[Event Report] Dark Omens | Tomb Kings on Tour

Darkness, save the distant starlight. Silence, save the susurrus of the dunes. Such is night in the Land of the Dead; empty of life, empty of light. Yet not, it must be recalled, empty of intent. If something should disturb the moonless emptiness – something that arcs across the heavens, bleaching the sands white in a false dawn, something that one imagines shrieking, even across the void that devours all sound – there are no eyes that will turn to the heavens.

No eyes, but sockets in plenty.

So it was that the passing of a twin-tailed comet was noted by the diviners of the High Queen of Lybaras. So it was that the scrolls were consulted – the more recent scrolls, those telling of the Reign of Millions of Years, and not the true history of Nehekhera-that-was-in-the-long-ago. So it was that a portent was recognised, considered, and understood. The last time this happened, the nemesis of the usurper and defiler was born far to the north; the fate of Nagash to perish in battle was sealed, and long centuries of prosperity ushered in. An auspicious time, for the High Queen of Lybaras to hunt.

And so it was that the armies of Lybaras were mustered, the client kings called to arms, and one among them bent a knee to the High Queen and craved indulgence…

Dark Omens was a narrative weekender hosted at Boards and Swords Hobbies in Derby (another place I have never been before, the East Midlands being a strange and foreign land to me). The premise was pretty simple: signs and portents drew the armies of the Old World and beyond to Death Pass in the World's Edge Mountains, and as we fought a series of increasingly unusual battles we'd accumulate special Dark Omen cards that we could use to... do... things.

I'm a bit vague on the details, because... well, some of us got nearer to the ultimate goal and the final revelation than others, and indeed, one or two of us never got our hands on a Dark Omen card at all. There was a plot to the event, overall, and I believe the final showdown involving Bloodthirsters and Strigoi Vampires and Chaos Lords duelling over some sort of meteor was a sight to behold, but. Well. That was for people who were good at winning games. That was, as it transpired, not really on my to-do list.

The Tomb Kings players, all three of us, had a shared prime directive:

Buried deep beneath the sands of Nehekhara an ancient Necropolis lies.
Tended for centuries by the Liche Priests who maintain the glory of ages past,
including the many thousands of faded hieroglyphs which cover the walls of
the crypts. The priests know every corner of this monolithic structure of the old empire, every recorded word is preserved. It is for this reason your dynasty is marching for Death Pass. The discovery of a new set of writings seemingly as ancient as the others warrants action. The depiction of a celestial body infused with the power of the Realm of Souls setting the mountains ablaze is a power your King desires.

We were also encouraged to forge our own narrative giving our own armies a personal reason to be there. Here's mine, and I'll include the other players' in their respective game writeups when I get there.

Khonekt, who was King in Lybaras in the Second Dynasty when Rakhaf was King in Khemri, who woke most lately in the year before the Pestilence of Nineteen Crows, was troubled. He had often been troubled, since the ignobility of his latest awakening: since his crown had been snatched from his tomb on the watch of his foppish and ignorant son. It was not to be borne, it really wasn’t, and no amount of humiliating the boy would make up for that, and what an excuse for an excuse – “it was skaven, father, and we killed all but one of them!”

It only took one, that’s what King Khonekt had told Prince Thotmanho at the time. One to run back to an army of his little friends with the crown and that’s that, it would never be seen again. No, it wasn’t to borne at all, and Khonekt had had enough of bearing it. In the absence of his crown and ceremonial robes, he ordered his armour brought to him, and his second best chariot, and he set out for the Temple that was seat of the High Queen.

Court, it seemed, was in session. The death-rattle of their voices – those kings who had come before and after him – fell silent at his entrance. Someone sniggered, and Khonekt wished something quite unpleasant on them, like a scorpion taking up residence in their disused stomach. He had no crown to doff in the presence, to hand to an attendant, but in the absence of such crucial marks of etiquette he took off his helmet instead and tucked it under his arm.

“My Queen,” he began, addressing the gilded seat below the altar of the asp goddess, and its occupant in her alabaster mask. “I crave a boon of you. I would ask your benevolent indulgence in taking the greater part of my strength away to the Death Pass and the lands beyond, and recovering that which – “

“Granted,” said the High Queen Khalida, in a manner high and clear and – somewhat detached from what he was actually saying, Khonekt thought, in the treasonous privacy of his own skull. “For you see, King Khonekt the Fourth, who is called the Crownless and the Risible, we had a mind to send you northwards in the first place. There are portents.”

“Malign ones?”

“Seldom any other,” muttered King Roshambo the Second, from the front row, earning a scornful tilt of the High Queen’s mask in his direction.

“Portents of great prosperity,” she went on, “which our augurs inform us bode well for the great hunt.”

A priest shuffled from the ranks amassed below her throne, and croaked out: “The Light of Death shall stir the dust of aeons, and much that was lost will be found; in the long dark lies truth, and in truth lies beauty and in beauty goodness and the divinity of vengeance.”

Another priest joined the first, and explained: “After your reign had passed, Khonekt, a great shrine was built in the walls of the Valley of Death far to the north, for the armies of Lahkashaz the Second, and in that shrine was sealed the lore of the Fourth Dynasty by the priests and scholars of the armies that did pass that way, and then that shrine was lost when Lahkashaz was slain by Setep and Lahmia thrown down and the Fifth Dynasty ascended to rule. Many of the secrets of Lahmia the cursed city may be found within.”

“You shall go to Death Pass,” the High Queen informed him, “as our champion. You shall seek out that which is lost. You shall bring us back the true and accurate history of the Fourth Dynasty that fell into blood and ashes. You shall have our blessing, and you shall wield the Destroyer of Eternities in our name, and if you happen to find that which you seek also, so much the better.”

It sounded like a lot of beetle’s breakfast, to be honest, but King Khonekt was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth at the best of times, and these were not the best of times. Any excuse would do.

---

And so it came to pass that in the third year of the Pestilence of Nineteen Crows, the desert was no longer empty, nor silent, nor entirely dark. The sands were stirred by four score marching feet and change; the light of distant stars glimmered off bronze and gold, khopesh and torc.

At the forefront of the army rode Prince Thotmanho in the second best chariot of the household – a place of honour, and also the place at which most trouble was likely to start and from which he was least likely to return. In their wake strode ushabti and the mighty bulk of a warsphinx, with the frame of a catapult lashed to its back. Overhead the great carrion birds circled and swooped, on a wind that blew out of Lybaras to the north, across the Gulf and the Plain and the Mountains that lay beyond.

And among the soldiery strode King Khonekt the Fourth, the Crownless and Wandering King, the Herald of the High Queen, who bore the Destroyer of Eternities within his hands, and whose sockets were fixed on the north.

He would not be alone. The kings of Quatar and Numas and perhaps even Khemri would surely send forth their armies by the western route, skirting the Marshes of Mourkain. With good luck and a following wind, he’d reach the eastern end of Death Pass while they were still harried by the greenskin tribes, and the ancient lore of the Fourth Dynasty would come back to Lybaras, and he’d have first crack at the skaven nests to boot. With better luck, his crown would still be there, and not swept further north still.

Even to his empty-eyed gaze, the World’s Edge seemed ablaze. The journals of Amenemhetum told of a strange light that sometimes shone across the northern seas, pale and ghostly and transcendent in its loveliness. King Khonekt had never seen it, but he fancied it looked much like the cascade that grew bigger and brighter every night, as the army marched closer to Death Pass.

Day One

First Engagement - Breakthrough

At the eastern entrance to Death Pass, all three Tomb Kings players were charged with the same quest: fight their way through the hordes of Chaos who'd assembled themselves in the mountains preparatory to their own assault. How'd they get there first? Read on...

 

A white-armoured warrior stood out in the rain with arms outstretched, his faceless helmet upturned toward the sky. The rain, however, did not appear to touch him as he raised his iridescent staff and brought it down to strike the ground...

Scarlet lightning began to fall, slowly at first then faster and faster, repeatedly striking the ground in front of the assembled horde; where two bolts struck one another, a mirage would form, showing a distant mountain range. Hundreds of bolts were cascading down, flickering and flickering, again and again in the same location, sketching the entrance to Death Pass a hundred feet across and twenty in the air.

“The Portal is open, brother” Ai’dan shouted over the storm, "but we cannot take the full host though. Two contingents at most; some must be left behind, and we must move quickly.”

Ri’kardo nodded and from his mount turned back to the others: “Mi’kail, Matthius, Kar’sul: you are to take your forces south into Kislev, burn the lands and destroy whatever you encounter! Keep them occupied; separate if you must and pursue your own interests, but I expect you not to wage war amongst yourselves, Drak’kar will join me, along with Ai’dan to open the ways to return.”

Although brothers by birth, each had walked a different path in life, each pledging their services to the Dark Gods. It was only after many years that Ri’kardo learned of the others and began to assemble the Host, and without his influence the natural animosities of the brothers, inflamed by their patrons, their alliance would quickly fracture. It was better to let them separate, for a time, than force them together and risk the infighting that would surely follow.

Raising his axe in the air his forces began to move; black armoured warriors marched through the portal, followed by the gleaming white of the followers of Tzeentch. Once through, the Norscans began moving, dragging the sacrifices required to summon the deamons at their destinations. Finally, Drak’kar was brought to the portal, the monstrous abomination snarling and snapping at its handlers as they goaded it through.

As Ri’kardo turned to leave he felt a hand on his shoulder, he turned to face Mi’Kail. Even Ri’kardo, though massive in his own right and mounted, was towered over by Mi’kail. Resplendent in crimson and bronze armour, his giant axe held in one hand resting on ground.

“We all saw the portents, brother,” said Mi’kail. “Others will come for your prize, even other champions from the Gods.”

 

“I know,” Ri’kardo replied. “They will be given the same choice as I gave you and the others. Serve me or perish.”

My lot was to face down Richard M and his barbaric crew - meaty Warrior and Knight units, Marauders to fill, a Chariot, a Horror block to supplement the magic phase and, incidentally, a Hellcannon.  I would very much have liked to have the side of the board with the hill on it, and Rich very politely indicated that this would not be happening.

Things started badly with some rather cold dice; although my Casket got through it only killed the screening Warhounds, while my Catapult misfired itself into uselessness on an otherwise DEAD ON ACCURATE guess onto the big Warrior block. Thirty shots from my Archers across two phases of the game resulted in three lousy wounds on Chaos Marauders. It was not a good day.

 

And yet, I could have had this one. My Chariots nailed a flank charge on Richard's Horrors with My Will Be Done; successfully wiping them would send Thotmanho and Squadron into the Marauders beyond and potentially panic the huge, expensive Tzeentch Warrior block and/or Hellcannon into the bargain. Especially when my Scorpion markers were where they were...

Sadly, it was not to be. Richard landed a pristine Hellcannon shot squarely on my Hierophant and, because of the unique way the Hellcannon template functions, none of the usual "well you might hit the Casket instead and then you have to randomise which crewman you hit, it's like having two Ward saves" maths worked. It was just a flat d6 wounds to the Priest and boom! that's all she wrote. Subsequent crumblage left me without a hope. Frankly, I should have just flung my Prince at the damn thing. Even if he'd died he'd hopefully have messed up the crew with his impact hits and then it would have been Richard's problem, not mine.

Second Engagement - Meeting Engagement

This time I was up against Kris W, my longest serving fan, with his throng of Torstjan Gotrekurz, and his hiking club - a clan of nomadic caravan guards whose in-character writeup, alas, I can no longer find. Kris had opted for the later Dwarf book, at least partly so he could put his Lord on Shieldbearers and have the bearded one be carried everywhere. In lieu of the lore, please accept this photo of a very dignified Dwarf.

This was the game where I mentally clocked out. Absolutely nothing going on inside my head between deployment and about turn two. For some reason I can no longer fathom, I set my units up like this:

Everything about this is inane. Why are the Chariots over there, with multiple pieces of difficult terrain into which they can ram? Why are the Ushabti front and centre when I know they'll be marching walking, because this is Tomb Kings vs. Dwarfs and I won't be Incanting much, into the teeth of handgun fire? And, most damning of all, why did I end up advancing like this?

Look at this bitty-ass, open-flank, "sure just combo charge me all day" nonsense. This wasn't a game, this was a shooting gallery. Kris deserved better.

 

Also? This was the worst game for artillery crews in living memory. Kris' cannon misfired on its first shot, then had its crew eaten by an emergent Tomb Scorpion, while his Organ Gun achieved absolutely nothing in either volley. My Catapult scattered just shy of its intended target four times on the trot, and then misfired, collapsing under the weight of its own incompetence at the top of turn three.

After this I resigned myself to being the NPC of the event: my mummified minions merely an encounter for other, more protagonistic characters in the hands of better players to barrel through on their path to glory. The other Tomb King players weren't having it much better...

Third Engagement - Capture, Doubles

For this one it was Chaos again. I would be teamed up with Scott W and his similar-but-different Tomb Kings, under the command of Princess Shekha and the High Priest Bhatelshepes...

 

Shekha’s steed carried her through the shifting dunes of Nehekhara. With no muscles to tire or stomach to crave sustenance, the journey that would take a mortal being weeks was finished in a matter of days.

As Shekha’s steed approached the gates of the great Hallowed Necropolis, the agents of the Liche Priest Apholon had already sent word to the ambitious advisor of her return. She dismounted to be met by her father's Tomb Guard, who were to accompany her straight to the throne room of King Nechokhep.

The Tomb Guard stood like silent sentinels watching their liege. There on the central dias, sat upon an ornate golden seat between two pillars carven with images of the Realm of Souls, was King Nechokhep the Hallowed. And behind him, hunched over the great tome of her family, was the withered form of the Liche Priest Apholon, ready to whisper his cursed speech into the king’s mind. Shekha noted the title she had given him in her living days: Apholon the Schemer had always seemed the most apt descriptor she could summon.

“Father, may we speak in private?” asked Shekah, already knowing the answer.

“Apholon is my trusted advisor, child, and my Tomb Guard are loyal subjects. What news do you bring from Lybaras?”

She knew her father's voice, and this was not it. Though buried her feelings deep given that the throne room was filled with the loyal subjects of the voices owner. Apholon had grown in standing in her absence, she cursed the errand she had been sent on, a diversion to remove her inquiring mind from events at home.

“The Crownless King has been instructed to march his forces north to recover secrets of an ancient dynasty. He has even been granted the Destroyer of Eternities to battle foes in search of this treasure and ensure its safe return to High Queen Khalida. A celestial portent has been noted, a twin tailed comet lights the way with the fire of the Realm of Souls."

A crackled grin stretched across the leathery surface that was once the living face of Apholon. He had been following signs and portents relating to this celestial body, in his eternal quest for arcane knowledge and power. Apholon was on the way to unlocking the power to control all the dead of Khemri, including the mighty Tomb Kings themselves. He was able to exert this power already: many months of practice on King Nechokhep had yielded surprising results. Though he was not yet strong enough to outright usurp the throne, he was adept at manipulating the King's decisions - and prophetic writing he had uncovered spoke of a celestial body that he was certain would unlock the true potential of this unrefined ability.

“My King.” Apholon’s raspy voice rattled inside Nechokhep’s ears. "The Hallowed Necropolis should send its forces north. If what your daughter reports is true, there will be much for us to gain. We can support The Crownless King in his search for the lost dynasty. You would increase your standing with the High Queen should you succeed where her chosen herald does not.”

King Nechokhep the Hallowed stood and with grand determination called out loud: “Raise the garrisons of the Hallowed Keep, summon my Tomb Guard, bind the constructs of war. The legions of King Nechokhep shall march forth.”

“I shall lead them, father; to battle in our name shall fill me with pride. My chariots shall bring glory to your name for epochs to come!”

As Shekha left the throne room, she noted a glimmer of gold and the shimmer of magic around her father’s collar. Something was very wrong: Apholon had gone too far and become too powerful to directly assail. There was little she could do right now. Better to marshal her battalion. It was a long road to Death Pass, and war was coming. She could deal with the Liche Priest later.

By this stage it was quite late in the day, and as such this game fell foul to the usual problems of double team Warhammer: if you're not careful it ends up being two games played side by side between two pairs of opponents who are trying to match the pace of their teammates without much else to gain from it. Thus it was that Scott faced off against Brendan S, whose machined-to-perfection Chaos soup I had already confronted at Warhammer; Resurrection the year before. Meanwhile, I was facing Phil A. Oh dear. Philgor the Phoul, and his Nurgle Beasts. And he had two units of Minotaurs. And some Dragon Ogres.

Although Phil was initially quite alarmed by how good the Casket of Souls was, and how many spells two Tomb Kings players (one with a High Priest) could unleash in one turn, he quickly realised that most of those spells were sound and fury, signifying nothing, and that one or two of them would even bring our troops closer to his big-based lads for swifter thumping. It didn't help that both of the Tomb Kings' Catapults misfired and wouldn't be shooting until the shooting phase of turn two. This is why we ended up with a situation on both flanks in which, well...

If you think that looks like two units of Chariots being charged by things light chariots are not suited to fighting, you would not be mistaken. The Chaos boys got the drop on us good and proper, and our fastest, hardest units were utterly pasted by the top of round two.

Meanwhile, Phil's Dragon Ogres were facing down most of my army...

I sent my Ushabti out to try and stall them.

They didn't even make a dent, and the Drogres proceeded to bully on into my lines. Never mind that the Minotaurs were now being march blocked by my Carrion: those Dragon Ogres didn't need the help. Absolute monstrosities.

If you squint, you'll see some goings-on in the centre. It wasn't all going Team Chaos' way. Scott's Spear core and Scorpions were snarling up Phil's infantry, and I'd thrown my Scorpions into the fray as well, hoping we could pick off some characters and start to turn this thing around. My Catapult had got a shot off and squashed one of Brendan's Bray-Shamen (and one of our Scorpions, but who's counting?).

The same notion was behind this engagement between my Skeleton Warriors and Phil's Beast Herd, in which King Khonekt IV did what he was built to do and called out Philgor the Phoul. The idea here was that, with above average Toughness and Wounds, plus the -1 Attack penalty from his Vambraces of the Sun, King Khonekt could stay standing in a challenge long enough to get a couple of rounds in with the Destroyer of Eternities - two auto-hitting, high-Strength, Killing Blow attacks each round ought to get him through most assailants.

Sadly, that theory doesn't quite extend to Toughness 5 Beastlords, who Khonekt "only" wounds on a 3. Result: two-all draw, neither combatant inclined to fall down dead any time soon.

At this stage I was basically out of the game, although Scott was making a spirited attempt at breaking through, pushing deeper into the Beasts in the centre and putting Phil's Bestigor to flight.

However, the complete collapse of our flanks left the right open to this marauding Shaggoth and Ogres...

... and our artillery park about to be fwooshed by Furies.

This one timed out, but I strongly suspect an eventual win for the forces of Chaos, given that two thirds of my army was already dead and Scott could only kill so many Beast Herds. Brendan's Chaos Lord had just squatted on the capture point, so all things considered we gave this one to the dark side.

 

After-the-games in-the-pub debriefing reminded me that my cocktail of medication makes me a hapless lightweight, and I recall stumbling into some sort of steakhouse near my accommodation, half cut and blithering, and being seated well away from the windows in case I frightened passers-by while gnawing my way through a sirloin for one, steak solitaire as it were. After that, an early night seemed sensible.

Day Two

I did not get a fantastic amount of sleep, waking up at my customary four in the morning with an inexplicable hangover from ONE LOUSY PINT and lying there in my Airbnb in the dark for the next four hours, not wanting to disturb mine hostess. 

 

Neither did I get a fantastic amount of breakfast. In fact, I spent a good chunk of Sunday morning schlepping around Derby on foot, in the pouring rain, looking for somewhere that was open and would serve me something warm with actual nutrients in it so I'd start to feel human again. Say what you like about Tim Martin (and I will) but at least the 'spoons will fill me with satisfactory pancakes and plentiful coffee when the entire rest of the city is having a lie-in.

 

I had a sore throat, sore feet and a wet everything, and if my stuff hadn't been at the venue I'd just have gone home. But, since I had to go out there anyway, may as well play on, and I'm glad I did. After all, five other people were waiting on me.

Fourth Engagement - Flank Attack, Triples

None of the Tomb Kings had had a good weekend. Cecil, who'd been our only hope by teatime yesterday, had his bonch kicked in as well, and by now the ungraceful dead were simply trying to fight their way out of Death Pass and call this one a mulligan. 

 

Once again, this was a long table game; ostensibly multiplayer, but considering that one end couldn't even hear the other, it was basically three games side by side with synchronised phases and an occasional "how's it going down there?" 

 

I was paired off against the forces of Brynjar Steelwhiskers, under Richard B...

Brynjar Steelwhiskers gazed across the rolling hills near his hold, smoking his pipe and contemplating the last few days. Since the inconclusive clashes with the evil elgi his army had returned to Krakka Brimestone; outpost of Barak Varr, to resupply and regroup. Brynjar still felt keenly the frustration of watching the elves dance out of reach of his hammer time and again. At least the clash had prevented the dark ones from ransacking any more human settlements, Dwarf honour had been upheld. Still though, his hammer arm itched.

 

As the Lord contemplated the brave Dawi that had fallen, and the grudges added to the great book of Barak Varr, he became suddenly aware of another Dwarf stood nearby, seemingly taking in the view. He nodded companionably to the stranger who returned the gesture. Brynjar noticed his patched hood and travel stained clothes, and his long white beard looked unkempt. 

 

“A fine view,” he murmured.

 

“That it is, my Lord. But there is little time for taking it in; great strife awakens in Death Pass and your forces are needed there. Dawi from many kingdoms are gathering to retake the Eight Peaks - it is time for the ancient grudges to be put right.” 

 

That got Brynjar’s attention. He began to ask how the pedlar had come to know this, but as he turned he found to his astonishment that the only sign of the Dwarf was the lingering pipe smoke that swiftly dispersed. 

 

Once he recovered from his shock, and realised the implications of the strangers message; Lord Steelwhiskers tucked away his pipe and made for home as fast as he could. There was no time to lose, he would gather his army and make haste towards Death Pass. He could already feel the growing pride and joy at the idea of such a mighty undertaking. 

 

Only the most foolish of Dwarfs ignored a summons from Grombrindal.

 

For this one, I was determined to go out with a bang. An aggressive, decisive bang. As such, my Ushabti (who'd been useless all weekend) were relegated to Slow Moving Diversion duty; the Carrion and Scorpion markers went into the Dwarf lines; and my Chariots lined up for that decisive charge I'd been hoping to pull off all weekend.

My Catapult finally decided to earn its keep, panicking Richard's Runesmith and his bodyguard of lies with its first shot, but sadly they rallied on the board edge in the following turn. The Empire responded in kind, sniping out Scott's Hierophant and Cecil's Catapult with some devastating cannon fire. On my side, the Organ Gun failed to do much to my Carrion, and I started to experience optimism...

My notes, at this point, suggest that I was somehow shafted by the terrain. I think that's something to do with not having a line to send Thotmanho into these Thunderers behind the hedge, or the Bolt Thrower crew, and I should have pulled my finger out and had him solo charge into the Organ Gun while the Carrion dealt with that Bolt Thrower.

 

 

 

Here we see the dilemma of Prince Thotmanho. On his left, a unit he can probably break through, angled in such a way that he will be engaging a unit he definitely cannot.

 

 

Discretion proved to be the better part of valour, and Thotmanho ate a Rune of Penetrating Bolt Thrower shot to the chops for his trouble, pinging half his wounds off. Khonekt was bogged down fighting some Flagellants from the Empire centre, who'd turned to help the Dwarfs out, while my Catapult crew were disassembled by a Great Eagle from the High Elf line. 

 

However, my Scorpions did turn up, and made a spirited attempt at cutting off the Dwarf Battle Standard Bearer's head, along with his beard and his pesky Master Runes.

 

 

As for my allies, Cecil was getting stuck into some High Elves and making a bit of a dent...

 

 

... while Scott was having a spot of bother with the Empire counter-charge.

 

This one, again, timed out. I think the best we could hope for was a draw. Richard was a really nice bloke, though, and I'd like to play him again when I'm not sleep deprived and don't have the "paying attention to teammates" problem.

Everyone was a really nice bloke, to be fair, except... well, except for me. I found the venue a bit cramped and noisy to really maintain my harmony, lack of sleep was definitely getting to me on the second day, and - there's no getting around it, this was when I started to feel like a square peg in a round hole regarding sixth edition and its community. 

 

I have a naturally breezy approach to rules that didn't sit well with a few players - there was one point on the Sunday where everyone else at the long table had their noses in rulebooks about something to do with my army, when I'd have been perfectly happy to just rule against myself and get on with the game. There was definitely a moment in the two player game as well, where Phil said "if we're just making up rules now" in a way that I felt quite narked about at the time. I know he didn't mean anything by it, man just wants to kick my arse by the book and fair play to him, but it's another of these moments where I felt like I was... somehow the bad guy despite wanting to take the hits? I 'unno. I seem to want something out of these events that isn't quite what other people do. Maybe this goes away if you're in the East Mids Warhams Mafia and get to play more than twice a year?

Anyway, that was Dark Omens. It's fair to say King Khonekt IV did not make the grandest of debuts, nor the most successful of forays into Death Pass. I wasn't entirely prepared for how slow the Tomb Kings army was, and how comparatively lacking in offensive clobber - no Curse of Years, no Black Knights, nothing that could really thump or grind except the King himself, and even he wasn't much to write home about - too slow to get that admittedly amazing weapon into anyone's chops. It probably didn't help that my units were relatively small, a consequence of shaving a 3000 point collection down into a 2000 point army list, and couldn't be relied on to hold out if they were charged... which they were... a lot. I can't complain about playing into Chaos and Dwarfs either, although I do think they're very tough matchups for Tomb Kings: I had a fighting chance against both the Richards and dropped my brain at deployment against Kris and Phil.

Goodness knows where that leaves the narrative. At the time I was planning on taking this army to the Resurrection campaign days, customarily set in the Border Princes, with Khonekt IV being reluctant to return home and get his comeuppance from High Queen Khalida, but for two years on the trot I always had work stuff scheduled against Resurrection events, without failed, and now I don't think it really matters. Still: it was good to finally get some Tomb Kings on the board, even if it was the last WFB I'd play for a good while.