Friday, September 26

Search for the Ark of Scorn, Part 1 Preview


Blood in the Snow
Good day all! 

Today +Andrew Dart is taking his Khornate warband into the snows of a ruined world in order to recover archaeotech that will lead to the long-lost Space Hulk, Ark of Scorn. Unfortunately for the budding warlord Urlag Blackfang, his plans are being impeded by a group of orks in search of the same ship! With the astrogation device's components spread over a large stretch of the icy world's surface, the two warbands will have to face both one another and the elements in order to recover a clear picture of the Space Hulk's whereabouts.

We've been promised a battle report in the next few days covering the ingame action that will unfold. In the meantime I offer you a short snippet detailing one of Urlag's followers before the battle, alongside a rough of the scenario I created for this game. Further shorts such as 'The Huntmaster' will be coming soon as we progress further into the Hollosun Campaign!





The Huntmaster

Laden with frost the probing fingers of this world's wind, a tireless foe who sought out any weakness, whipped and snarled around frozen spires so ancient they defied description. These immutable structures marked a forbidden world on Imperial astrogation charts: Its files little more than a redacted mess. A planet where the average citizen, though likely to die from exposure anyway, would be doomed to the gentle mercies of an Inquisitor's fancy.

That little irony made the solitary figure smile - a cold thing in and of itself: Far more chilling than the playful gusts that tickled at his imposing, baroque armor.

This world took him back. It reminded him of a man long lost to the rigors of time and violence, who lived on a world of cold, bloodshed, and war. That man had raised great wolves to serve alongside the hunting parties of his people. 'A good life,' some remote part of his mind chided. A life later swept up into war unending in the Sea of Stars. He reached a tentative gauntlet to seek below the chains on his pauldron, towards an engraved plate that rested there.

A low snarl from the sinewy, bristling beast at his side broke the reverie. Boots crunching across the icy expanse towards them. His gauntlet instead sought the powerful monster's back, reassuring the beast and hopefully keeping it from eating their visitor.

The hooded, slightly-crooked figure trudged over a low ridge of ice some distance away. Goggles rimed with frost and arms clenched across his tattered uniform, it was clear the frozen world had taken its toll upon the hapless scout. As he approached closer, it was clear the fool had also lost his knife.

Worthless thralls.

"M..m-lord Huntmaster..r.." he chattered, not even showing an effort to stand with respect. "W...we  h've loca..ted the ancient repository. B..but..."

"Quit sniveling, filth, or I'll feed you to Hroi here. His belly will keep you warm! Speak up!" the Huntmaster growled as his eyes narrowed. There had been three of these weak imbeciles when he had sent them out.

"Orks, mighty Huntmaster. They had landed a great cruiser nearby and were preparing to comb the facility.. Kasvik and I came across one! Kasvik failed, yet I put it down my lord!" the pathetic figure spewed out, all in a rush, overcome in a mix of delight and fear.

"Where is your knife, thrall?" came the hushed reply.

"In the beast's neck, my lord! A single stroke!" he exclaimed, even going so far as to make a stabbing gesture.

The Huntmaster gave a great, weary sigh at the renegade's lack of foresight. Orks may be simple, yet they had a rudimentary cunning that would surprise most. That the dead ork scout would be found was without question - the knife would be clear evidence they were not alone on this world. His own master would not be pleased. A surprise attack always made for a more joyful slaughter.

"M..m'lord..?" came to his ears. More weak mewling. More worthless dregs thrust upon them. That there were no better acolytes to use for such missions filled him with hatred. He should have aspirants to instruct! Proud Drengr to teach how to track and ambush prey! Not this inane rabble that had less worth than a spent bolter casing. It wasn't fair! It..

He paused, the rage and disgust draining away from his mind. The odor of blood tingled in the air, a trail of it running down his rune-inscribed gauntlet to paint the ice in delightful splotches of red. A small pool of it was forming nearby. The twitching renegade, goggles shattered, an arm held up above his head, was the obvious source.

Growling at his own loss of control, the Huntmaster growled to the prone figure. "Collect yourself, worm. We have a fight to finish." As he reached up to lock his helmet in place, sealing out the cold memories from earlier, the chains on his shoulder hung loose and free. Below them a finely-wrought runic plate was laid bare, clearly visible below the fading image of a wolf howling to the moon above.


A lost memory from a man who died long ago. The name Lodin Harekrson.