you know that, although i love how you created that one from my drawing, me @KhamdrimSkyMaster @Bassman @Fabelzel and @Skink do like quite a lot the number 2
auhhahuauauha
.
it’s defenetly my pleasure to see my drawing taking life once again!!
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Me reading the name of number 2
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Hi
I missed this thread last year
I can’t sculpt
I can barely paint but I would love to have a go at lore/fluff if you guys don’t mind
They are your boys after all
If you want just give me some idea of your creations what god? Hashut Walhut another?? What setting T9A WHFB AOS Mantic and any character / skills abilities and I will have a go
Can’t promise anything but would like to try
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Id love to see what you come up with. Nice one!
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This would be great! I’ll send you a message. I’ve been toying around with a few of them, ideas floating around in assorted message threads, nothing is solidified and all is flexible. The dream some day would be to have lore and a piece of 2D art to go along with each bastard. Writing I feel is my personal weakest of the 3 aspects but I enjoy a dabble. Help would be much appreciated!
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‘Here is some fluff for ‘The Brazen Bastards’
I see them drawn from all settings and times and able to be dropped into any of our settings by any member to have fun with. So I wrote this.
The Brazen Bastards
A Beginning
Part 1.
Zhiekward of Cath-Arin
‘Some things want to die.’ That is what Herewolf used to say. ‘Some things want to live. Some things want to die. Some things just want to take you with them.’
Zhiekward pulled his sword free from the offal at his feet. The skittering creature that had attacked him had definitely been one of the them. What else it had been who knew. Flesh, blood, guts certainly. Claws, teeth, tentacles undoubtedly. Beyond that who could say? Everything about it was wrong. But then again everything here was wrong. The sky was wrong. It was the wrong colour. Zhiekward closed his eyes. He knew it was the wrong colour. But he no longer remembered what the right colour was. He opened his eyes again. The land was wrong too. Yes, there were rocks, hills even mountains in the distance. But the angles were wrong. Somehow. Sometimes he thought they moved. Out of the corner of his eye. Then he would look and… nothing. But he could swear they were different to what they had been before he looked away. He just could not remember just what they had looked like before. Maybe he was mad. Everything else certainly seemed to be. Everything seemed to want to die and take him with it. Human, dwarf, animal… thing. It did not matter. How many had he killed? How long had he been here?
‘Some things want to die.’ That is what Herewolf used to say. ‘Some things want to live. Some things want to die. Some things just want to take you with them.’
Zhiekward stared at the bloodied form at his feet. It was, or had been a dwarf like him. Wielding an axe and screaming something unintelligible. Where had it come from? No matter, it was dead now, like the others. How many had he killed now? He couldn’t remember. That was wrong. He always remembered. Mind you everything was wrong here. Zhiekward closed his eyes. He did not like looking at the sky. The sky was wrong. He could no longer remember why. There was so much he could not remember. Maybe he was mad?
‘Some things want to die.’ That is what Herewolf used to say. ‘Some things want to live. Some things want to die. Some things just want to take you with them.’
Zhiekward stepped back from the twisted daemonic form that was leaking black ichor over his feet. That had definitely wanted to take him with it. Like all the others. They had all wanted to die and take him with them. How many? He could not remember. But they hadn’t. Taken him. He did not want to die. He remembered that. He wanted to live. Zhiekward looked up and immediately regretted it. The sky was wrong. He closed his eyes. Everything was wrong here. Maybe he was mad?
Zhiekward opened his eyes. Everything here was…. different. He looked up. The sky was, blue, well mostly. Was that right? It did not feel wrong. The hills and mountains. They didn’t feel wrong either. Nothing was familiar, but it was … right. Zhiekward hefted his blade and glanced around cautiously. Nothing leapt at him. No screaming, snarling creatures desperate for his blood. Just rocky scrub land. A few wind twisted trees clinging to slopes and a faint column of smoke. Zhiekward tensed. A fire could signify many things. Battle, raids, sorcery. Or a camp fire. When had he last eaten? Whatever, if there were others there he could either seek them out or let them seek him. Zhiekward rolled his shoulders and headed towards the smoke.
The fire was set in a pit in the centre of a circular paved area. There was a spit placed over it with meat slowly and deliciously roasting. An armoured figure crouched by the fire slowly turning the spit. It’s back was to Zhiekward but it’s size and build suggested dwarf. Around the paved area Zhiekward could see concentric circles of rough hewn stone pillars. Those on the other side of the area seemed shaped somehow. Seats maybe? Beyond the pillars the ground disappeared. Sloping down he presumed to the river he could see glinting in the distance.
Zhiekward slowly edged forward, keeping the boulders between him and the spit turner. Occasionally he risked a glance round one of the rocks but the dwarf seemed absorbed in his task.
‘Welcome my friend. ‘
Zhiekward froze. The voice was deep and rich and coming from the paved area.
‘We have been waiting for you for some time. ‘
The language was his own but oddly accented. The speaker seemed to roll the vowels round his mouth.
‘Come now. Do not skulk in the rocks. Join us for dinner.’
Zhiekward risked a glance. The spit turner had not moved but next to him now was another dwarf. His black beard was full, oiled and intricately curled. Above that sat a haughty visage dominated by a cruel nose and wide mouth. The blessings of chaos clearly visible as two tusks protruding from the lower jaw. The figure was dressed in rich purple robes trimmed with a golden fringe and held a rod, topped with the eight pointed star surrounding a glowing red gem. Zhiekward swore under his breath. Sorceror. He would have spat if he was not in a full helm. Arrogant self important bastards the lot of them.
‘Unzi Al-Ashrar offers his hospitality. ‘
Powerful, arrogant self important bastards. Touchy too. Zhiekward stepped out from his cover.
‘Thank you, Unzi Al-Ashrar. I gratefully accept your offer of hospitality.’ The niceties had to be maintained. Particularly when dealing with sorcerors who could melt your bones at 20 paces. At 2 paces, well that was different.
‘Well met…’ Unzi glanced at something to his left that Zhiekward could not see. ‘…Zhiekward.’
Zhiekward froze. ‘How do you know my name?’
‘Oh, I know many things.’ Unzi smiled.
Smug, arrogant, self important bastards.
‘Well, do you know where we are?’
‘Ah, sadly no. But I know where you have been. You have been…’
Just for a second Zhiekward saw the arrogant facade slip a little and a shodow pass over Unzi’s features.
‘….Somewhere, different. Somewhere, wrong.’
Zhiekward felt the sweat break out on his palms.
‘ You were there for a long time. No? Fighting, always fighting. Yes. I see I am right.’ He continued ‘We have all been there. Now, we are here. Here is better.’
Zhiekward walked slowly toward the sorceror. Two paces was always better than twenty.
‘How did we get here?’
‘Ah, I believe the God chose us.’
‘What God?’ Fifteen paces. Keep talking.
‘Hashut, Walhut, Hashoot.’
‘What all of them?’ Thirteen paces.
‘No.’ Unzi laughed.’There is but one God of our people. The wind blows over many countries. Each calls it by a different name. Each has its own myths and legends. But, it is the same wind. So the father of our people is in many lands, many times, many worlds. But always our father’
Talkative, smug, arrogant, self important bastards. Eight paces.
‘ Take Oss Crook Finger here.’
A figure moved out from behind one of the pillars. Zhiekward hesitated. It was another dwarf. This one clearly on some skull, death vibe. But Zhiekward wasn’t put off by the bone rib breast plate or skull mask and pauldron. He had seen enough skulls and fought enough idiots in skull themed armour. All that did was catch a blade rather than deflect it. No, it was the way the dwarf moved. Somehow too smoothly, too quietly. Sorceror? Seven paces from Unzi. Damn.
‘He does not hail from my world. Gorgoroth, Kislev, Naggaroth, Cathay. They mean nothing to him. He comes from a realm suffused with death magic. Ruled by…’Unzi hesitated almost imperceptibly ‘… necromantic powers. My people bind Daemons. His bind souls. Mine rule the Dark Lands from our obsidian fortress of Zharr Naggrond. His a dark sea from the floating city of Zharr Vyxa. Yet we share the same Dark Father. Time and space mean nothing to the Gods.’
‘Why has he brought us here then?’
If he could get between them? Three paces to each.
‘Who knows the workings of a God’s mind? They are eternal and capricious. However, I believe we have been plucked. As the wind plucks leaves from a tree. The last thing I remember was being in an alley on my way to buy a rather rare magical trinket. Then plucked. But not, I think, by chance. Chosen. Yes. Chosen and tested. That we are here means, I think, we have passed the test. No?’
‘Indeed.’ The one called Oss inclined his head.
Deep, creepy voice. Weird movements. Yep, sorceror. Zhiekward started moving forward again.
‘Why would he do that?’ Five paces.
‘Who knows? Maybe he needs us to do something for him Zhiekward of Cath-Arin
Zhiekward stopped again, frowning. ‘ How did you know my name?’
Unzi laughed.
‘Because it is written on the seat.’ He gestured to one of the pillars to his left.
Now Zhiekward was past the first circle of pillars he could see they were carved into rough seats facing the fire pit.
‘All our names were. Mine, Oss’s, Porco’s. ‘
At the mention of his name the spit turner grunted and looked over his shoulder. Zhiekward hesitated again. It was clearly a dwarf, big curly beard and everything. But the face. The face was that of a savage pig complete with snout and tusks. The Dark Father had been excessively generous with his gifts to this one.
‘Karpok’s’ continued Unzi ‘though I doubt he could read it, and yours. And we didn’t think that that seat was for the walrus.’
‘The what?’
As if on cue a large form heaved itself into view on the far side of the paved area grunting loudly.
‘The walrus. ‘ Unzi hardly blinked. ‘Holy animal of Walhut, and Karpok’s steed. Our Father works in truly mysterious ways.No?’
Two sorcerors, a pig warrior, a walrus and Karpok. Whoever he was. Zhiekward would have to rethink his approach. For now.
‘So what do we do?’
‘We wait, my dear fellow. We wait for a sign from our Father.’
‘How long do you think we will have to wait?’
Yes. Zhiekward would just have to play along with these fools.
‘It is difficult to say. Time is hard to measure here.’ Unzi shrugged.
‘What do you mean. Time is hard to measure here?’
“Oh. You have not noticed?’ Unzi chuckled his deep and thouroughly annoying laugh. ‘We are bathed in light. No? But there is no sun’ Unzi laughed again.
Suddenly Zhiekward no longer wanted to look at the sky.
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Hahaha porcos reveal… beautiful. I knew it was coming yet i still laughed!
I beg you @Uther.the.unhinged pleeeeaaase write more at some point!
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Great start! 
But now you have to keep writing! 
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Ok part 2
This will make more sense if you have read my Secret History of the Blood Tusk Clan. It is on this site but I am too useless to put a link in.
The Brazen Bastards
A Beginning
Part 2
Karpok Blubberborne of the Blood Tusk Clan
Karpok stared at the new Hardskin. He had seen his like on many blubber hunts. Dumb proud they were. Dumb proud of their hardskins. Dumb proud of their shiny longtusks. He knew them. The would clever fight dance with their longtusks and their hardskin arm plates. But they would tire. They would blow themselves out like a storm on the rage sea. Then you could blubber hunt them. You could hit bash the hard skin into their blubber. You could stick spike a tusk through the gaps. He had filled the blubber pits with many Hardskins in his time. Tall Legs, Tuskears, but never a Hardskin the size of The People. Was he one of the Fire Fathers or one of the Snow Fathers? It would be interesting to blubber hunt him.
As Kapok watched he saw the Talker come over to the Hardskin. The Talker was definitely one of the Fire Fathers. He had seen his Magic Speaking. Karpok shifted uneasily. He knew the power of magic. Tall legs and Tuskears often had Magic Speakers with them on their Berg Homes. He had had friends, burn melted by Magic Speakers. Karpok spat. He had blubber hunted them for that. Magic Speakers blubber bled like any other with a tusk in them. The Talker had not burn melted him though. The Talker treated him as an ice hard friend. He jabber talked about Gods. He jabber talked about Hashut and Hashoot and Him as if they were the same. Karpok spat again. They were NOT the same. Karpok knew the Secret History. He knew that the false Gods of the the Fire Fathers and the Snow Fathers had abandoned The People. The Talker treated him as an ice hard friend. The Talker was dumb proud too. One day Karpok would blubber hunt him as well. But not now. He was too far from the rage sea. Too far from the thin land. Too far from home.
Karpok rested his hand lightly on Mochduw’s head. The great whiskered face turned to him.
‘We will return to the rage sea, to the thin land and to The People. I, Karpok Blubberborne of the Blood Tusk Clan oath this ice hard. ‘
Karpok looked back at the others. Then he would fill the blubber pits with these fools. But for now he needed them.
The Talker was right about one thing. Karpok had been chosen. He felt it is his bones. Karpok had been chosen by Him. He had known it from the beginning. They had been hunting a Tuskear berg home on the rage sea. The Speakers had called His breath to white blind the Tuskears. To force them to slow. Hidden by His breath, Karpok had led his Blubberborne and swum crept right up to the berg home. The blubber hunt had been blood savage. Many of the Tuskears had been hard skinned with longtusks. But they were in His breath. By the time they realised the Blubberbourne were there it was too late. Karpok smiled at the memory. Some had tried to protect their Magic Speaker. He could feel the rip tear of their blubber as he hard smashed through them. The warm blood splash. Their jabber screams. The fear look in the eyes of the magic speaker as his tusk club swung. Then, just then, he had been Chosen. Chosen by Him. Chosen like Tonrak Dron. Sent with Mochduw to the land of the strange ice. Sent to the eternal blubber hunt. To wade through the blood guts of His enemies. Never resting. Never stopping. Blubber hunt or be hunted. It had been glorious.
Karpok glanced round the paved area, at the seats carved from the deep land with their strange scratch marks. Now he was here. Stuck in the middle of the deep land. Stuck with the Hardskin, the Talker, Beastface and the Bone One. Waiting for a sign from Him. Waiting to do His work. Then finally he could blubber hunt. The Talker looked over from his jabber talk with the Hardskin and smiled. Karpok smiled back.
He could wait.
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Blubber for the blubber god! Its fantastic!
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Walhut’s bristly beard! Great part 2, supreme initiative getting the bastardly word out, I’m adding these up in the table of contents!
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Here goes part three
Hope Porco is how yow imagined him
The Brazen Bastards
A Beginning
Part 3
Porco Dio
The meat tasted good. He ripped another mouthful from the leg he was holding. Enjoying the feel of the juices running down his chin, he grunted in satisfaction. Yes. Say what you like about this weird No-Sun place, at least there was plenty of food.
He took another mouthful. The animals almost seemed to want to get caught. The boar had obligingly thrown itself onto ‘Spitter’. He chewed happily. He had missed this in the other place. There was no food there. Not that he had ever got hungry. No. He had never even got tired. He had just fought. One fight blending into another. It had just been butchery. He snorted at his own joke. He had never liked butchery. No. No one could have liked it there. Except maybe Karpork, or whatever he called himself. He looked over at the savage. Yep, he would have enjoyed it. You could see it in him. The madness just behind the eyes. Yep. He would have loved it. He knew the look. The gors had it. The bloodlust. Useful of course. Particularly if you wanted someone to break a shield wall. But you did not want to get too close to them. Just in case. That and they tended not to live long. He liked to live. He had lived a long time. A very long, time. He looked round at the others. Yes. He knew most of their types. The new guy. Zeekward was it? He knew him. He had marched with his type when he went West in the Grudge Wars. Cold bastards. They did not love killing like Karpork. They just did not care. They did not care about their friends, their enemies, their staff. He suppressed a snarl. Really, after all these years it still got to him? Yes. He knew the type. Cold, arrogant, narcissistic, bastards. Even their commanders hated them. They were survivors though. He would give them that. He had seen them lead 100 legionaries on an assault and come back, alone, unharmed. Then casually complain about the food. Bastards. They were the reason he had left. No. One of the reasons. He gave a sort of snuffling grunting chuckle. Survivors? Ha. They knew nothing. He had shown them. ‘Stupid Kigour, Slow Kigour. Stick to the kitchen Kigour. You wouldn’t last a minute out there, Kigour’. Wouldn’t he? Where were they now? Dust and dung. Dust and dung a thousand years. Maybe more. And here he was. Eating roast boar. Eating roast boar and if that windbag sorceror was right, chosen by a God.
He supposed being chosen by a God should make him feel good. He bit another chunk of meat off and chewed it slowly. Well it didn’t. Gods were unpredictable, vindictive, vicious bastards. Well they were in his experience. And he should know. He had been one. Well sort of. He chuckled to himself, though it came out as a sort of grunting snort. The Tilean peasants had thought he was. He hadn’t planned it that way. He had just liked terrifying them. Butcher a few animals here (keeping the best cuts of course). Kill a farmer there (again, keeping the best cuts). Let the survivors see you wearing a bloody animal mask. Before you knew it they were leaving food out for you. Little offerings to ward off the evil spirit. He had never had it so good. It got so he hardly had to kill anyone. He still did of course. Gods rule by fear. Everyone knew that. Nothing like a flayed body to concentrate the mind.
He spat out a bit of gristle. He had had years like that. Till some fancy new Lord decided to prove he was a bandit. Lords were bastards too. He ripped the last bit of meat off the bone with his teeth. The hunters had tracked him down. Thought they would beat him on his territory. Thought they were smarter than him. Well, they were dead too. The last one had nearly got him. He rubbed the side of his face where the blade had cut. Would have died too if the Bray Shaman hadn’t done the thing with the idol. Bastard. Must have thought it was a joke, or a punishment. Give the dwarf pretending to be a pig spirit a pig face. Bastard. Probably thought it was funny. Probably thought it was sodding hilarious. Probably thought he would die laughing. Well, turns out it’s difficult to laugh with someone forcing an idol down your throat.
He tossed the bone away. Strangely the best thing that ever happened to him. He wouldn’t want his old face back now. Wouldn’t recognise it. Anyway, apparently pig faced Dawi Zharr don’t age. So up yours smart arsed Shaman.
The peasants took to calling him Porco Dio after that. The Pig God. Well they did after he and the Beastman herd had burned the Little Lords manor to the ground that is.
Seems that beating a Bray Shaman to death with his own magic trinkets in front of them was impressive.
Porco wiped his snout on his sleeve. That is how he became a God. Sort of. And he had been a right cruel bastard. In his own small way. A right cruel bastard for a thousand years. Stood to reason that Hashut would be one too.
Still, he was alive now. He had outlived all the others. In his experience you just had to be more vicious, more cruel and more callous than the other guy. He looked around at his compatriots. He had out lived all the others. He was pretty sure he could out live this bunch.
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Love these backstories @Uther.the.unhinged !
My favourite bits so far were the mention of AOS lore in the form of Zharr Vyxa, and… Actually the entire Karpok bit. It’s written so incredibly wierd and well. Actually reminds me of some of Michael Kirkbride’s obscure lore texts for the Elder Scrolls games!
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Glad you liked them. The whole idea is that the Bastards are from all settings so the whole community can enjoy them. Oss from Zharr Vyxa will get his turn but their is less lore there for me so more work. Also still trying to get his ‘Voice’. Probably Unzi next
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I was wondering if any of our esteemed community play War Cry. / Underworlds or the like The bastards would be a great warband for a skirmish game. I am totally incapable of devising stats/ rules for them. But would be great if someone else could.
Just a thought
Pleeease
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Great work again Uther! Leagues better than whatever crumbly bullet points of ideas we had for Porco-lore. Early signs indicate Porco as a fan favorite, with a face like that, what’s not to love.
I do play Underworlds some, although it tends to get eclipsed in table time by more engaging board games. I think we have more warcry fans in the community comparatively. What I’d love to see are some Mordheim rules. We need a scribes contest for bastards including lore, fan-rules, poetry, songs, etc! Paging staff, staff to bastard chat, paging staff to bastard chat.
…Wait… I’m already here.
I’ll take my own advice under advisement for future advising at the next applicable staff-moot.
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Very cool guys! Love them!
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Absolutely fantastic. The Bastards Live!
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