Lizardmen Fluff, Of sorts

In the steaming jungles of Lustria, Marco Varcasuss of Middenheim hacked throgh the undergrowth that hampered his groups progress. They had left the Empire five months before with a mission to search for ancient artifacts for the College of magic to study.

So far, their journey had been plagued by bad luck. Their ship grounded on a reef close to shore, and was half full of water, its keel on the bottom of the bay. Then, Marcos workers had been hit by disease. It started with rashes on the skin, then hair loss, coughing, and fever. Then they vomited and excreted blood, turned blue and, just before death, they sweated blood, and in their death throes, they ripped off their skin in a desperate attempt to ease their pain.

Marco had lost nine of his thirty five men this way. Now, a month behind schedule, hopelessly lost, low on supplies and with no treasure in hand, the morale of the group was low. Three of his men were showing eraly signs of the disease that had already claimed nine others, and were the lowest of all. Marco hacked past a brilliant blue flowered bush, and saw a strip of land that had had a lot of foot traffic on it. As they followed it, a bush rustled ahead. Stopping, they saw a lizardlike humanoid, roughly four feet high, with a fin on its head. Looking at them through its green eyes, Marco watched the black and orange Lizard straighten up....



Tukam scurried down one of the many tracks that led to his encampment. He was out hunting when a group of men fell out of the bush around the path. Seeing them watching him, he straightened up, and chirruped for his chief to come.

Chief Shotek was a Skink chief of a small warband of Lizardmen warriors. They had recently trained their Stegadon and were starting to expand from their small encampment. He was applying poison to blow darts when he heard the call from one of his scouts not far away. Gathering his troops, they marched towards Tukam.
As soon as he saw the petrified men, he walked over to them, and spoke to them first in his native tongue, and then he reverted to what little human he knew.
"Come me human, we feed and rest you. Follow."

As Marco followed the skink, who was adorned in gold and obsidian jewellery, he was making a grave mistake, though he didn't know it at first. The Lizardmen took them to their camp, which was shielded by a wooden palisade and had about forty yurts and a temple like structure in the centre. Idols and statues of stone were everywhere. At one side of the camp, they saw warriors constructing a large wooden platform about twenty metres high and ten metres square.

The chief got one of his skinks to apply a poultice to his sick men, who recovered from their illness within an hour. They were fed and watered, and given a place to sleep. This was Marcos last day alive.

Later that night, when the moon was at its highest point in the sky, the men were woken. They were taken to the skink chief, who was now adorned in feathers and held a sceptre of stone. He addressed them, saying,

"Human, you walk on our holy land. Now you sacrifice. You please our Gods"
Marco realised all too late what the skink meant, and tried to escape, as did his men. However, their food had been laced with a sedative, and they were dazed and slowed. The men were bound and taken to the platform they'd seen being built earlier that day. They were laid down, and one by one, the Chief took out his weapon, a dark black sickle, and cut out their beating hearts. Marco's heart, however remained in his chest. The arterial blood from his workers hearts was poured over him by the Skink, who then left the platform, but soon returned carrying a torch. Throwing it on the platform, which was Marcos funeral pyre, it burst into flames.


The screams of a dying man could be herad, and as they were silenced, the smell of roasted human flesh wafted through the camp.

Savage!

Awsome!!! savage yes but really cool

"When will this hell be damned rain stop?!" bellowed Nuln Artillery Engineer Alfred Keppenberg to one of his subordinates. "The moment this rain stops, we'll be able to fire these here cannons! And clear our way through this blasted jungle!"

The Empire camp was situated on a hilltop about thirty miles from the coast. The camp contained a mix of Tallaheim, Middenland, Nuln and Marienburg troops and were sent in response to the disappearance of Marco Varcasuss' expedition two years earlier. They cleared the hill with a mix of cannon, musket and gunpowder barrels, but such was the regrowth rate of foliage that no sooner had the set up cam but they had to fire more shots to slow the incoming roots and stems.Other than that, things had seemed pretty good. The reptiles and other animals that typically inhabit jungles moved far away from the camp, so there were no incidents of encounters with anything except the odd "bloody furry vultures with hands like a Mordheimite". Then along came the rain. It wasn't the light drizzle that just gets you a bit wet, nor was it the heavy stuff that soaks you to the bone and reduces tracks to little more than swamps. It was the rain that hits you like hail, breaks tents, weighs you down, causes wooden cannon frames to expand and weaken, and generally lowers morale.

"Now, if I be a knowing these parts, I'd say there are at least a hundred eyes watching us right now, young Tobias. For these are the lands of the Lizardmen. Don't worry though, for they are a fickle bunch. Show them some Chaos corpses and they'll hail you as heroes, but show them some of their gold and they'll kill you where you stand. But as we aren't interested in plunder, we should be alright. Unless this damnned rain gets us." said Middenheim handgunner Thaddeus Gromoral to his young assistant Tobias. "We'll be alright"

As they watched out into the jungle, they saw a small detatchment of scouts leaving the camp to recontoire ahead. Turning away, he saw the gunpowder barrels being moved to another tent that hadn't given way to the horrendous downpour.
"That'll cause us problems should we need our guns. That powder'll need at least a day to dry out and with the rain as it is, I can't see that happening..."
Just as he finished his sentence, he heard an ear piercing scream coming from the forest, followed by a shout of "bloody monkeys! Steal anymore of Simeon Hitchcooks bread and you're dead!"

Breathing a sigh of relief, Thaddeus wrung water out of his soaked cap, only for it to become saturated again almost immediately. The silence that followed was suddenly broken by yet another scream.
"Damn monkeys" Thaddeus grunted, then saw in his periphary a short orange creature come out of the edge of the trees. Turning, he saw a skink dragging out one of the now unconcious scouts behind him. Clambering towards the camp, the skink shouted out in distorted words "monekee".

"Damn monkeys are getting more and more daring, my lad. If the rain and snakes don't get us, perhaps mokeys will..."
As the Skink gathered more and more of the limp bodies of the scouts, Thaddeus looked up and saw the skies darken.
"More rain on the way" sighed Thaddeus.

With one more scout to go, the Skink dragged him out of the forest and dropped him just outside the camp, pausing as if to rest from carrying six full grown men three times his weight. Then, without warning, the Skink produced his weapon and rammed it into the scouts chest and raked through his ribs, plunged his hand into the gaping wound and tore out the heart, chanting in the tongue of Lustria, with arterial blood spurting all over him.

Immediately, the already dark sky darkened further until it was almost black, and then started to lighten up again, as seven comets hurled towards the camp.
"Sigmar sav..." Thaddeus managed to yell as the comets hit the gunpowder dump, their radiant heat drying the powder out before exploding it. The combined force of the comets and the various gunpowder dumps sent the fortified camp sky high, dispersing men, horses and rubble for miles around.

As the Skink Priest stood and watched the last of the rubble descend towards ground, he looked down and saw the jungle creeping foward, eager to reclaim what was previously theirs...

Nice. I like it. Much better than your Mordheim stuff, if you don't mind me saying .

Keep it up.

I don't ever recall doing any "Morheim" Fluff. Perhaps you can enlighten me on when I did fluff on "Morheim"? Does anyone else remember my "Morheim" fluff?

Ha. Some pretty cool moments in that.

Orange isn't a hugely stealthy colour though... I suppose neither is calling down seven comets on your foe's blackpower supplies...

Stealth? What use is stealth in a game when your opponent can see where all your models are, no matter how well they are hidden? Comet of Cassandora 4eva!

Your inexperience shows Paradox... lots of models are hidden (fanatics anyone?).

You can see them, making them unhidden, you just don't know which ones are the fanatics.

Ah Paran00b. When someone pays you a compliment you don't come straight back and mock them.

And when you make this many errors in a piece of fluff:

You don't hassle someone else's spelling.

What's wrong with Hitchcook? It's a name, it can be spelt as I like. Man we're sad, hassling each other about spelling. What we need is Rob to bring us back to reality.

If it is a name, then the only situation you could use

is when there are multiple people named Hitchcook. Which I'm assuming is not the case.

erm... or not...

Rob, I don't get you - At nationals you were saying how much fun you were having and yet we never see you at the club anymore.