had been on the verge of victory. The few remaining pockets of resistance were being dispatched by bands of Nightmares whilst the Shock Troops held the centre ground. A dragon tearing through his troops risked giving the remaining Kin hope, and hope could make even a beaten enemy dangerous.

Kiitsch hesitated. He had always been a survivor and right now the survivor in him wanted to run. But the dream, his dream, needed him to fight. To lose today would destroy the support he had won in the Clan, not to mention making the murder of his master pointless; wasteful even. A victory would bring the loyalty of more tribes and warbands, increasing his standing in the Clan, bringing his dream closer.

Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes the Warlock reached out towards the dragon. Green sparks started to fly around his claw like irritable fireflies. The intensity of the light grew, his claw started to glow, his eyes snapped open. Green lightening surged from his claw, lashing the dragon, sending it reeling away from the Shock Troops.

The lightening stopped. The dragon twitched. It was injured, disorientated, but far from dead. Its massive head turned towards Kiitsch. He reached out with his claw once again, drawing another breath. As the air filled his lungs he knew the survival of his dream now depended on his survival. He heard the drum start to beat quickly. As the next blast of lightening rolled over the great, black beast he allowed himself the briefest of smiles. He was, after all, a survivor.

Ratkin vs Orcs

I think it’s fair to say the Ratkin Slave list for Kings of War is not considered the most competitive. In some ways that makes it ideal for me. I’m not the world’s most competitive player (after 1 game in the tournament season starting in 2019 I’m the 123^rd player in the UK – even without Covid I wouldn’t have expected that to change much). As a committed Ratkin player the Slave list is a relatively quick way of putting together another army to play, whilst also making me think how easy it would be stretch to a full Abyssal Dwarf army (it’s almost like there might be some sort of marketing strategy going on at Mantic HQ). So now I’ve given my reasons/excuses for using them… here’s the game.

The Armies

Ratkin Slaves

1 & 2 – Slave Warrior regiments with The Last Breath

3 – Slave Warrior regiment with The Crystal Pendent of Retribution

4 – Immortal Guard regiment with Brew of Strength and Throwing Mastiff

5 – Immortal Guard regiment with Throwing Mastiff

6 – Decimator troop

7 – Slave Nightmares horde with Blessing of the Gods

8 – Slave Nightmares horde

9 – Slave Tunnel Runner regiment with Potion of the Caterpillar

10 – Slave Tunnel Runner regiment with Brew of Sharpness

11 – Slavedriver with Diadem of Dragonkind

12 – Iron-Caster

13 – Abyssal Halfbreed Champion with Mournful Blade

14 – Golekh Skinflayer

15 – Allied Hackpaws

Orcs

1 & 2 – Morax troops

3 & 4 – Longax regiments

5 – Ax horde

6 – Gore Rider regiment with Jesse’s Boots

7 – Gore Rider regiment with Potion of the Caterpillar

8 & 9 – Skulk Outrider troops

10 & 11 – Orcling regiments

12 – War Drum

13 – Giant

14 – Krudger on Winged Slasher with Brew of Haste

15 – Flagger with Lute of Insatiable Darkness

16 – Krusher on Gore

17 – Gakamak

Turn 1

Azzirghar, Iron Caster of the Golden Caste Keep, lazily flicked his hand. A fly that had been busily buzzing near him exploded in a tiny ball of purple flame. The day was warm and unobjectionable, even for Azzirghar, other than the minor matter of a few smelly orcs that needed to be dealt with. He sniffed the air, rummaged around in a pouch and fished out a small golden box. He took a generous pinch of the orange powder inside and snorted it. The powder burnt the inside of his nose, but the respite from the stench of the orcs combined with the far from wholesome reek of rotten rat flesh was worth it.

“Right,” Azzirghar shouted “Let’s get this over with. Kill the scum.”

Inspirational it was not, but sadly representative of Azzirghar’s abilities as a general. Around him whips began to crack and the host moved forward.

On the left flank Golekh urged his chariot forward. The Tunnel Runners moved up whilst the allied Hackpaws scouted ahead of the main line. Golekh didn’t trust the Hackpaws. Rats could be vicious to each other, but he had observed they had a powerful and perverse loyalty to each other. The idea that these scouts had joined the army to support his noble people just didn’t feel right. However, there was no time to dwell on it, there were far bigger things to worry about, like the massive hill that occupied much his deployment area. From the noise and the presence of the towering orc giant it was obvious a substantial part of the enemy was hidden behind it.

Golekh had questioned Azzirghar’s orders to deploy the chariots here, after all chariots did their best work on flat ground, riding against a slow and highly visible enemy. Azzirghar had agreed, in principal, but pointed out that there was undoubtedly little requirement for optimal performance, given the sub optimal nature of the enemy. He was also greatly concerned that he should not have to run the risk of walking up hills in pursuit of victory, regardless of how great the victory was. The conversation moved on, Golekh’s stunned silence taken as awed agreement.

Gakamak smiled a broad toothy grin. He grunted and motioned with his axe. The orc cavalry eased forward knowing they had the advantage of speed on their flank. The Skulks sent a small volley or arrows into one of the Rat Warrior regiments, but their fear of the slavers’ whips was far greater than their fear of a few pointed sticks. The slavering Winged Crusher leapt into the sky with its rider holding tightly to his saddle. It was not a graceful creature, but there was clearly a certain artistry of motion as it lurched awkwardly from left to right until it found an air stream to support it and send it swooping down the rat’s right flank, curious to see what was on the menu.

Turn 2

A gout of green flame shot from the blight cannons of one of the Nightmare hordes into a troop of Skulks, but it did little to dampen the orc’s enthusiasm for the fight. Meanwhile, Azzighar was now aware of the large amount of orc cavalry that had materialised to his right. He calmly issued orders to his slave driver who set about forcing the other Nightmare horde to turn to face the emerging threat. By contrast the Decimators and one of the Immortal Guard regiments moved neatly in response to single word commands to meet the same threat.

In the centre of the field one of the Rat Warrior regiments charged a unit of Orclings waivering it, inadvertently blocking one of the few clear paths for the chariots to the enemy. Golekh cursed as his chariot and Tunnel Runners milled around trying to find the best ways to position themselves around the hill. As accomplished Azzirghar was as a magician Golekh was now convinced beyond any doubt his military skills really were as poor as he had heard.

The Tunnel Runners desperate attempts to organise themselves inevitably opened up gaps which the battle hardened orcs recognised and exploited immediately. The Krusher on the far left of the orc line spurred his mount into action letting out a mighty roar as he smashed into a regiment of Tunnel Runners. The drivers sneered at the stupidity of the orc before realising that the lone rider had co-ordinated his charge with a regiment of Orclings that had snuck around their flank. Suddenly they found themselves bogged down as the Giant lumbered towards them.

On the right the orc cavalry struck. The Gore Riders and the Slasher rushed in against the horde of nightmares that had turned to face them, tearing them limb from limb. Gakamak and the other regiment of Gore Riders struck at the Nightmares, but under the heavy glare of the slave driver they refused to back down, despite taking heavy losses. The troops of Skulks both grasped opportunities, with one troop charging a regiment of warriors in the flank and the other attempting to bring down the lone slave driver in the middle of what was rapidly developing into a desperate melee. However, both charges failed to deliver, with their respective targets managing to survive.

Turn 3

It was now the Skulk’s turn to face their enemies’ blows. The slave driver withdrew from his combat signalling desperately for the Immortal Guard to help him. The stoic gold clad warriors did as they were ordered, and the resulting fight lasted mere moments with the Outriders deciding discretion was the better part of valour, dissolving in the direction of the Orc camp. The other Skulks were flank charged by a regiment of Rat Warriors. With nowhere to run to the troop quickly met a bloody end at the points of the warriors’ spears.

Azzirghar was starting to feel the pressure, he hoped that Volekh was fairing better on the left flank, there was a good chance he would need rescuing. He was now barking confused orders, trying to pull together some semblance of a co-ordinated defence. By luck, more than judgement the Decimators, the Slave Driver, Azzighar and the Immortal Guard regiment not in combat managed to fire at the same time towards the oncoming Gore Riders, waivering them. The Decimators started to reload their weapons, but the Winged Slasher swept in and ate them whilst the Gore Riders engaged with the Nightmares finished them off.

It was at this point that Gakamak got bored. His cavalry was more than a match for the dwarfs, and he saw no reason to compete for scraps with his own warriors when other, more glorious opportunities awaited him on the other side of the field. Manoeuvring around Rat Warrior regiments charging his infantry he rode towards the Tunnel Runners, smashing into their side and battering one of the great metal wheels. Whilst the attack did little physical damage the satisfaction of a new, more challenging opponent filled Gakamak with joy.

The Abyssal Halfbreed Champion watched, shaking his head with great irritation, as the Tunnel Runners counter charged the Orc Krusher whilst the Orclings stabbed their little spears into cogs and gears, slowly pulling the machines apart.

“Filthy useless slaves.” The champion snarled, “You can give ‘em all the weird and wonderful war machines in the world, but they’re still just slaves.” The veteran of many battles could tell the tide was turning very quickly against the rats, as chariots and tunnel runners were charged and bogged down. Even the master charioteer Volekh had been outwitted by a regiment of Longax who had charge down the bloody hill and were now pressing the charioteer for all he was worth. Despairing of the situation he looked around to see the Giant poised to join the combat. Wherever the creature went it would wreak absolute havoc; it had to be stopped. The Halfbreed raised his hammer and charged head long into the creature. There was desperation in the action, but on balance, no more than was proportionate given the situation.

Turn 4

Volekh’s mind and body worked overtime as he tried to find a way out of the battle that was rapidly descending into a wholesale slaughter of Azzighar’s forces. He noticed a small band of rag tag orcs just to the right of the Long Ax he was currently engaged with. If he could break through them he would stand a chance of escaping the battle in one piece, even if his beloved chariot, and pride, was somewhat more dented than it had previously been. With a lot of furious whipping of orcs, as much as the Night Terror pulling his chariot, he extricated himself from the combat and charged at the troop of Morax at the very top of the hill. A combination of the damage to his chariot and the energy he had already expended meant he was tired by the time he reached the Morax. The resulting combat was short and decidedly not in Volekh’s favour.

The remaining Tunnel Runners also succumbed to the orc regiments that now crowded around them with only the Halfbreed holding on as he furiously dodged the heavy blows that rained down from the Giant.

On the right flank, things were only going marginally better for Azzighar. A flurry of disorganised shooting wounded but failed to rout, or waiver, either regiment of Gore Riders. A regiment of Immortal Guard charged the Winged Slasher wounding it only enough to anger it sufficiently that the beast tore into their armoured ranks splitting tall helmets and swallowing so many that no real resistance remained.

Turn 5

It was now more by luck than any of Azzighar’s planning, or tactical genius, that pockets of dwarfs remained fighting. A troop of Morax on the right flank had been badly damaged by the Pendent of Retribution, triggered as the slave warriors that had carried it fled the field. The slave driver targeted them with his Diodem of Dragonkind flaming the last of their number out of existence. The remaining Immortal Guards finally routed one of the Gore Rider regiments, only to see the other race past them charging into Azzighar with the Slasher.

Turn 6 and 7

At this point the Abyssal Dwarfs had been all but wiped out. The Slasher had developed quite a taste for dwarf flesh after finishing of Azzighar and charged the remaining Immortal Guard regiment with Gakamak. The Guards stood to the last, managing to slay Gakamak, but were ultimately overcome as Gore Riders smashed into their flank. And finally the Halfbreed Champion succumbed to a mixture of exhaustion, wounds and repeated battering by the giant’s club. Azzighar had, in some ways been successful in his planning, there had indeed been a great victory and he had not had to walk up any hills for it to be achieved.

The dust settles

This was an undeniable loss and there’s pretty much no getting away from that. My list was not the best, partially due to a limited selection of units, but there were definitely some other issues. Probably the most important issue was the poor set up with the hill preventing the Tunnel Runners playing to their strengths.

Credit where its due

Small shooty units – whilst I didn’t quite pull it off in this game the flexibility and responsiveness Decimator troops and throwing doggos can provide is pretty powerful. When the Gore Riders made their initial approach, after riding down the nightmares, I split my fire between both Gore regiments hoping I could remove both of them. It didn’t work and I paid for it.

The Abysssal Halfbreed Champion – what a tough character this guy is managing to tie up a giant for 3 or 4 turns, enough said.

BTW – everything I write are my own opinions, no matter how misguided or flat out wrong they may be. They definitely don’t reflect the views and opinions of anyone or anything else. Anything meaningful, useful or otherwise worthwhile is purely co-incidental.

A little reflection then a big jump in…

Basileans Vs. Ogres

It’s fair to say this blog hasn’t worked out the way I’d planned. There just never seems to be enough time. After a period of reflection, also known as a pandemic lockdown, I’ve decided to give this blog another shot. I’ll be writing across a range of subjects, all tied together by the fantasy theme. In addition to reading, I enjoy writing and playing tabletop games. The last two tie up quite nicely with games providing material for writing (writing is way easier when you don’t have to invent a story). So without further ado I present my first post – the telling of a battle between the knights of Basilea and some ogres.

The battle is fought using Kings of War rules with 1,995 points aside and the scenario is Invade.

The armies

Sha’leis’ Mission

1 – Sha’leis – Priest with Shroud of the Saint

2 & 3 – Ja’y’ll and Sa’y’ll – 2 Ur Elohi

4 – Phoenix

5 – Ogre Palace Guard horde with Brew of Sharpness

6 – Ogre Palace Guard horde with Jesse’s Boots

7 – Paladin Knights regiment with Caterpillar Potion and Aegis Fragment

8 – Gur Panther regiment

9 – Paladin Defender regiment with Brew of Strength

10 – Spearmen horde

The Ogres

1 & 2 – 2 Ogre Battle Standard Bearers

3 – Kuzlo and Madfall

4 & 5 – 2 Siege Breaker hordes

6 & 7 – 2 Boomer hordes

8 – Warrior Chariot regiment with Caterpillar Potion

9 – Red Goblin Slasher

10 & 11 – 2 Red Goblin Scout troops

12 Red Goblin Rabble horde

Turn 1

Sha’leis stood between the ranks of Palace Guard and Spearmen. She clutched her hammer tightly as she read aloud from the pages of the Shining Road. Despite the darkening clouds overhead the light from the mighty Phoenix illuminated her pages. The mighty creature towered over her. An inferno wreathed its body and flowered from its feathers, but Sha’leis never felt more than a comforting glow no matter how close she stood.

The din of growls and drums from the other side of the plain focused her mind on the ogres and goblins that stood half hidden by the hill that also protected her own forces. A great beast with a giant crossbow strapped to its back let out a hungry, guttural roar which seemed to be the signal for the horde to advance.

On the left of the field, standing to the right of a pyramid Ja’y’ll, one of the Ur Elohi sent to guide and protect Sha’leis, looked across at the chariots slowly moving into position. He noticed movement, followed by the unmistakeable celestial ripple of magic. A goblin on a giant lizard had launched an attack on the Gur Panthers. He heard them roar in pain and confusion as they seemed to be grabbed and dragged forward, but the spell seemed to wear off before it could do any lasting damage. Angered by the impudence of the midget magician Ja’y’ll took to the skies. It wasn’t only him who hurried to the aid of the panthers. Seconds later both Ja’y’ll and his brother Sa’y’ll crashed into the goblin caster. Burning swords fell, bringing the diminutive magician’s tricks to an immediate end. Seeing the angels push forward drove the panthers to action. They charged into the chariots. Little damage was done. If the panthers had considered their action it was, at best, a selfless act intended to protect those who had protected them.

In the centre of the field Goblin Scouts crested the hill on either side of the Slasher. The Slasher loosed a bolt into the Paladin Defenders but it clattered harmlessly to ground somewhere behind their ranks. The response to the appearance of the goblins was immediate. The Paladin Knights and one of the Palace Guard hordes charged up the hill and smashed into the monster. Lances puncturing its thick skin and heavy ogre blades chopping at its legs, cutting it to the bone, making it shriek in pain. It bucked and thrashed trying to find a way to escape. Its goblin riders were thrown to the ground, and not much later the beast found its way out, stampeding from the battlefield desperately searching for some way to make the pain stop. The Slasher’s rout left a hole in the skirmish line which the Phoenix sought to exploit by launching a series of fireballs at the goblin Scouts. Shocked by the heat of the creature’s magic and disgusted, even by their own standards, by the sight and smell of two of their number being melted caused the troop facing down the Palace Guard to waiver.

Turn 2

On the left of the field the panthers ran from the charioteers, unable to resist the ferocity of the drivers’ blows or the lashes of their cruel whips. Sa’y’ll saw the remaining cats break and flew into the chariots, snuffing out any intentions they had of joining the main battle before they even had the chance to kindled in their minds . Ja’y’ll’s first instinct was to follow his brother, but he sensed his help would be needed in the centre. He turned to see a horde of Siege Breakers stomping up the hill and bludgeoned they’re way into the Paladin Knights. Scimiters and heavy shields swung into horses caving skulls, snapping necks and sending fully armoured riders flying. Ja’y’ll moved to intervene but he reached the fight too late. The knights had been destroyed.

Despite being too late for the Knights Ja’y’ll’s charge brought confusion to the ogres. Only moments before they had destroyed their enemy and expected a momentary lull in the fighting as they eyed their next target. The angel used the confusion to his advantage. He sliced through shield arms and hacked at flesh that rolled out between ill fitting armour plates, but on his advantage was quickly lost, and he drew back as the Siege Breakers started to regroup.

On the right side of the battlefield the Rabble ran towards the Spearmen stopping just short of the tips of their weapons. There seemed to be an audible sigh of relief from the men. It was sharply dismissed by the loud crack of hand cannons opening fire from the Boomers standing behind the goblins. The Spearmen braced expecting the worst. As the sound dissipated, turning into ringing in their ears, they started to mutter thanks to the Shining Ones under their breathe as the damage seemed to be minimal.

As the Spearmen surveyed the scene it quickly became apparent that the ogres’ shooting had been split. Whilst the Spearmen had largely been untouched, the Palace Guard on the hill had taken heavy casualties. A handful of guards stood waivered on the hill, surrounded by bleeding bodies slumped in broken armour.

Sha’leis surveyed the carnage the guns had wrought. Undaunted she put her faith in those that had led her to the hill. She raised her voice and begged the Shining Ones for aid. A familiar warmth coursed through her body. It channelled itself through her and into the broken Basilean ogres restoring flesh, bone and metal, restoring the horde to its full compliment.

The damage and subsequent healing of the guards on the hill spurred the other horde of Palace Guard and Spearmen into action. They charged together into the Rabble which disintegrated under their boots.

Turn 3

The Siege Breakers on the hill now separated with one horde charging into the Palace Guard in front of them with the goblin scouts. The other horde, that had been badly damaged by Ja’y’ll, decided to find an alternative target to the angry angel and ran towards the Paladin Defenders. The Defenders held their own against the weakened Siege Breakers striking back with cool, deliberate hammer blows that found their way between the gaps in their mighty shields and smashed what little resolve they had left. On the hill the Palace Guard faired less well, with many returning to the mud for the second time that day.

On the right the Boomers and their army standard bearer charged the spears and remaining Palace Guard. One horde of Boomers and their standard bearer traded blows with the Spearmen, neither side gaining any real advantage. Next to them, however, the Palace Guard quickly put the other Boomer horde to the sword. Swift punishment for their impudence.

In the sky the Phoenix wheeled gently before bearing down on the remaining scouts, fireballs driving them from the field.

Turn 4

Having waivered the chariots in the previous turn Sa’y’ll now raised his sword in silent triumph over their burning remains. He turned to see Ja’y’ll dodging the heavy blows of an ogre standard bearer, struggling to make his own connect.

The rest of the battlefield was starting to thin out now. The remaining Boomers had gained an upper hand against the spearmen sending them running from the field, whilst the Boomer’s standard bearer made a brave, but ultimately disastrous attempt to hold up the Palace Guard. Whilst a charge was prevented the Palace Guard trampled the banner bearer into the ground as they advanced on the real threat. In a move that echoed the bravery, or stupidity, of the ogre banner bearer the Phoenix descended to the battlefield and settled in front of the remaining Siege Breakers bathing them in fire.

Turn 5

The Boomers charged and hacked at the Palace Guard, but their moral was failing. Despite taking some damage the guard fought back, breaking the Boomers before turning to see the flames of the Phoenix extinguished. Clearing the way for the final show down.

Sensing the end drawing near Sha’leis once again channelled the Shining Ones to ensure the Palace Guard were best placed to stand against the final, inevitable charge of the Siege Breakers.

Turn 6

Sa’y’ll and Ja’y’ll had turned from the body of the broken banner bearer before it hit the ground. They heard the Siege Breakers smash into the Palace Guard. Dust and noise obscured the melee. The Ur Elohi held each other’s gaze for mere moments. There could be no waiting for this combat to be resolved. Ja’y’ll looked his brother up and down. His beautiful brother was wounded, the blood of ogre and angel slicked his armour, mixing with the desert dust. “Stay.” Ja’y’ll said before taking to the skies and barrelling into the rear of the Siege Breakers.

The dust settles

This was a close game. Had the Palace Guard horde not survived the Seige Breaker’s charge it would have been unlikely a win could have been salvaged even in if it had gone to a seventh turn.

Whilst a win is always welcome, it’s still worth picking out some learning points. Basileans are a new army to me and this was my first outing at 2,000 points. Retelling the battle, even in a narrative form highlighted a few things to bear in mind for the future:

Must improve my deployment – the Paladin Defenders blocked up the horde of Palace Guard with Brew of Sharpness in turn two limiting their charge options. Given the circumstances they probably ended up going the right way, but its nice to have choices! Also, putting the Spearman horde opposite the Boomers was not the best plan, I was lucky my opponent decided to split their fire in the second turn. Losing the spears too early would have opened up my right flank to those cannon toting maniacs. I should really have had an Ur Elohi hanging around on the right somewhere, or even better tried to the match the spears against the chariots, with the panthers and the Ur Elohi facing the Boomers.

Paladin Defenders probably aren’t the best fit for this army – one of the reasons I went for Basileans was because I wanted an excuse to use these models (more about them in a future blog). I love ’em, but I just don’t think they fit my play style. Yes, they’re sturdy and can hold objectives, but so can my Ogres, Spearmen and Ur Elohi, so I think its time to do a bit of soul searching…

Credit where its due

Yes, there was some stuff that wasn’t great, but there was a win though so that means more stuff went right than wrong! So, what went right?

Angels of the match – Ja’y’ll and Sa’y’ll worked together brilliantly. Between them they kept the chariots away from the main battle lines, killed Kuzlo, killed a standard bearer, assured the destruction of both hordes of Seige Breakers with flank and rear charges and ensured there was a scoring unit in the enemy half. Not too bad a showing.

The Phoenix – the Flaming Death Chicken, as its known locally, definitely needs a name. I think support pieces can be quite difficult to get to grips with, but I feel like I’m getting there with this one and had a better idea of when to use heal and when to use fireball. Still more to get to grips with though before I can claim to be a Flaming Death Chicken master though.

BTW – everything I write are my own opinions and interpretations, no matter how misguided or flat out wrong they may be. They definitely don’t reflect the views and opinions of anyone or anything else. Anything meaningful, useful or otherwise worthwhile is purely co-incidental.

Happy New Year is a state of mind.

I love a good calendar and the smell of a brand new diary, but its not enough to make me want to hold hands with a stranger and sing Auld Lang Syne.

I find New Year, the celebration as opposed to the inevitable flow of days, problematic. I think there is something massively disingenuous about forcing myself into the party spirit simply because I’m getting a new calendar. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good calendar and the smell of a brand new diary, but its not enough to make me want to hold hands with a stranger and sing Auld Lang Syne. Aside from anything it makes visits to WHSmiths and the Calendar Shop really awkward.

Add to this personal experience. Usually, I seem to get hit by a double whammy of sickness and ridiculous work requests that makes January feel like the dumping ground for the previous year rather than start of a new adventure.

However, one of the great things about the human condition is our capacity to learn from experience and create change. Whilst a frustrating pattern has, for me, built up around New Year I still think having a period of reflection and renewal every so often is incredibly helpful. The changing of the calendar is a helpful prompt. So, over the past couple of years I have come to accept that the start of January isn’t my time for this and that’s okay. That it happens is far more important than when it happens. Consequently, my New Year is now late January to early February. In previous years, finding time to reflect on my previous 365 days on the planet and set some goals for the next 365 days has not only given me a sense of achievement, based on actual achievements, but also helped me get excited for the year ahead.

So, what about this year ahead? What’s going to get me through? This year is very much the year of the blog. Expect to see more of my brief thoughts I really want to share. And books, books will continue to be a big thing.

To be a bit more specific Christina Henry has two titles coming out this year. In early March (I want to say the 3^rd) a dark fairy tale will appear in a short story collection called Cursed, alongside work from the likes of Neil Gaiman (I’m sure I know that name from somewhere) and Charlie Jane Anders. In April (21^st apparently) we get the chance to return to Alice’s dark and disturbing world with the release of a novella collection called Looking Glass.

But because I believe you can get as excited about books you haven’t read as shiny new titles I’m also looking forward to:

Starting the final book of Andrew Caldecott’s Rotherwierd trilogy Lost Acre.
Having just finished Joe Abercrombie’s Half a King and started Half a World one of my goals is to get up to date with his work with Half a War and A Little Hatred.
I also have on order a “new to me” author Tamsyn Muir’s Gideon The Ninth.

So, whilst the first few days of this new year could be charitably described as a write off, one calmly reflective blog later and I feel confident I can finally say “Happy New Year”.

Golden opportunity? You might think it sucks, but it might be best not to bite!

True Mina isn’t Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Lara Croft…

There can be nothing more exciting for an author than having a movie made of your book. It must genuinely be one of the best feelings to think you have produced a story so compelling it’s worth transitioning into a completely different media (not to mention spending millions of dollars on doing so). I would certainly be excited. Admittedly, I am still to complete the first step in this process: writing a book! Despite the excitement for the author, there is an all too familiar concern raised by readers – what if the film isn’t any good?

Earlier this year I read Bram Stoker’s Dracula for the first time. It is, I admit, the first time I have read a book after watching the film, in this case the Francis Ford Coppola version. I remember loving the film, with its tagline of “Love never dies”. Oldman, Ryder, Hopkins and Reeves led the cast guaranteeing some fantastic acting. What grabbed me most about the film was the use of the Count’s origin story and his pursuit of Mina to create a character that was almost sympathetic. This complexity made this film much more than a simple good vs. bad vampire hunting flick.

However, as I read through Bram Stoker’s opus, excited to see this love story played out in its original state it became apparent that it wasn’t there. There was no great love story stretching across the ages. In fact, I would go as far as to say there were no redeeming features to the Count. He was simply a bloody beast of legend and superstition. However, the more I read the more I understood that this book was not simply a clash of good and evil. Far more than that, this is a tale about the confrontation of old and new, science against superstition. Mina’s role becomes far more interesting in the book than the film. Rather than playing the love interest, her relationship with Jonathon Harker is more of a partnership. Her engagement with, and enjoyment of, new technology marking her out as a modern woman. True she isn’t Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Lara Croft, but her role in the book is central and multi-faceted. Its no surprise that at the end of the book it is Mina, the men of science, the lawyer and the former soldier turned businessman that stand triumphant whilst the Count and the Texan hunter fall; the modern world wins.

The book truly intrigued and excited me. I found myself wondering if I had been blinded by the shiny special effects of Hollywood and a few big names? I did the only thing I could do, watched the film again. It was still awesome. I have written about retellings of stories before, and now more than ever I stand by those thoughts. Using the same characters the storytellers have created very different stories, both of which are compelling, complex and well suited to the media they have been told in.

Yes, it’s easy to spot the difference between most films and the books they have been inspired by. What is difficult, particularly with books we love, is seeing the story told differently to what we expect. If I ever get around to writing that book, the one someone wants to turn into a film, I think I will be excited. However, when I turn up for the premiere, I will probably do my best to forget what I wrote. That way I can enjoy the film for what it is.

What exactly do you mean by that?

“…there is an important distinction between words and stories.”

There’s an inevitable range of opinions that crop up when the question gets raised about what a story is trying to say. Suggestions can range from nothing (it’s just an entertaining story), to deep analysis of each individual letter, not to mention the number of full stops used, to try and decipher the writer’s intention.

The more I’ve mulled over the best way to address this topic, the more an allegory seemed the right way to do it! So, without further ado…

Once upon a time there was a stick. A man picked up the stick and took it home. It was a dry stick that would be great for lighting a fire. When the man got home, he broke the stick up and set the fire in his hearth. He cooked his evening meal and enjoyed it in the fire’s warming glow. The man was so happy he had found the stick. He started to feel sleepy and eventually he dozed off. The fire was left untended and it was not long before a spark jumped into the room, landing on a chair. The chair caught fire. The man woke up just in time to escape from his burning house. As he stood outside watching the flames devour everything he owned, he wished he had never found the stick.

I am hoping you’ll have already guessed the stick represents words. I think there is an important distinction between words and stories. Words are tools we use to create stories and its these stories that are then released into the wild in the hope someone will read them.

Some stories, or indeed any piece of writing, contain clear and obvious messages. Dulce et Decorum Est by Wilfred Owen and Heroes by Joe Abercrombie both talk starkly about the realities and waste of war, obscured by the pomp and pageantry of patriotism.

However, not every story offers such clear insights into writers’ intentions. There are undoubtedly those who set out purely to entertain, whilst others set out to deliver a message that is less obvious in its delivery (whether by intention or not). Even if you are writing to entertain its always worth considering the themes and tropes your work includes, because you never know who will read your work and pop a comment on social media!

Of course, if you’re not sure your message is as clear as you want it to be you could always take a leaf out of Shakespeare’s book and include a disclaimer:

If we shadows have offended,

Think but this and all is mended,

That you have but slumber’d here,

While these visions did appear.

And this weak and idle theme,

No more yielding than a dream,

Gentles, do not reprehend:

If you pardon, we will mend.

A tale better in the retelling?

We’ve all found a story we love brought to life by a fantastic writer. It’s great, engaging and somehow makes the world a better place for every minute spent lost in it. Then someone else decides to write their own version. Or, they decide the characters would be great in a completely different situation, or a completely different stage in their lives. How do you react?

Just to be clear, for the purposes of this post I’m using retelling to describe any time a writer has either rewritten a story in their own style, or taken key elements of a story (characters or events) and presented them in a very different light; not to mention anything and everything between these approaches.

There are a range of reactions, and it’s an understandably personal thing. From refusal to acknowledging the retelling has taken place, to giddy excitement about a new take on a story you love by an author you love (or could end up loving if they just get this right). I tend to err towards giddy excitement, even if it’s an author I don’t know, because I like the thought that it somehow keeps stories, and characters I love alive and relevant. Let’s face it, it’s also a natural part of story evolution, a practice that could be as old as the second story ever told!

Whilst a retelling is likely to get me reaching for the bookshop shelf, my enthusiasm can quickly wain if I can’t find that all important spark. The reason why the author thought it would be a good idea to tackle a retelling rather than work on something new. And this is the challenge of retelling, meeting readers’ expectations. Every version of a story that has gone before shapes readers’ views of what the story and characters should be.

Of course, this doesn’t mean that every retelling needs to be a fastidious, blow by blow, copy of the original. Equally there isn’t a requirement for a revolution; a trouncing of the old to justify the new. It’s simply a case of understanding those key elements of a story that readers expect and building the narrative around those.

So how much change justifies a retelling? For me the answer is simple, provided there’s a balance between meeting expectations and hearing the author’s own voice I don’t see how anyone can go wrong! Neil Gaiman’s Norse Mythology, Angela Carter’s The Bloody Chamber and Christina Henry’s Alice are great examples of retelling. Gaiman’s Norse Mythology is a straight retelling enhanced by his exquisite pros. Henry’s version of Alice is very much at the other end of the spectrum. The backdrop and characters have sizeable makeovers, yet through the turbulence and blood (a hallmark of many of her books) it is still unmistakably Alice.

What is this all about?

It’s not the right kind of fantasy fiction.

If someone had asked me a few years ago what a decent fantasy fiction book needed my answer would have called for an elf, a dwarf and some goblins. Not to mention a muscle bound, sword swinging hero with the medieval equivalent of a t-shirt bearing the legend “Good Guy” plastered over his armour defining chest. With such a narrow definition it’s no wonder I got bored and drifted away from the genre.

Recently I found myself browsing through one of the few remaining book shops on my local high street. Leafing through books in the Sci Fi and Fantasy section. I wanted something to read, but what? There were numerous titles that featured assassins, wizards, evil kings and noble knights, firm indicators they were my staple reading fodder of old. None of them appealed. Helped by a staff recommendation I paid my money and left with a copy of The Vorrh by Brian Catling, a book and author I had never heard of.

There were no goblins or elves in the book, but there were angels, cyclops and a living forest. A manageable variance in my eyes. Thankfully the book drew me in from the first page. It had me firmly in its grip thanks to Catling’s excellent wordsmithing and intriguing plot. But… it was set just after World War One and this, more than anything else, made me ask – is it really fantasy? For some reason, despite the abundance of clearly fictional creatures, and a touch of the magical, I had a problem getting past the era it was set in. However, I am a great believer of “in for a penny, in for a pound”.

I finished The Vorrh and then moved onto more books set in more modern times, forcing me out of my comfort zone. Books where swords have been replaced by guns, and noble steeds by cars or bicycles. With each title I read I found myself challenging the definition of fantasy fiction I had previously constructed for myself.

Frankly its been one of the best quests I have ever undertaken in the literary realms. Journeying far and wide through the minds of Pratchett, Abercrombie, Catling and Henry, has brought a wealth renewed enjoyment to a genre I had once seen as a bit stale. The most difficult question I face now is “What sort of books do you like to read?”. Its taken a while, but I think I’m getting closer to an answer, “Great books, with just the right amount of weird in them.”