Game Report: Fatum in Porta

Southern Gaul, 146 BCE

Gaius Portius Carbo had not been a happy man in months, not since his hubris, his arrogance had led him to volunteer for a special mission for the Praetor. Now he was trapped in an unending nightmare, fighting the monsters who emerged almost daily from the ocean, in seemingly endless waves. Fight after fight, risk after risk, horror after horror. 

Now at least there was the promise of an end to the nightmare. The odious spy was once again accompanying him and a picked party of soldiers, to a stone circle deep inside enemy ravaged territory, while the rest of the Legion fortified their camp in an obvious position to draw off the main enemy horde. The priests had assured the Praetor and him that performing a barbarian ritual at the stone circle would drive the creatures back into the sea for more than two thousand years. A local Gallic druid had been persuaded, with great effort, to part with the details of this ritual. 

There wasn't much further to go, and hopefully the nightmare would end. One way or another. 

The Cursed Dry-Lands, the one hundredth and seventh day of the campaign

Athtaen of the Deep Burrows was tired. The demands of serving the God of the Deep were many and took a great toll. Even worse, fighting on the Cursed Dry-Lands was sapping his strength further, the magics cast so long ago by the mud-crawlers still potent enough to drive him and his kin back into the sea regularly. His scrying had identified a focal of the power that held them back, with a little effort he could reach it and break the magics, allowing his kin to ravage the dry-lands endlessly.

Perhaps then the God of the Deep would then grant his tribe the strength to rule over the whole of their kind, and perhaps Athtaen would be granted a night of peace. 

The Game

This game pitched the forces of Rome against the Formorian invaders, in the final installment of a series of games which we began many years ago, see games one, two and three here. In this game, a force of Romans had to get the magical spear they had retrieved to a stone circle and perform a ritual, while a group of Formorians had to escort their priest to the same circle to lift a curse that held them back from conquering all of the earth. 

The stone circle stands silent for now

The circle was at the far end of the table from the two sides who entered on opposite sides of the table, immediately facing the choice of charging for the objective or clashing with one another.

The Roman force consisted of:

Gaius Portius Carbo - Centurion

Septimus Castricus - Picked Principius

Marcus Aventius, Sextus Apidius, Gaius Ofanius - Principii

Tiberius Gellius, Appois Hortensius - Triarii

Mansur, Scallius - Syrian Archers

Gaius Nonius - Spy

The Romans arrive

The Formorian warband consisted of:

Sargessir the Unproven - Tribal Chieftain 

Athtaen of the Deep Warrens - Priest 

Grawl and Kwarwk - Beastmen Beserkers 

Barrelithin and Hetherin the Bound - Tribal Champions

Trestiral and Mensarum - Warriors

Nimestel, Scrablein and Lotherimur - Huntsmen

The horde descends

In the opening couple of turns, the Roman spy and the Syrian arches broke away from the main body of Romans, heading around the farm to make their way to the circle, the spy clutching the spear, while the whole Formorian force bore down on the encroaching Romans.

The Roman force splits up, which can't possible end badly.

Led by their newly crowned Chieftain, the Formorians surge forward.

The two sides continued to close, with Formorian arrows thudding around the Romans or into their shields. After the Romans sought cover behind a small rise, the Formorians closed, eventually launching a charge when the Romans showed themselves, with Grawl rapidly felling Gauis Ofanius in the first charge.

Blades clash as the two sides begin their first combat of the game.

In what would later prove to be a critical moment, one Formorian arrow went a little astray, killing a piglet in the nearby pen. 

Athtaen, Sargessir and the two tribal champions left the warriors, Beastmen and hunstmen to tie up the main Roman force, making their way towards the stone circle. 

The objective is in sight.

As they approached, two forms emerged from the stones around the circle, coalescing into the horrifying forms of two skeletons wielding scythes, one wreathed in red light, the other bathed in a blue glow. 

New arrivals cause mild consternation among the players.

Meanwhile, near the main fight, the mother of the piglet so cruelly slain by a Formorian arrow broke out of her pen, enraged and seeking vengeance. 

The pig breaks free

With only one creature in her immediate line of sight, the pig charged at a Formorian huntsman, bowling him over and trampling him to death in moments. 

The pig strikes back with the fury born of tragic loss

Elsewhere far more convention fights raged, Sargessir charged by one of the skeletons, neither of them having any real impact on each other, the main brawl continuing with wounds being traded off and both sides struggled to outflank one another, and the two tribal champions, having moved to intercept the Roman spy and archers finding themselves being attacked by the other skeleton, who cut down Barrelithin in short order.

A brutal sweep of the scythe ends the rise of a Formorian champion

While all this chaos was unfolding, the Roman spy was able to dash into the stone circle, plant the spear and recite the incantation, which unleashed a torrent of energy, which ripped through the Formorians and Beastmen, driving the souls of any who showed insufficient willpower to resist the waves of energy trying to drive them back into the sea, decimating the Formorian force, killing Krawrk and the two remaining huntsmen.

In the meantime, the pig charged into the main melee, crashing into Marcus Aventius, goring him in the abdomen and sending him to the underworld as the rest of his men swarmed and attempted to bring down the monsters. 

Oblivious to the fighting around her, fueled by her blind rage, the pig claims another victim.

Before further pulsations of magic could completely wipe out the Formorian force, Athtaen stormed into it, bringing the God of the Deep's magic into conflict with the power the Romans had unleashed from the stone circle, creating a swirling vortex around the circle.

Man and monster clash, surrounded by a maelstrom of energy.

Eager to aid, and unsure he could fire through the magical storm engulfing the circle, Mansur attempted to charge into the Formorian priest, entering the vortex, at which moment he was torn to shreds by the forces within, scattering shards of armour, fragments of bone and tatters of flesh across the field as a red mist briefly colours the storm, rapidly dissipating. 

Fighting inside the stone circle, the spy managed to wound for Formorian priest, forcing him back until he was nearly at the edge of the maelstrom. 

Meanwhile, while the Roman centurion distracted the maddened beast, Appius Hortensius managed to stick a spear into the pig, putting an end to her rampage.

The true terror of the battle lies slain

The ongoing melee saw Grawl cut down another Roman, oblivious to the fate of the two warriors by his side, cut down by the Roman blades. Meanwhile, Hetherin the Bound managed to inflict a telling blow on the skeleton who was attacking him, crushing bone and dispersing the creature. 

With Grawl outnumbered, the Roman Centurion and picked Principius stormed away to aid in the fight against the Formorian priest, hoping they could force a way through the storm around the circle somehow. Instead they ended up tied up in a fight with the last Formorian champion, while, having effortlessly cut down the remaining Roman archer who had charged into him, Sargessir was set on fire by the blade of the skeleton monster, suffering a wound in the process. 

The Roman leadership leaves the foot soldiers to their fate, possibly described in a more heroic manner in their report to their superiors.

With himself on his final wound, and his Chieftain down a wound, Athtaen attempted to cast the Regrowth miracle to heal them both. 

Gaius Nonius watched in horror as a pit of darkness opened beneath the creature he was fighting, grasping tentacles of darkness reaching up and wrapping themselves around the monster. For a moment he thought that this was some horrific spell about to be unleashed upon him, before he saw, just momentarily, a look of agony sweep across the creature's face as the tentacles swarmed over its face. And, a moment later, the creature vanished, dragged down into the pit, which sealed itself, leaving only a small patch of barren, blighted earth to indicate it had ever been there. 

With a very unfortunate Wrath of the Gods roll, the spell backfired, killing Athtaen, ending the Formorian chances of achieving their objectives, at which point we called the game for the evening.

The final result was a victory for the Romans, reinforcing the magic with the enchantment extracted from the Gallic druid, driving the monsters back into the sea, ending our little campaign as a human win overall, if a costly one across the games. In an amusing (to me) little aside, the magical spear over which so much of this blood had been shed was entirely fake, a scheme made up by the Roman spy to help improve morale, with no magical effect whatsoever. 

Gaius Portius Carbo led the handful of survivors back to the Legion's camp, the spy, his picked guard and himself being the only survivors, the ox-headed monster having slain the last of the soldiers in his force before being overcome by the energy radiating from the barbarian monument. As soon as he was able, Carbo was going to retire to the countryside, somewhere high upon a hill and far from the sea, and live out his day without ever having to raise a sword again. He feared, however, that no matter how long he lived his nights would ever be haunted by the monstrosities. 

Athtaen felt himself being pulled apart, piece by piece, in exquisite agony, reassembled, the fragments of his flesh being bound together by a magic that burned and coursed through his body, over and over, for what felt like a millennium, as he was dragged deeper and deeper, the faint light from where the pit he had been drawn into receding ever further. As the light faded from view, he looked down instead, catching sight of strange shapes emerging from the gloom, twisted faces, mud-crawlers, Beastmen, Sirens, and Formorians, each screaming silently, faces twisted into masks of pure agony. He landed on something soft, writhing, moist and foul smelling, the tentacles that had been peeling his flesh away releasing him for a moment before grasping his limbs and pinning him down. He felt the God of the Deep speaking deep within him, as shapes swirled through the darkness and mist, their eyes gleaming and keen, teeth sharp, bared in a heartless grin. "The price of failure is eternal." spoke his God, before severing their link forever. Athtaen could but scream.

The Romans in the game were from Crusader Miniatures and Warlord Games, while the Formorians were from Brigade Model's Celtos range. We played using the Broken Legion rules from Osprey. 

Where once there had been a monster, now stood nothing

A long time after the strange smelling people had left, and the terrifying noises had ceased, he had ventured out from home, following her scent. He followed it to a pile of something foul smelling. An experimental taste confirmed that this was not food. He trotted on, following the scent, now mixed in with the foul smell. 

Then he found her, curled up in a ball, but not warm as she had been the night before as they had sheltered together, but cold, unmoving. He cried out to her, but she did not stir. He cried louder still, getting no response. It broke his heart, but he finally realised she would never stir again. 

He nuzzled her one last time, fighting back his grief. "I will avenge you." he whispered. "It may take a hundred generations, but I will raise our kind to fight back against the creatures who took you from me. And we will be bound by a simple creed."

"Four legs good, two legs bad."