The Huixtlan Campaign - Chapter Three - Lord Melchin's Grand Adventure

Previous chapters in this campaign: Chapter One, Chapter Two

Hello and welcome to another instalment of Tales from the Auld World. We’re taking a break from the Empire and High Elves we’ve been following so far to see how the other half of the Imperial expedition are getting on (spoiler: not well). The scenario this time is Lord Melchin's Grand Adventure from the 6th edition Lustria book, where one army takes on an enemy force twice its size, but with the advantage of surprise. Today the ambushers are the Lizardmen, so let’s meet their leaders…

Before the Battle

The midday sun hung over the jungle, and the world seemed suspended in its rays like an insect in amber. No breeze or current rippled the pool. Ticotl sat on the bank, the old Skink as still as the statues of his ancestors to either side. Even the patches on his skin where his scales hadn't regrown resembled those on the stone where time had worn away the work of the ancients.

A rhythmic whom whom whom broke the silence and began to grow louder. Out of the haze the dark silhouette of a bird appeared, its wingtips beating against the water as it flew. As it went to pass Ticotl, he could see that it was dark in truth, its shining black feathers stark in the light. One moment he was as still as ever, the next he held the bird in a gentle but firm grasp, whispering gently to it until it settled.

Turning the bird towards him, Ticotl saw embedded in its forehead a mirror-like disc. It showed him not his own reflection however, but a darkness dotted with stars. As he watched, the image changed, showing Humans and Elves mounted on strange beasts, charging and clashing with one another. He saw the Elf leader, who resembled one Ticotl had spoken with many years ago, fall and be captured; saw the other Elves retreat with their own prisoners. Then the image changed again. More Humans, dismantling their wooden mountain on which they had crossed the sea, dragging it across land with their priest on on its back. Ticotl released the bird and almost immediately it vanished into the light.

“It is the second omen,” he said to the figure who had appeared behind him, silently despite its huge size. Tzontli did not respond. Ticotl hadn't expected him to. He had picked the Saurus precisely for his impassivity. The road they walked, opposing the New God, had brought them into conflict with their own kind. Even most Saurus would have balked at what had had to be done. Tzontli had responded the same way he did to everything: efficiently and dispassionately.

“The jungle is moving against the Elves and their adversaries,” Ticotl continued, raising himself stiffly to his feet and shuffling round to look up at Tzontli. “We need concern ourselves with them only if they survive. The true danger is the Human priest. He is the one the New God has called; called to Huixtlan to release that which should never be released. He must not reach the city alive.”

That prompted a response from Tzontli: his hideously scarred face broke into a fanged smile, and he threw back his head and roared. Far and near across the jungle rose answering cries. “There is no time to muster our full forces,” Ticotl said. “Gather all who are close. The hunt must begin now.”

The branches cracked, the birds fled, the ground quaked. "HEAVE! You miserable bastards! Heave for your god and your lives."

Joachim didn't know how long he'd been pulling, he only knew that they couldn't stop. Days they'd waited with broken ships on the beach, too scared to enter the jungle, until the last horse had been slain for food. There was no sign of the rest of the fleet, no hope of rescue, the soldiers and sailors were doomed. That was until Drakon had emerged from one of the wrecked hulks, having fasted for a week, his face a mask of horror and beauty. With all hope lost he had cast down the will of whatever strange gods had sent them here and demanded the men build an altar, a monument to Sigmar.

Sailors like Joachim had little faith in anything but the sea, but the priest radiated power like the sun as he spoke, and soon turned the lot of them. So they worked. They bled. They starved. And as the sailing men were reduced to rags and ruin the glorious altar emerged from their shattered fleet. A war altar. Two weeks to the day from their landing, the pulling started.

"HALT!" Joachim dropped his rope. They had finally reached a clearing in which to make camp.

"Your lector speaks." Barked the priest who had led the pulling team, and every man fell to his knees. The surrounding soldiers looked on with a variety of feelings: pride, zeal, resolve, hope, but also sickness, exhaustion, indifference and even spite. Not all were as convinced as Joachim. Then Drakon's wonderful, holy voice rang out to his flock, and the battered sailor was in awe.

"Soldiers, make camp and stand fast, we rest for the night. Sigmar knows you need it. We are close to our goal men, close. Take heart and pray for deliverance! Extra rations for the faithful, for soon we feast on Sigmar's glory!"

Soldiers, tired from the march, nonetheless sprang into action. Joachim beamed as the heavens opened and a cooling rain fell, all would be good with Drakon leading them, he knew it as well as his own name.

The Battle

Drakon's camp arrayed and alerted by the sounds of the jungle. Little do they know of the horrors about to be visited upon them...

From the west appear a host of Lizardmen, led by priest Ticotl and Tzontli the scar veteran. They are outnumbered by the humans but have the benefit of surprise and immunity from much of the jungle's tricks on their side.

The humans have early success, as the war altar pulled by starving but zealous sailors (flagellants) crashes through a block of saurus warriors, killing many. 

Elsewhere the Lizardmen also have successes, with Ticotl and his skinks quickly silencing the helblaster volleygun and Tzontli's temple guard devouring a couple ranks of unlucky swordsmen causing the unit to flee across almost the length of the battlefield.

As fire from a salamander and poisoned javelins rain down on the wheeling followers of Drakon, the Empire witch hunter joins the archers in a doomed attempt to stimy the ravenous temple guard.

Drakon manges to charge and kill Ticotl! Impact hits are no joke folks. Despite this, the skinks and their fire spewing beast are making a mess of his sailors and the Temple Guard make it into the handgunners, slaying them to a man. Inner circle knights on foot threaten their flank however.

The war altar grinds to a halt as its carriers are slain in totality by the withering fire from the skinks. In a burst of hope the swordsmen rally and charge the temple guard with the knights on foot also going into the lizard's flank, the jungle having killed many of the humans before they even saw combat. Despite the absolute heroics of a warrior priest slaying the scar veteran Tzontli in a single round of dice, the Empire have lost more points than the Lizardmen even fielded. The skinks slink away, battered but victorious.

After the Battle

The crumbling yet still imposing walls of Huixtlan loomed out of the jungle. The young Skink priest paced back and forwards before the gates. He started as movement in the undergrowth caught his eye. A small party of other Skinks emerged – So few! he thought – one of them carrying a cloak of bright blue and green feathers, now stained red with blood. He approached the priest and bowed low, raising the bloody cloak to him. “You are the new Ticotl,” he said.

Numbly the young priest took the cloak and wrapped it around his shoulders, feeling the weight of it, hearing a cacophony of whispered voices in the back of his mind: the voices of countless priests gone before. Whispers of praise, whispers of hate, and above all whispers of the terrible responsibility that now lay upon him.

It took him a moment to realise the other Skink was speaking again. “… but for every one of us who fell, ten Humans or more were devoured. Few now remain to attack Huixtlan.”

“They’re still coming?” the new Ticotl squeaked. The other Skink nodded, then stared at him intently. They were all staring at him, and he realised they were waiting for him to tell them what to do, trusting in his judgement!

Into his panic one of the voices rose louder than the others, a soothing voice. Only do as we tell you, it said, and all will be well. Haltingly at first, gaining confidence as he went on, the new Ticotl passed on the instructions to his followers.

“Pull back to the tunnels beneath the temple – prepare all the defences. And send word to the Elves, and... and to the Valley of the Thunder Lizards! If any Humans make it out alive, they will be crushed between them!”

The other Skinks rushed off to obey his commands. Once he was sure they were out of sight, the new Ticotl rushed off himself for the deepest chamber of the tunnels. The voice had told him he would be safe there – and it wouldn’t lie to him, surely?

Next time: Imperial-ana Jones and the Temple of Doom…