The Warehouse: part two

Captain William Smyth, late of the Grenadier Guards, had got the morbs. Shouldering his Martini–Henry rifle, he absently trudged towards the plank and batten doors barring the entrance to the dilapidated industrial warehouse.

Captured!

The Scots Warlord, Fearghas MacCoinnich, has found himself in the outrageously humiliating predicament of being ambushed, captured and held to ransom by a bunch of raiding Anglo-Dane barbarians! Wild speculation and baseless rumours abound regarding the circumstance which led to MacCoinnich’s abduction, from illicit liaisons with a notoriously wanton temptress to a particularly drunken and debauched shindig after a successful hunt. Regardless the truth, the Chief’s Hearthguard and loyal household retainers are brutally attempting to quash any dissent whilst the warband is hastily assembled to attempt a rescue.

The Warehouse: part one

November, 1886. Leaden grey clouds draped listlessly over the abandoned soot stained industrial buildings somewhere in the north of England. Lord Curr thrust his cold-numbed hand deep into his jacket whilst his other tightly gripped his hunting rifle, slick with wet after the recent downpour. Dakota, his American Wolfhound, sat disconsolate and trembling at his side, the dog's fawny-white fur hanging lax and dripping wet. Muffled scrapes and wet booted slaps from the approaching Company detachment sounded nearby as they shuffled into position. Ahead, the warehouse loomed above the grime-slick cobbled streets.

Is there anybody out there?

The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated. So the popular Mark Twain paraphrase goes. In a similar vein, the recent silence from Battleshed Diaries may have had my reader wondering what on earth has happened? The last report was back in March when the headline was ‘The Indians are coming!’ And then nothing. Nada. Zilch.  

The Indians are coming!

It may seem I've been a bit quiet since my escapades at Vapnartak in York. In reality, I've been as busy as ever on the gaming front over the last few weeks.  I've just kinda' had my head down getting on with various projects, chipping away at my painting queue and regularly losing on the tabletop. So everything, gaming-wise, is pretty much steady at the helm.

Where did the Minster go? Vapnartak 2017

By early evening on Sunday, I was in York and ready for some food and a beer or three after a pleasurable day filling my loot bag to the gunnels at Vapnartak 2017!

Rogue thoughts

This week, I took part in a group playtest of Rogue Stars. With the rules only recently released into the wargaming world, a good few folks at my local club were eager to get a squad on the table and see what all the fuss was about. 

Scalping Practice

The Ohio Valley, 1758. Hordes of savage battle-frenzied Indians raging out of the dense forest on one side, opportunistic French Canadian Militia sniping from the forest on the other side, and what appeared to be a troublingly deserted forward supply base further along the rough track that passed for roads in this punishing frontier. Captain Timothy, the commander of the small British relief force, is beginning to regret this little expedition into the North American backcountry.