You have chosen to build your stronghold in The Swallowing Bogs. The black waters and creeping vines have called out to you in some way. Once you know how to avoid the drowning eels the bog becomes a prime ground to hunt your unwary foes. As you begin to establish your settlement, you receive visitors representing the local warlords.
– A hobgrot in a leaky canoe paddles up to you representing the Bogswallow Marauders (If your settlement is beneath the bogs, imagine the hobgrot in a leaky dive suit). His illustrialness, Bor Goadfist wants you to join him and discuss possible business ventures.
– An akhelian knight atop a skeletal eel rises up from beneath the still waters of the bogs. Veinir, the Drowned Emperor of Pearlgrave requests your presence in his underwater keep. Together, you can share information that will allow you both to live eternally.
– A warrior clad in gold coins and tanned troll-hides representing Mou’Terib saunters into your stronghold. If you are strong enough, you and your forces are invited to ply your trade in the City of Coin.
Settle in the Swallowing Bogs
Your travels complete, you see the Steppe laid out before you. Across the horizon, you see other warlords begin to build their strongholds. Some have come in search of the Amber Stampede, others have come by the invitation of local warlords, and some just see the land as a font of opportunity.
But this story is yours to tell. Why have you come? Where have you settled? Who are those that fight alongside you? What is the Stronghold you will build? These are the questions the Steppe demands of you. These are the tools you will use to carve your legends into the lands of Ghur.
Game Master Notes
These notes exist to help you run through the Quest. They are put here by the creator and should give you some direction as to what they had in mind when they created the Quest
Rewards
Sometimes a Quest creator will tell you what you get for completing the Quest, depending of the outcome of course. If there is nothing, you can obviously create your own rewards, ahhh… imagine the possibilities…
You see a small hovel jutting out from the waters. Inside, you find a spiral staircase leading down beneath the floor of the bogs and into the lake below. Cool moisture hangs in the air, creating dense fog that blocks your sight. What is it that you will find beneath the shadows?
Pick one of the following territories: Old Keep, Small Settlement, Wild Lands, Forgotten Mine, Arcane Waypoint, Ancient Roads. You immediately add that territory to your stronghold without spending glory.
– For completing this quest, word of your legend grows across the Hungering Steppe. You receive 6 Glory and your warlord gains 1d6 Renown.
– If you participated in a game of Age of Sigmar and used the territory rules for one of the areas of the Steppe, you receive 3 additional Glory.
Have you played through this Quest or Rumour?
If you’ve played through or resolved this in any way, be sure to tell us right here on the Quest page, we’d love to know what happened!
It was with a curious admixture of feelings that Fleetmaster Tyskgart Knuckleswift surveyed his new and enlarged domain. The Marish Elver‘s descent upon the levies of Mou’terib had been swift, merciless and effective, the enemy’s combination of Ogor muscle and blackpowder bluster both less well suited to what they dared to regard as their home territory than the Har Kuron expedition and its Dhom-Hain allies’ lightly armed, amphibious fighters. Tyskgart now claimed ever more of the bogs’ thoroughfares, and was moving in too upon what the Tidecaster assured him was an arcane confluence of significant power.
But the price was considerable, and specific, almost as if intended to be paid as such in advance. Tyskgart himself was left limping by a wild but devastating artillery report, uncertain of the wisdom of taking the field once again very soon. His Khainites and especially his Corsairs were thinned, their Scourgerunner smashed at Ogrish hands. And while more Dhom-Hain surged to their support, including a balefully magnificent beast of the undercurrents and its adept, cruel-eyed riders, Tyskgart was beginning to grow uncertain about the balance of the alliance engaged in this venture…
Having filled his ranks with the Ironjaw warriors of his orruk opponent “da Bad’Unn”, Togtol proceeded on his travel towards the Swallowing Bog. His oddbrain advisor Rakot had guided him from the early days of his departure in Hysh and guided the ways towards it with mystical rituals, reading the bones of an ancient skywolf.
Togtol had heard from the Marauders in this bog before in Hysh. Since the first day of his arrival in Ghur he had planned to reach their leader, who he saw as a powerful ally.
As the army reached the swamps and proceeded further, they didn’t find the settlement of the hobgrots, only twisted trees, strange rock formations. Deformed animals seem to constantly hush through the shadows. The light darkened as the army moved forward.
The greenskins began to struggle to travel through the swamp, as the rugged equipment dissolved in the acidic waters and warriors began to show their unease dealing with the surrounding. Only a few of his warriors, the warriors of “da Skabbz” seem to be uneffected by it.
“Somethings odd. This swamp is different.”, the oddbrain slided with his finger through the skywolf bones, “it’s the creation of the dark ones.”.
A gutteral scream erupted from far back of the swamp, vaguely where the grot reinforcement were advancing. Then one, two stomping sounds, coming near from the flanks.
Togtol looked at Rakot: “Look what’s happening there. I will hold the line with our new recruits.”.
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Worga Snappafist hold his Ironjawz back, who eagerly carried their jagged hackas.
“Da Boss sayz’ wait’n… an’ I dunno’ he’z da boss allrite?”.
Then suddenly, breaking trees and followed by a pack of wild animals appeared a massive pack of beastmen.
Togtol pulled his Gnashtoof back and tightened his force to a standoff… and then the moshing starting to erupt. The first Ghorgon rampaged into Worga’s best warriors, shredding them like paper. The megaboss suffered a great wound, but managed to stand his ground, enfuriated and excited about the current challenge. Somewhere at the other side of Togtols unit another Ghorgon started his bloody attacks.
At the bosses position a great band of bestigors had started chopping into his warriors. Once again, the manskewers proofed to be deadly, bringing down the beastlord general.
Togtol swung his long sable through the bestigors, while unexpectedly, a wild Doombull approached.
With a might swing the axe fell into the Gnashtoofs hide, barking in pain. Togtol, terrified at the sight of the beast tried to evade the following strike, but was thrown off the sattle a second later.
The battle close to defeat, Worga bellowed to his warriors to bring the Ghorgon down, while turning his back on him, to reach the Doombull from behind.
With a powerful snap of his claw, Worga pulled the Doombull from the back, breaking the twisted bones into a bloody mess. With his whole power he then brought down the beast, down to his knees, only to finish it off with a cracking strike of his hacka on his skull.
The battle had turned into a bloody orgy. As the cavalry of Togtol was arriving and a few more gors approached the battle, Worga took charge and searched for the boss. Luckily, he found him, standing up from the stinking water.
“We’z gotta go… da boss sayz’ it’s lost… is it?”.
Togtol looked fatigued to the battle, then started to nod. Together they watched the cavalry crashing into the new gor units. The ardboys had done a good job, bringing the Ghorgon down and had taken the center. The other unit had been completely broken. Many of the beasts fell back, taking prisoners for their great shaman. Painfully, but slowly, the ranks had found some order back.
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Having faced the first defeat and lost a great amount of warriors, Togtol had lead the army on his own, ignoring Rakots advices. In truth though, he didn’t know what he was doing. Not only had he been thrown off his saddle, missing the great part of the fight, but his warriors had lost their confidence in battlefield.
The beastman moved back, but it was only a matter of time, that they would try to attack again and maybe take more orruks captive. If they wouldn’t find a place to set up a defence soon, this expedition could end in catastrophy.
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Only hours later, drawn by a growing desire, Togtol arrived at a clearance in the middle of the swamp. A strange rock was clawed like a teeth into the flesh of the ground. All around it, the swamp had been pushed back, as if the rock defied any of the swamp to come closer.
It was named the Fang of Unru, named after the third Skywolf, ancestor to his klan. A defeat had taught him a lesson and he had escaped with a lot of luck and unharmed. A lucky day for a lucky grot.
The Reavers moved across the bog, paddling their rafts forward, always attempting to keep the distant mountain infront of them. It had been a day since they had left the safety of the Bloodfly, flagship of Queen Vorghya, and still the mountain seemed to get no closer.
“Keep paddlin’, all of you. We need to reach Mou’Terib if we’ve got any hope of gettin’ the repairs we need.” said Quartermaster Grohn. A Kurgali, the copper-skinned man was tall and broad, with a mop of raven-dark hair. Second only to Vorghya in rank, he commanded warriors from all three tribes.
“Beast spotted, Quart.” It was one of the Norscellans, pointing off into the distant waters. Grohn watched carefully, seeing the way the waters shifted slightly, parting around a fin that pushed its way to the surface. As he watched, the sounds of the swamp died away, and the reaver instinctively hefted his great hammer. With a sudden splash, the rearmost rafted capsized.
“TO ARMS!” yelled Vorghya, standing on the middle most raft. With her Nullstone Hook raised, the reaver-queen cut an imposing figure even in the murk of the swamp. Her bright orange hair was tied up in the Norscellan fashion, while her clothes were the simple leathers and hides of the Kurgali. Aside from her hook, she also carried her blackjack and rifle, and was equally deadly with both.
Accompanied by a series of explosions, the hobgrots pushed their way through the disturbed water, climbing onto the rafts while their enemies were distracted by the great swamp beasts. The Bogswallow Marauders began taking out the rearmost reavers – archers from the Tung tribe.
The reavers, hoping to take better advantage of their mounted warriors, moved onto the more solid looking ground. Unfortunately for the great Kurgali, looks can be deceiving, and their charge was blunted as hooves got caught up in the muck.
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Hours later, the rafts of the Reaver tribes slowly drifted onto the shore. Those that weren’t wounded dragged them further inland, eventually finding their way to Mou’Terib. The journey here had cost Vorghya greatly, with all of the groups she had brought with her taking loses in the battle against the Hobgrots.
“Grohn, select a small group to stay with you here. Watch the rafts, and bury the dead. I have an appointment with the Gold-Maw. Once that is done, I’ll gather up what we need to reinforce the Bloodfly, and make preparations. Those Hobgrots owe us a debt, and I intend to collect.” Vorghya smiled, running her fingers along her hook. Oh yes, those disgusting Hobgrots would pay.
(( Played a TTS game of PtG at 600 points using the Swallowing Bogs realm rules. Sadly, the Reavers lost to a mostly Hobgrot Kruleboyz force.))