...And now for something completely different....

“So, let me get this straight… YOU… want to be… a Maneater.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And you want… to leave the tribe and travel the world in search of… work.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“…Right…”
Aunty Doreen, Tyrantess of the Sewing Circle and Mistress of All Things Fluffy, looked quizzically at the ogre standing before her. Her eyes looked over his small fat body, his shining piggy eyes and his… strange attire. He wore strange black spectacles on his forehead, and his trousers had been cut off at the knee, showing his knobbly knees and scarred ankles.
This ogre, known to the tribe as Brian, was a strange sort. He was a dreamer, who could often be found staring into space outside his hut, yet who mysteriously disappeared when a war came along. Doreen had never imagined in her wildest dreams that he would want to be a Maneater, yet here he was, standing in front of her, asking for permission to leave the tribe and go travelling in search of a good scrap. She pinched herself to check that this wasn’t some sort of delusional dream, but upon realising that she was still awake she pressed on with her questioning.
“…Yes… uhm… well… you… do seem to have a bit of a… how can I put it... poor track record when it comes to warfare, Brian. Are you sure that this is the right career path for you?”
Brian looked offended. “Whatever gave you that idea, your tyrantessnessness?” he asked. “I have been a loyal member of this tribe for years! Such claims are…”
“-Weeeeeeell…” Doreen interrupted. “If you will cast your mind back to the Battle of the Big Hill, I’m sure I can remember that after the rest of my tribe had smashed through the Skaven rearguard, my Ironguts found you hiding in a cave with a bucket on your head as ‘disguise’?”
Brian shifted nervously. “Well… uhm…”
“And I’m sure I remember that whilst we were routing the Orcs at the High Pass Ambush, you were rapidly running back to our camp, pursued by a small band of snotlings, crying – and I quote – “Oh help, please no, not me”…?”
“Yeeeaaaahhh… urrrrr…”
“So,” Doreen concluded, “looking back on all of your misfortune and, quite frankly, cowardice, would you conclude, as I have done, that perhaps the path of the Maneater would not be an optimum profession for one such as yourself? Perhaps a support role might be better for you; cooks are highly respected in these parts, don’t you know…”
“Your Tyrantessnessness,” replied Brian defiantly, “I know that I have had many failings in the past, but I am determined to make up for it. By becoming a Maneater I will become a better ogre, and I swear it will be the making of me. If you let me go, you will not only let a young ogre realise his dreams of glory, but you will also gain a staunch ally and a great, experienced warrior. I promise you that I will not fail you.”
Doreen remained silent. She rubbed her chin slowly, drool dripping down her chin as she thought about this matter. After a few minutes, she shifted in her chair and wiped the saliva off, then said:
“Alright. You can go. BUT---” she interrupted sternly before Brain could leave and run off, “-I know what you’re like, Brian. I also remember you have a penchant for fabricating the most ludicrous stories imaginable – what was your excuse for your behaviour at Big Hill again…?”
Geoffrey the Gnoblar, Doreen’s snivelling factotum and scribe, piped up. “It was that he was disguising himself as a bucket in order to retrieve vital skaven intelligence and prove himself to the tribe.”
“That’s it. Basically, Brian, we’ve heard it all before. But this time, I want proof that you’ve made your way as a Maneater. This time, I want letters and pictures sent directly back to me telling me of all your exploits. That’s my one condition. Agree to that, and you can go.”
Brian looked confused. “But… but… I can’t write! And how am I supposed to paint a picture of everywhere I go? That’s stupi-” – at this, he hurriedly stopped himself, then started again, “-that might not be a very sensible option, ma’am.”
“Ah-ha, but I have a solution to that,” Doreen cried triumphantly. She then called to one of her gnoblars, “Hey Marvin, d’ya fancy a trip overseas? Apparently the loot’s good!”
A squeaky reply came from the dark rear of the tent. “Uhm… yes, your tyrantessness!”
“Good! You can come with Brian and write his letters for him, then! And whilst you’re back there, bring out the iconograph!”
Marvin fumbled in a large trunk for a moment before coming forward to the Tyrantess. He now held a black box in his hand, which had a large dark circle of glass in the middle.
“What is that?!” asked Brian.
“This is the latest Imperial fad, apparently,” replied Doreen. “You just point it at your target – here, Marv, point it at Brian here – don’t worry, it won’t hurt – you then push this big red button on top and-”
WHOOMPH
There was a bright flash of light. As the flashing spots danced before his eyes, Brian heard a small clicking sound emanating from the iconograph. Then with a quiet whirr, a small black piece of paper emerged from a slot on the bottom.
Brian took the paper, and as he stared at it an image of his stunned face slowly emerged from the blackness!
“That’s… that’s… amazing!” he cried.
“Isn’t it just?” Doreen said, eyes glinting. “But anyway, that’s my final offer. If you want to go away, you’ve got to dictate letters to Marvin and send the iconography pictures home too.  So… what do you say?”
Brian thought for a moment, his face twisting as his mind weighed up the possibilities. Eventually, he looked up to the Tyrantess and said:
“Alright, you’ve got yourself a deal.”


Brian left the tent, grinning in relief that his plan had actually come together.
Of course, he had no intentions of fighting as a Maneater. At last he would, however, get to see the world, view the beautiful sights and cities of the Old World, and boast that he had been to Bretonnia, Tilea and Estalia. All without ever getting into a nasty scrap.
It was just unfortunate that Doreen wanted proof of his endeavours… although, he reasoned as he trudged, smirking, back to his hut, it would be easy enough to threaten that stupid gnoblar with a big club and force him to write accounts that were a little generous with the truth and ever so slightly flattering in their description of his adventures. The iconographs though… everyone said a picture was worth a thous… a hundr… a lot of words. Still Brian was sure that, with a bit of coercion, the right light and a bit of rhinox fat round the lens he could look the veritable hero.
Yes, all things considered, he concluded, it wasn’t so bad. He could still travel, he could still see the sights, and if it came to it he had a companion he could eat if the going got rough.
All in all, none too shabby…





Hello everyone, and welcome to our newest project. This will either kick off properly on Tues next week or thereabouts or, if things don't work quite as planned 2 weeks later!! Either way we think it is probably unique in Stronghold history.
   
This is a continuation of the epic tale of Aunty Doreen's Sewing Circle, but with a twist. We owe a debt of gratitude to the staff and management at the GW store in Norwich who made this project possible by finding a bull when all seemed lost!

For now though, we hope you enjoyed the fluff, and stay tuned to find out what exactly is going on both in the Sewing Circle and the real world. Suffice to say this will be an adventure of continental proportions...

Day of Big Rain

Your Tyrannical Majesty

I write to inform your tyrantess of the incredible adventures that have already befallen your humble servant. This very day, after a long and arduous journey through the stinking swamplands of Eastern Albion, I was suddenly plucked from the ground by a huge and hungry giant! This hoarding monster immediately placed me and my baggage in his great lumbering wagon-cart (which he called his “taksee” – it must be Albion slang) before journeying away with me to some unknown place.

After… some time… he brought me to the mysterious Castle of Stand-Steady.  I observed this magical construction in awe for it appears wrought of glass and metal. Surely this must be conjured by the powers of some great sorcerer! As I watched my suspicions were further confirmed for its doors opened without intervention by human hand and, though I watched many thinlings enter this eldritch place none whom I counted entering laden with goods left again; eaten, I surmised, by some great beast within.

I confess with some shame to her Tyrantessness that when I espied one such creature I began to quake, indeed my gnoblar companion insists that I advise your majesty that I quaked in my pants. A great white eagle creature with a cry like a thous…hund…lot of mounfangs leaped into the sky followed moments later by another.  Your Tyrantessness’ kind gift of a reading gnoblar informed me that these monsters were tattooed with the name of the great wizard who summoned them, one “Easyjet”, and powerful he must be for there were by this time a multitude of the beasts rising and falling in the grounds of this glass palace.

Summoning all my mighty courage… yes alright then…after changing my pants, I determined to enter this den of evil and confront what lay within. The interior of this mighty construction was crammed with thinlings. A place of torture methinks for it is surely inhuman for so many creatures to be penned together with no adequate comfort or rest places. Many were having their coin stolen by hawkers selling common goods and foodstuffs at inflated prices, thinlings were forced to sleep and sit on hard floors and stand in snaking lines, their faces pallid and sullen. Your Tyranical Majesty, all human suffering was here, a place of great torture and pain to make even the blackest hearts of the dark elves quail. Your servant was however afforded comfort for the thinlings did not crowd around me and made way; many, I assume, overcome by emotion at seeing their rescuer in tears with handkerchiefs over their faces, crying for joy in their strange tongue “Poo” and “Corblimey wat izdatstink”.

I then observed many great writing desks around the cavernous hall. At each of these sat what appeared at a distance to be beautiful thinling women. Marv informed me that these women had their names above their heads on great signs. By this method we quickly found the creature “Easyjet” was one of these! I therefore presented myself to this creature. She was clearly a puissant sorceress for as I approached this creature it was clear that her beauty was nought but a glamour and that her face was aged and shrivelled and painted with bright colours to distract the men thinlings and hold them in her power. Naturally such tricks would not fool your humble servant…shut up Marv. No I didn’t drool. Shut up I said….This powerful  damsel first made my pack and belongings disappear and beset me around with many strange riddles such as “ Did you pack this bag yourself, at all?” and “Are you carrying anything for anyone else, at all ?” and “Are you carrying any liquids or aerosols, at all?” To this last I said Marv could walk for himself. Great must be my wisdom for this witch told me to pass deeper into the castle to “The Departure Lounge”

The Departure Lounge, Your Majesty. Yes, these foul creatures have an antechamber wherein these poor beknighted thinlings wait to be devoured by the flying beasts. Yet they wait meekly and without rebellion, mind. I watched in horror as the thinlings were marched directly into the gut of these massive bird creatures, men, women and whole families, whole families departed. Departed this veil of tears from The Departure Lounge by the foul Easyjet. As I write this, probably my last missive, I am awaiting the chance to enter the beast’s gullet and tackle these creatures with my skill at arms, to rescue the captives and break the curse upon them.

*at this point Marvin has scribbled, “A few minutes later…”*

…Well now, that didn’t go so well. A bit of a misunderstanding. It seems that you are not allowed to draw your club in anger against the beast, no matter how noble your cause, for it is guarded by a pair of mercurial enchanted guards, who constantly repeated that my club must go in a mysterious place called a “Kar go hold”. I attempted to outwit these guards with my superior intellect and cunning, but I am afraid that I was forced to relinquish my weapon when a multitude of these guards appeared producing  bangsticks and shouting that I must; “Lie onda floor”

And so my liege, it seems that my story will end here. With me another victim of the great beast. If I should survive this ordeal I will write futher then…

Do you think that will do the trick marv?  Oh yes, more pee-nuts please, and one of those little cans of lar-ger. Thanks. Yes send it off marv, quick, before we take off. Now which chanel is the film on….


Your Humble Servant


Brian





So here is Brian ready for his journey armed with sandles and socks, passport and icecream. Bit of a quick paint job but it was hard to get his vest off as you can see.

Ho-hum. Sorry to sat that internet issues have delayed progress somewhat. All is now in place and Brian's, slightly timeshifted adventures will follow shortly..

That's an awesome chaos giant. 

….And the Machine


Grand Hotel Baglioni
Piazza del Senoria
Firenze
Tilea


Day after the day of the dog monster


Your Tyrantessness

I beg to report that early this very morn I arrived in the City of Firenze and
established myself in most modest flea ridden dosshouse within the city walls.
I quickly established that the city was not, in fact called Frenzy as I had first thought and is indeed known by some as Florence (although there is little in its ugly mean streets that appear even remotely floral). It is beyond doubt one of the ugliest, most poorly appointed places that it has been my misfortune to visit. Its buildings are unprepossessing and unimaginative, its people cold and standoffish, its food and drink indigestible.


On my arrival in Florence I was able to establish that great wealth was concentrated in the area of a bridge over the river in the centre of the city. This river is of such foul and noisesome nature that even those who live in this place refer to it as the River “Ahhh No!” . The bridge itself is ancient and crumbling but is home to goldsmiths and purveyors of jewellery and precious gems. I therefore embarked on a raid of these establishments by audaciously disguising myself as a florencian lady of negotiable affection wishing to acquire jewellery from my ill gotten wealth. It seemed however that these merchants were cunning and dwimmerwise for they somehow managed to penetrate my almost undetectable disguise and most rudely ejected me from their establishments. I am resolved to return this night and wreak my revenge. Herewith is an iconography of your humble servant plotting his responses close to said bridge.

I then learned that this city housed  a mighty king and Giant-Slayer known as Mike and Angelo’s Day-Veed. Knowing that your Tyrannical Majesty might wish to establish communication with such a Lord I located him only to find that he was made of stone, was stark naked and, frankly, was not as “gifted” as one might have expected of such a mighty warrior. Suffice it to say this only served to confirm my view of this unpleasant city.

.In short I find nothing to commend this plague pit to your majesty or any member of the tribe. I suspect that it might however be of benefit to Your Tyranical Majesty to establish an embassy in the rank sewer of a town and I would be willing, despite the unpleasantness of the environment, to take that role to myself should Your Tyrantessness require it to be so. This is a burden that I would reluctantly shoulder for the benefit of my brother ogres and I suspect that a modest allowance would allow me to survive amongst these foul surroundings while doing so……

I remain

Your Humble Servant


Brian





Yes, that’s the one Marv, for god’s sake don’t put that one in, no, not the one of the cathedral or they’ll all be lining up for the ambassadorial gig. Now, Pizza or pasta tonight? There was that rather nice Trattoria near Punto Vecchio….

Fac sicut Romani faciunt

Grand Hotel de la Minerve
Piazza della Minerva
Roam
Tilea

Day having to leave Florence.

Your Tyrantessness,

After receiving the news of your decision that I should not remain in Florence it was with "considerable relief" (I don't think - no Marvin don't put that in you fool)  that I beg to report that I left that festering place. I arrived in the city of Roam this very morn and once again established myself in one of the most humble hostels in the city. I found once again, to my grave disappointment, that this city is uninspiring, ugly, close and hostile, and its inhabitants only too pleased to make any guests feel unwelcome. Indeed, only a few hours ago a band of brigands attempted to beat me down and relieve me of my goods, but I bravely fought them off – however, whilst fleeing from the scene, my cowardly gnoblar suffered a minor mishap that he moaned about for the rest of the day.

From the start of the day I knew that there would be great riches to be found in the city of Roam, for as its name suggests it is a maze of streets filled with merchants’ shops, jewellers and purveyors of expensive goods. I therefore spent the morning racing around the narrow, dark, dingy streets in a terrifying carriage known as a Tak-see driven by what must be a brave but knightly warrior of this city, for he knew no fear as he conveyed me at great speed but was at the same time most courteous to the ladies of this land to whom he jauntily whistled and called "Chow Bella". I spent some time in the city attempting to fool the aforesaid merchants into giving me their goods by stealing the uniform of one of the many metal deliverers standing on the streets (in Tilea they are called “Sent-your-irons”, and they wear very light and very suspiciously non-metallic armour and weapons, but such must be their skill that they can make new super-light alloys) and demanding that they stand and deliver their metals to me for inspection. Unfortunately, the cunning merchants once again saw through my disguise and ejected me forcibly from their shops. I suspect I may have to try a more direct approach in future, but perhaps I was just unlucky these past few times…

After my regrettable failure in the morning, I heard rumours on the streets. Rumours that a powerful yet extremely unhygienic man named the Poop was present in this place, and that he lived in a palace of gold and silver at the very heart of the city. At last, thought I, a chance to redeem myself in the glorious eyes of my Tyrantess! So I made haste to this place, which I had heard was called Vatty’s Can (I am not quite sure why – perhaps this Poop man was called Vatty?). I have enclosed an iconograph as you can see it is a right tidy drum.  Naturally I immediately subdued the guards with my mighty club and set about looting the entire palace.

As I sacked the place, however, I noticed that there seemed to be very many statues and much religious iconography littering the building, so I forced one of the helpless guards to tell me the secrets of this mysterious abode. To my horror, he told me that this place was the seat of one of the most dreaded religions in the world – a religion dedicated to earthly gold jewellery and wrist attire that held millions in its grasp – the dreaded Cufflink Church! This was heresy of the highest degree! Once I had heard this, I regret to say that I flew into a blind rage and killed the guard there and then, and I also slew hundreds of other men and women in my frenzy as I stalked this ungodly place. I even sought out the Poop himself, bursting through the doors of his residence and forcing him to swear allegiance to me and the Sewing Circle. However, I then piled up their bloody corpses in the very heart of the church, where the first Poop is said to be buried, and held a great Ogre feast there and then, thereby reconsecrating that church and their entire religion in the name of the Maw!

As you can see, you Majesty, I have had an extremely eventful day in this cesspit of a city. Once again I can find nothing to recommend this city to anyone, nor find anything positive to say about it or its heretical, evil people. However, I would heartily recommend that I immediately be given the title of Overlord of Roam and be allowed to stay permanently in this city to ensure that the people of this awful, stinking pit remain loyal and faithful to their new god. Again I would take this duty to myself despite the high personal cost. I would train my gut to consume their foul Peat-Sah, Pass-da and Pear-own-knee just to serve your tyrannical majesty's requirements.

I remain, as always, your obedient servant,

Brian.












Yes, that’s the one, Marv, the one of the Basilica. Can you make it look like I burnt it a bit... well what about that Fart-o-shop thing. No, oh well she probably won't notice- I'll just sqay it was before my sack of Roam.

Hey, what’s wrong? Oh, you aren’t still grumpy about that pickpocket are you? Look, did you see the way he looked at me? I just had to run – he looked so scary! And I’m sure your nose will heal in time…

Ok, i see you really likes Florence... XD