Border Town Burning
Tribal Supremacy
Ice covered the plateau from a new layer of snow that fell the night before leaving the wilderness clean and white. Small drifts of snowflakes catch themselves in the furs draped around the thicknecked chieftain; his heavy breaths making white clouds about his head. He surveys the landscape and gestures. His followers approach him from behind.
In the distance, blurred by the snowfall, human silhouettes stand. The chieftain marches forward with his entourage following closely. As he nears them he picks up his great axe and gestures them to stop. He continues forward alone. One of the figures steps forward. As he nears it is clear that he stands nearly a foot taller than the chieftain. The imposing figure is as rank as he is enormous. The chieftain could barely keep himself from holding his nose as the figure approaches.
The monstrous beast of a man stops within arm’s length of the chieftain, who stands silently defiant. The chieftain looks him up and down. He too wears furs wrapped about his body, the crudely stitched skins barely holding the rank and rotting beast together. Maggots can be seen squirming from the open sores and wounds that cover the man and pus drips from the oversized pores in his skin. Repulsive. He grins, revealing rotting wickedly sharp green teeth.
The chieftain breaks his stare for a moment as he notices the crows that have now made themselves abundant. One of them perches on the shoulder of the monster and begins to pick at the decaying beast in front of him. This is finally too much for him to stand. The chieftain’s concentration broken, the monster takes the opportunity to bring his enormous spiked mace to bear. He swings the crude weapon at the distracted chieftain.
Regaining his senses, the chieftain raises his axe to defend himself, but the force of the blow sends him backwards into the snow. He rights himself as the rotting beast charges. The chieftain holds his axe with both hands bracing himself to receive the charge. As the monster approaches, the chieftain quickly jumps to the side and with an expert swing, sticks the blade of the axe square into his opponent’s back. Totally ignoring the wound, he turns towards the chieftain and swings his mace at him once more, connecting with the left shoulder, the spikes embedding themselves into the flesh of his arm. The chieftain howls in pain, which delights his opponent. The monster frees his crude mace from the arm of the chieftain with a twist of his wrist. The mace spike breaking off, leaving itself buried into the chieftain’s arm.
The chieftain jumps back, clutching his arm in pain, barely holding onto his axe at the same time. The shadow of the rotting monstrosity looms over him, his mace raised on high to deliver a final crushing blow to the skull.
The chieftain, with his remaining good arm swings his axe as the mace was brought down. The axe cleaved straight through the arm of the bestial man. Still holding the mace, the arm falls into the snow. The chieftain glares at his opponent, triumphant as he makes menacing strides towards his wounded foe.
Cheers erupt from the chieftain’s entourage. As the chieftain approaches, his opponent’s chest bulges and swells. The chieftain stops in his tracks, confused.
With a mighty lurch, the rotting monster vomits forth a stream of filth onto his opponent. Now covered in sticky acidic corruption, the chieftain falls to his knees in pain as he frantically tries to wipe it from his eyes.
While he is distracted, the enormous beast of a man reaches into the snow and grabs his mace from his severed arm.
Finally freeing his eyes of slime sufficiently, the chieftain looks up in time to see the gigantic spiked mace crush his face. The chieftain falls to the snow, lifeless as his opponent laughs.
Raising his remaining arm, the circling crows descend upon the body of the chieftain who’s followers slowly back away before fleeing. The rotting beast waves his mace forward and his followers surge forth to pursue the fleeing marauders. He speaks.
“There is only room for one tribe here.” He then joins the pursuit leaving the once pristine white snow of the plateau stained red with the blood of his enemy.
Foreword
Cry of the Damned
Ladies and gentlemen, greenskins and ratkin, elf folk and any other even less than savoury individuals who happen to be lurking in the audience this evening…
Welcome to the finest show you will find east of the World’s Edge Mountains! Here is the Border Town Burning supplement for Mordheim. The development for much of the content in this campaign began years before I chipped in. Grand ideas have been nurtured through various online forums by a dedicated community of gamers who have worked passionately to support Mordheim.
After discovering the joys of Mordheim and exploring the various settings that have followed in its wake, I turned my attention to researching other perilous corners of the Warhammer World. On my travels I chanced upon a fan produced web site that hosted a set of warband rules for Chaos Marauders and the Warrior Monks of Cathay among others. As the story goes, I contacted the heretic who was touting information about those secretive warrior monks who famously appeared in a subtext of the Warhammer Armies book for Dogs of War. The heretic Christian Templin was in hobby exile. Christian returned to the City of the Damned helping Ian Davies and Mark Havener tidy up the Nemesis Crown supplement for Mordheim. Only then did we set about completing the development of Border Town Burning.
The Eye of Tchar
In preparing this campaign setting we went to the trouble of researching a great many past and present publications. Having been presented with a golden opportunity to marry together the lore through a number of exciting themes from a range of published sources, we took the liberty of developing and playtesting some ‘fan boy favourite’ warbands. It has only been possible to publish an Ogre warband and a Chaos Dwarf warband because of the various lists developed worldwide by dedicated fans of this game which we love.
Playing with and against the new warbands is thrilling. For instance the Battle Monks warband operates like two rival factions that fight under the same banner. On one hand there are the monks themselves, a brotherhood of Warrior Monks who act under the wisdom of the Dragon Monks. The other division is the military office which consists of an Emissary leading a militia of peasants and soldiers. Both sides of the warband influence one another in campaign games. All in all this warband is unique and most importantly it feels very Warhammer.
To help the warbands strive to accomplish their chosen objectives, there is also a splendid selection of new gear. Some pieces of kit tie in with the random happenings and exploration charts you will find in Border Town Burning. With the spoils there are four mighty Chaos Artefacts and more exotic goodies besides. A dedicated Bestiary has been included. Some monsters encountered might be friendlier than others. Dependent on race a strong leader can subject his authority over non-player models, bending them to his will. Allies are a new kind of character which may accompany your warband in a similar fashion to Hired Swords. They are less reliable but they’ll fight for the same cause!
The geography in this Mordheim setting is varied and deadly. It visits upon no less than four perilous regions. They have been defined in the release as ‘territories’. Each territory has its own hazards including the nasty weather. Another exciting new feature of this supplement is the campaign objectives. Fortune seekers and mercenary themed warbands will be lured by an objective that leads them along the Silk Road and the special trading rules provided for Merchant Caravans are sure to raise the stakes! With objectives in mind we conceived a strong narrative which is married to their purpose. Here you will find the evocative story telling of Robert E. Waters and the mysterious rev larny.
Portents of Doom
Due north is a war that is being fought by my clan the Skaelings against the marauders from our rival tribes. When a herald of Chaos emerges victorious it will be time for celestial advocates to defend the borderlands against the tide of darkness.
Portents of Doom is a worldwide campaign experience for gaming groups running a Border Town Burning campaign. Everyone is welcomed to jump on the band wagon! Find out more about getting involved in this global event by visiting the Border Town Burning web pages.
With that I must retire from the stage and return to my lycanthrope form. Remember this is your craft hobby folks so please continue choosing what you wish to do with it.
- Stu ‘Werekin’ Cresswell
Once again my capricious master has bade me research such topics that strike his idle whim and, whilst his vast pocket and library grants such studies many resources, the rapidity of both his interest and disinterest makes my task almost impossible to complete; or, in some instances, impossible to start at all.
So I make do on gossip, innuendo or deduction that crosses my path on these matters, leaving any further developments in them only if they remain of interest to me.
Yet, occasionally my master does maintain a focus on events; I was markedly surprised to find myself at his side, bound for exotic Cathay, squeezed in with his baggage on a merchant convoy, crossing a land of sickening foulness, to pursue a single query that has lodged in the miniscule organ residing in my master’s head (of the other miniscule organ he is said to possess, I leave to the chatter of his favourite women-folk): Do the Elves have contact with Cathay?
What struck this fancy was a brief visit to the Elf Quarter in Marienburg and his sighting of various items of Cathayan extraction therein. Since I saw not these artefacts and was given little in the way of description, my initial investigations came to naught, more so when I made actual inquiries with an elf of my former acquaintance. Now I dearly wish for some of their silence on this matter, for my master believed it to be of such import that he deliberately booked us this passage to further his (and therefore my) investigations.
It is not all bad news, for I have divined a number of disbeliefs from this debacle. Yes, it is patently obvious that the elves do have some trade routes with faraway Cathay; from ancient times, the elves have been a seafaring race, so it shouldn’t be surprising that they use a long eluded (to us humans) sea route to trade with the orientals. Doubtless they have a port similar in aspect to that in Marienburg in operation on the distant eastern coast.
From the conversations with merchants who have made the long Silver Road journey more than once, there could even be the possibility that the Cathayan Imperial Court has an elven presence; an ambassador or better. The regal elegance might well appeal to an elf’s vanity and I understand that the Cathayans respect age, wisdom and experience above others, so that would salve Elvish arrogance to boot. My master would certainly not be tolerated!
I have also spoken to sailors who claim to have been aboard ships that reached Cathay and even stormy mythical Nippon. They say that there are two elven towers towards the end of the nautical voyage, who would stop and search vessels that approach, sometimes confiscating certain goods aboard these ships, though as to what those goods were the simple seamen did not know.
For myself, I have certain suspicions with regards these matters. An elven battle standard that I was once able to closely examine for some minutes bears a very close resemblance to the silk being brought by merchants to the Old World, leading me to wonder if the elves introduced the substance to the Cathayans or vice versa. No doubt the former, for the standard I examined was rumoured to pre-date the time of Sigmar by more than a millennia; yet could have been woven recently, so tended was it.
There is also the recent fashion amongst the higher nobles for smoking topum, a narcoleptic hallucinogen that has been coming from Cathay in small quantities for years, but not in such large amounts as to fuel such a malady of addiction. My belief is that the elves are funnelling it into Marienburg and its mercantile nobility, but to what end, bar strict profit, I cannot fathom.
My final conclusion is from a whispered conversation I had with a hired sword that had done a little work outside the area Old Worlders are permitted to remain in. She told me that in a deep gorge along which flowed an immense river that runs along the north of Cathay to the ocean, she had seen an elven warship tethered to the shore, picking up some cloaked individuals. She had sensed danger and retreated quickly, but it was a sight so incongruous that it stayed with her. What it could mean I don’t like to speculate, because the elves are friendly for the most part. Elves are secretive too and these are secrets they would no doubt kill for.
So I am left with questions, enigmas and puzzles and am thus to sit in a wagon, sacks for my bed and cushions, desolation at my windows, to ponder on another of my master’s fantasies. Thus I would like to thank you, mother dearest, for having put me in this cretin’s service six years prior. I hope you treasure this last missive from me, even if you have to get someone to read it to you. I shall no doubt die in that far-off land, for my master wishes to leave the permitted lands by hook or by crook, with me detailing his misadventures. Since the Cathayans treat this as a death sentence, I have no doubts that I will be old crow’s food by such time as this reaches you.
Best wishes, fond regards and love,
Your son,
Remino Hauser.
Of Cathay, its Myths, Populace and Wildlife
A brief study of that distant land and its environs as told to the author by a resident of that realm in numerous conversations conducted in the year 2493. Travelling Preacher accredited to the Altdorf Cathedral of devoted Sigmar.
A NOTE FROM THE PUBLISHER
We here at Altdorf Press are proud to reprint this pamphlet by Minister Hans Hierbach, a travelling Sigmarite Preacher, which we originally published over thirty years ago upon his return from these distant lands.
Long thought apocryphal in nature, more recent reports from travellers and merchants substantiate some of the more mundane aspects herein and we feel that it is time for a reappraisal of this work.
Since Minister Hierbach passed away nearly fifteen years ago, a portion of the proceeds from this reprint will be given to the Sigmar Altdorf Orphans Fund and we hope that his critical reputation will be fully restored.
First Edition Originally Printed - Marktag, 17th of Vorgeheim, 2495
Second Edition Reprint - Angestag, 21st of Brauzeit, 2526
Altdorf Press 2526
Of Distant Cathay
In all the realms that our beloved Empire has contact with, this far land is the least known, even after centuries of contact between the Old World and the Oriental nations.
That most of this contact has been in the form of mercantile venture is not in the least bit surprising, since it would take the daring and cunning of a trader to willingly make the long and dangerous passage across the Dark Lands with the possibility of vast wealth amassed upon their return.
I travelled with such an individual, one Leonard de Squirm, a Bretonnian who operated a shop in Miragliano and who had trekked on caravans a number of times. He was as educated as one would expect from such a man, but happily let me join the caravan and provided some intellectual pursuits on the thirteen months we all travelled. Of that journey I do not intend to speak, as it is outside of my aims for this missive, though I shall complete one if this is well received.
Our first (and indeed only) port of call was a stop outside Fu-Chow. A week after leaving the Mountains of Mourn and traversing the silted wastes known as the Baleful Desert, we entered the grass plains on Cathay’s border and soon afterwards the resort itself. First impressions were not totally admirable, as the town is little more than a sprawling collection of two story buildings made from wood and stinking of cattle. It was also largely warehouses, as I soon found out that there was an Imperial decree forbidding any Old Worlder from entering Cathay any further east on penalty of death. My greater understanding of this was expounded in later conversations with Xuwei, one of the Cathayan officials in their bureaucracy. The decree was to prevent cultural contamination amongst the peoples. I have an idea that there might be some deeper meaning behind this, but Xuwei could not (or would not) illuminate me any further on the matter.
As I have said, the neighbourhood did not initially appeal and I was left with very poor impressions of Cathay. It would be a few days later, whilst my mercantile companions were negotiating better profits for their wares and a reasonable trade for the opulent goods they intend to bring back to the Old World, that I would get a chance to learn more about Grand Cathay and its traditions.
Their spoken language does seem to be mere gibberish and more than once I found myself surrounded by the natives and unable to communicate my basic needs in any way. The written language is even more complex. Sentences are written in vertical columns and use pictograms to represent words. Leonard informed me that no matter how many times he had made the journey to Cathay, he still had not managed to learn more than two words in their language and had no idea what any of the written words mean. It was of no surprise to learn that his two words were ‘more’ and ‘less’.
I also found that my priestly presence was even less welcome than that of the merchants, for whilst the traders were only here to trade for Cathayan goods (mainly silk and jade), I would seem to be there to convert upstanding Imperial citizens to my ‘barbaric’ religion. I was happy to correct these suspicions and yet unsuccessful in my attempts.
Given all these difficulties, it was understandable that in order to aid us and to better communicate our needs, a number of hired Imperial translators from the Cathayan embassy remained by our sides at all times. These minders made sure we did not stray outside of our set boundaries. These representatives were evidently unsure of what to do about myself and I got a sense that my translator Xuwei was put out at having drawn the short straw. We did strike up a rapport during the three months the caravan stopped over, long enough for him to tell me all of what you will find in this pamphlet. I can only hope that I provided an adequate cultural exchange with my words and I was told that Xuwei was appreciative of not having to handle business dealings for a change.
A description of Xuwei is in order before we continue, so that you have an idea of the differences between our people and theirs.
His skin is marginally tanned and more sallow. Xuwei’s hair falls in between black and grey with eyebrows more bushy, though his short-trimmed beard is close cropped and thinly grown. His eyes were more elongated than an Old Worlders, not greatly so, but enough to highlight the difference. His clothing was finer than any of my own, a dark blue robe made from silk and decorated with gold linings and cuffs, over a similar coloured set of trousers. It was certainly ornate and I was much impressed by it, even the small round hat he kept firmly pressed over his hair. A single pigtail fell over his shoulders, a symbol of his rank in society I believe, where a mere bureaucrat would sport a single thin one, whereas his superiors might have multiple denser or longer braids. Compared to a bureaucrat in Altdorf, it would be hard to believe that this gentleman did not hold a great rank.
The Lands of Grand Cathay
Over many weeks I got Xuwei to tell me as much about his land as he could, making notes when I was alone, lest he suspect that I was taking such information from him for some sort of military action. About these lands he was reticent to speak much in great detail and so many physical details will seem vague.
To the north Cathay itself halts at the Great Bastion, built (or created, see Myths later) many centuries before to protect this foreign Empire from any raids led by the nomadic Hung tribes that roam the Eastern Steppes. This nearly endless wall runs the length of the northern border and stands at least five men in height at its lowest point and rises over the tops of any hills or mountains in its way. Less than a thousand miles south of the Bastion is Weijin. Here lies the Seat of the Dragon Throne, home of his divine Emperor and the Imperial court of Grand Cathay. Indeed the whole city is entrusted to the running of Cathay and its sole purpose is to serve the Celestial Emperor. All food has to be imported into Weijin. More than a hundred tons of food each week is required to feed the bureaucrats and staff. Xuwei was not privileged enough to know the exact quantity, a fact he would continually apologise for when he could not (or would not) answer my questions.
West of that, at the far western end of the Great Bastion lies Nan-Gau, the city that contains many of the military personnel of Cathay. These are primarily used to patrol the borders of their empire, walking the entire distance of the Great Bastion as part of their patrols (over two thousand miles according to Xuwei) and it would be they who would capture any foreigners who took it upon themselves to try and slip deeper into Cathay without a divine decree granted by the Bureaucracy. The greatest commanders of the Celestial Emperor’s army are stationed here, travelling to Weijin only to make reports concerning military development or to log any events the army has experienced, unless he needs to mobilise a large force to contain an enemy whereupon the chief commander will immediately convene with the Emperor himself.
It would also seem that the greatest reason for maintaining a large army in this area is that a preponderance of monsters populates the area and, if kept unchecked, could rampage through the area.
The second largest concentration of military power was to the south, where Cathay borders Khuresh, a wild land of mountains, deserts, jungles and marshes. Not totally uncivilised, Khuresh represents a large threat to Cathay as a number of dispossessed elements of Cathayan society have congregated in the northern part of the Hinterlands seeking ways to overthrow the Emperor. There is also the threat of ratmen who seem to mass periodically in the area. Here the military maintains a separate command to that of its northern counterpart (from what I gathered, it would take a month of hard riding for a man to go from one military outpost to the other). The commander of this station is still subordinate to the northernmost provinces but it is seen as a way of promotion, for the southern command is usually the prime candidate for promotion into the role of their northern superior. Only the most severe censure can prevent this ascension, but has happened more than a few times in the past. The southern outpost is also responsible for maintaining the trade route of the Spice Road through to Ind and making sure that merchants stick to it and finally reach their stop over.
The final site of significance Xuwei spoke of was an undisclosed port city at the end of the Red River so-called because at certain times of the year, the waters would turn red (due to weather phenomenon, not blood, so I was reassured). The same waterway which flows through the trade reservation itself, it grew as more tributaries added to it. The port city, which I shall refer to as Han-Yi in absence of an informed suggestion, was the only other place in Cathay that tolerates the presence of outsiders, for it was at this port that a number of ships have traded through previously. Xuwei said that this port was less used for foreign trade compared to the land-locked post as ocean-going vessels encountered greater difficulty in reaching Cathay than by way of the overland route. Certainly ships from Araby, Remas, L’Anguille and Marienburg did dock, but their crews were fatigued, depressed and malnourished from the arduous voyage. Encounters with pirates, elf boats, sea monsters, grim weather and the perilous storms sweeping across the coasts off of Nippon to the South-east of Cathay, threaten the long voyage. Word of this made me grateful that I had chosen to traverse the Silver Road. Xuwei sounded envious of those receiving a post here, for it is an easier place to work, with the offer of a better wage and a great deal more free time to spend in leisure pursuits.
Of the rest of this great country, Xuwei spoke little. All I got from him was that it is primarily pastoral, devoted to farming and livestock, primitive compared to the sophisticates in the different cities. The trading resort we frequented was considered backward, hence Xuwei’s feelings towards his position there.
My guide did speak of how the bureaucracy worked, though I had some difficulty fully understanding it. The general populace of Cathay does reach some teaching in the written word, enough to read and write. From there any who show proficiency in such matters can be allowed to receive further lessons, in calligraphy and art forms such as painting and poetry. At some point these pupils undertake written and oral exams in order to progress in the Emperor’s court. Those who fail may sit the exams at a later date or return home and begin a career with one of the powerful merchant families. Xuwei expressed that those who followed a mercantile career path had compromised and conceded a life of worthwhile opportunity to earn coin.
As to how the Dragon Throne maintains their armies and military positions, Xuwei could provide me with no information, aside from saying that peasants were not allowed to carry weapons of any kind by divine decree. In short, the people of Cathay possess no arms to defend themselves if they come under attack. This must make it easier to prevent an uprising against an unpopular sovereign, much like in Bretonnia.
Myths & Legends of Cathay
I was surprised to discover Cathay has such a wealth of stories about it, thinking that such a realm would be too civilised to bother with superstitious folklore. Certainly Xuwei was embarrassed to speak of many of these tales, conferring from his tone that such things were below his station and more in keeping with the peasants. The majority of the tales he passed along were tales his grandmother had recanted in his childhood. He put little credence in such wives tales. His attitude was pragmatic to say the least.
The founding of Cathay predates our own Empire by a couple of millennia, possibly at the same time as the founding of Khemri in what are now referred to as the Lands of the Dead to the distant south. Xuwei’s grandmother recalled the lands themselves had been formed from the body of a goddess, who was struck down from the sky for looking for a place to put her people. Her body became the lush fields of millet and rice, the rivers from her milk, and her blood the people of Cathay. To this day, peasants still believe the goddess watches and nurtures her people. Yet the goddess did not provide all and it is spoken that another deity brought the light of the heavens to Cathay so the people might enjoy its benefits. He set it high above the clouds, but it would slip from its place and roll to the west, forcing the god to go looking for it every day to return it to the sky. Eventually he found a way to keep the sun in place and walked off into the forests, only to be brought back to unsettle the sun once again when the God of the Hills (I think) found him and told him of grumblings he had heard in Cathay now that there was no night. So it was that the god left the forests and created the Home of the Gods in the Mountains of Mourn, where he could catch the sun at the close of each day and then carry it to the Eastern end of the world to start the day anew.
The nature of these gods is different to that of the Old World gods. Gods do not seem to take such an active interest in the well-being of their followers, some being little more than spirits of the major rivers or the winds. They also are not human in appearance. One among them is described as being the body of a tiger (a sort of orange striped large cat, if the description of a tiger by Xuwei is correct), with the tail of a rat and the head of a man and that isn’t even the most outré of them.
Numerous legends also state that the gods dwell for the most part atop the highest peak in the Mountains of Mourn, where they can oversee the entirety of Cathay and thus the whole world. This mountain also holds the sky up, stopping it from drifting away and from crushing the world below. Since this home is above the sky, no mortals travelling through the Mountains of Mourn can ever reach it, though Xuwei said that some magicians (their version of our Colleges of Magic) tell of younger gods that do come down from this high peak to dance atop some of the smaller peaks, with the light from their dancing witnessed by those who seek it. In recent years, these sightings had lessened to such an extent that the magicians now believe that the gods are retreating from mankind as they intrude upon their realms. Once a man can scale to the Home of the Gods, then it is believed that they will retreat fully from this world to their distant castle in the cold north. It should be noted that those wise in the magic arts dislike foreigners travelling so regularly through the Mountains of Mourn, fearing that such excursions are scaring the gods away, bringing the Great Retreat closer to fruition.
Perhaps of interest is the legend of the once God of War who is now considered an outcast. This legend states that the god was once a beast of the forests and hills, attacking anyone who tried to tame him, until the Great Hunter took it upon himself to hunt and best the beast. For the longest of times, hunter and beast stalked each other across Cathay, occasionally fighting each other, until on the great plain where the Hung now hunt, the two finally came to a conclusion. The hunter god won, but the beast wounded him mightily, leaving the Great Hunter weak. With the beast thought tamed, he brought it to the Home of the Gods and presented the tame God of War to the others, showing that it was possible for war to be civilised, but he was proved wrong, as the beast turned on him in the moment of triumph, mauling him to death and fleeing north in terror of the other god’s retribution, fleeing until he could regain his strength and return. For his braveness, the Great Hunter was transformed into a mighty willow tree (which is supposed to stand in a square in the city of Nan-gau). To this day, the image of the willow stands as an example of prowess and courage. As for the beast god, he gathered followers from amongst the rough tribesmen he found in the north and from time to time makes them attack Cathay to better prove his power.
In this tale I do see some ideas of how daemons and Dark Gods are represented inside Cathayan religion. Certainly Xuwei said that there were tales of the God of Trickery whose wicked deeds would ultimately be undone by his own deceptive words and schemes, only to try again and again, likely a representation of a daemon prince of Tzeentch. Tales of seductive ghosts and shape-shifting manytailed foxes could belong to Slaanesh and the Woman of Plague, who appears as a hideous old widow in perpetual mourning, analogous with Nurgle.
The most commonly held belief was that of the creation of the Great Bastion by the very first Dragon Emperor. Apparently the first Emperor of Cathay, was appointed by the goddess fondly recalled by Xuwei’s grandmother, to form the first Dynasty. He was also a dragon, formed from the hair of the goddess, and therefore blessed in aspect and wise in measure. He could change into the form of a man at will and thus ruled well for many years. It was he who founded Weijin and personally built the Dragon Throne. For many years over the founding, the Emperor was forced time and again to face the followers of the reviled God of War in combat and as he grew older, grew more worried that he would not be able to protect his people in his dotage, or that his only heir, a feeble man unable to change into a dragon, would succeed him as Emperor.
The Emperor was sent a dream by the Goddess of the Moon where if he would lie down across the northern border of Cathay as a dragon, his Goddess would change his body into stone and thus he would halt the beast children of the warring god for all time. He agreed and appointed another heir to be the next Emperor. His son refuted this decision and begged his father to reconsider, even going so far as to ride on his father’s back as the Emperor flew to the north border to fulfil the promise of his goddess. There, in the air, son fought with father, at first as a feeble man, but then he changed into a bright dragon and continued fighting. The Dragon Emperor could see that his son was strong enough to become the new Emperor, lacking only the power to overturn his decision to put another on the throne. All he could do was plead with his son to let him continue north, the better to protect Cathay in death. Seeing the nobility in his father’s action, the Emperor’s son begged the Goddess of the Moon to allow him to help and together father and son would lie across the border and become petrified by the light of the moon, their bodies stretching across the plains, from the Mountains of Mourn to the Bay of Zhie in the east, forever to protect their beloved Cathay.
As to how much truth there is in the creation of this magnificent wall, I have no idea and without seeing such an edifice, I have no further comments on the matter. Only to speculate that if it is as impressive as they say, then I doubt that any civilisation could build it regardless of how advanced. I do suspect that this is just an embellishment of some line of fortifications that do exist.
As for Sigmar, my hosts hold no special affection for my belief, judging that if Sigmar did come west after he quit the throne then no doubt he ascended to the Home of the Gods in the mountains. As a foreign deity, my hosts consider it more than likely the local gods had rejected him. I was most unhappy at this speculation, but did not push the subject, as I have no wish to perish at the hands of these people. They would be most valuable allies.
Creatures of Cathay
I did see some unusual creatures for which I had no frame of reference. One of the smallest was that of a Ratcoon, a small (cat-sized) animal with brown fur and stripes of varying colours, with eyes the colour of bruises. This was a wild animal that scavenged for garbage and roots, which the Cathayans believed to be nothing more than a large rat.
There are a lot of snakes with diamond back colourings, some of which were highly dangerous when they bite and some that were so large that they would try to swallow a man in a single bite, after having first wrapped themselves around the body and suffocated them to death.
Xuwei mentioned a strange bear that lived in the lowlands and hills in the middle of Cathay. This bear was black and white only in colour and ate the vast forests of bamboo (a sort of thin reed that was the size of a tree). Shy and reclusive, it could be exceedingly vicious when surprised out in the wild, with three inch long claws protruding from its paws and large fang-like teeth, belying its cute appearance. More than one peasant had been savaged when accidentally surprising these bears.
As I mentioned above, Cathay has the same problem with beastly mutants that our Empire has. Beastmen found here have the heads of foxes, hares and the aforementioned Ratcoons, as well as the bull and goat-headed variety. In the early years of the nations founding, before the first Dragon Emperor united it, many primitive villages would place any babe born with bestial characteristics into a position of power in the belief that the gods had blessed them. The Emperor outlawed such practices on punishment of death, for these creatures were often savage and cunning, displaying a likeness to the outcast God of War in temperament. To this day some foolish villages on the outskirts are still known to adopt this outlawed practice and more than one loving family has been spared of grief by putting their warped baby out into the wilderness either in the hope that it will die of natural causes or be found by someone or something that will take care of it. Blind sympathy seems rampant throughout the whole of humanity.
My biggest curiosity was with regards the main reason we come to Cathay – Silk. I asked Xuwei about the animals that made this fine material and it was obvious that the question made him uneasy. For a while now, a lot of Old World scholars considered that it must be some sort of sheep or process of fleecing. No one could find any more because the Cathayans would not permit us access to go anywhere outside the resort. Pressing the matter might have been a death sentence and Xuwei made quite a show of refusing to tell me, except that on my last day, he whispered a short description to me.
Apparently there is a valley somewhere to the east of Shang-Yang where a huge spider lives. Everyday villagers from nearby go in and chop down its fabulous webs, whilst trying to avoid the spider and its small broodlings. Every year hundreds of the natives die in this pursuit, but they bring back tons of the web and using their feet, pound it flat, then use a thing like a comb to tease it into strips, before submerging it in a waterfall to get the shiny appearance and making it soft enough to use as a fabric. From that it is then dried out and either given to skilled tailors or sent to trading posts like this one to sell to our merchants. From the way Xuwei whispered this to me, it was clear that if anyone outside of Cathay learned that he had informed me of this, Xuwei would be killed. Naturally I promised not to tell anyone.
A final note on this subject should go to dragons, such rare, almost legendary creatures, are at the level of folklore in the Empire, for their powers are immense by nature. Yet we see them as exemplifying the majestic wildness of nature, red in tooth and claw, unpolluted by Chaos, all wings and fire, yet to Cathayans, dragons are the originators of their Empire and their saviours. They are noble servitors of their gods, messengers and paladins for their causes. Though the first Emperor and his heir are long dead, there remains the belief that whoever is the Emperor on the Dragon Throne is still a dragon, able to transform his physical form into that of a dragon, the better to defeat the enemy Cathay faces. Whether this is true or not, it has not been put to the test in many centuries.
The other difference between Old World dragons and their Cathayan brethren is that the eastern dragons do not have wings. They are serpentine in appearance, as though a snake had grown immense claws, and are lithe, like a living river of power. They are depicted as able to fly, though the actual explanation for this was lacking by Xuwei, so it could be down to some sort of natural power or magical ability. Since no dragons have been spotted in many years, the answer could simply be aesthetic taste or heraldic design.
There seems to be little variance between Old World creatures and the ones in Cathay otherwise, for our travels revealed little difference between common animals. Oxen and horses are rife, though the oxen have grown a lot hairier and slightly larger. They could have been crossbred with the rhinoxen that the Ogres keep or a different beast all together. I have never studied foul smelling beasts of the fields that close to make a note.
Dragon Monks
Wandering monks are not an uncommon sight across Cathay. Dragon Monks are highly sought after by the nobility and the rich to act as bodyguards, yet often travelling incognito, for who would suspect some travelling old mendicant or drunken beggar of possessing martial skills capable of killing a man in seconds using only their bare hands.
The popular image of bald holy-men is a false projection for the true nature of their order. Dragon Monks ways are secretive and none outside of it can truly comprehend how they perform their feats, often in defiance of human capabilities. It is even whispered they are dragons in human form, hence the order’s title. Still it is true that the warrior monks are bald adults seen travelling where they may throughout Cathay for reasons of their own. Some travel from town to town, demonstrating their prowess, others join caravans and act as bodyguards, then there are those who open a school to teach their combat techniques.
The latter has proven popular across Cathay and each school teaches different styles, often competing against a neighbouring school, sometimes in friendly rivalries, sometimes deadly. The schools do not stress the more meditative and religious aspects of the Dragon Monks, focussing purely on strength and action. It has not gone unnoticed that travelling monks do not openly associate with these places and the schools have yet to produce a prodigy fearsome and effective enough to match a Dragon Monk.
There seems to be no rhyme or reason to the travels of these cowled wanderers and, after many years pilgrimage, seem to return to their mountain sanctuary. Maybe the monks test themselves against the world, maybe they return due to boredom or simply to continue their learning. What is not realised by many in Cathay is that some monks stay or return when exceptionally aged, wandering as beggars or drunks. More than one band of ruffians has tried to rob an old peasant, only to meet an early grave at the hands and feet of an elderly martial expert. The reasons these fearsome folk continue their travels in such humble fashion remain a mystery.
A final mention should go to their methods of fighting, for it would appear to the untrained eye that the Dragon Monks all fight the same – hands and feet moving into action at lightening speed, featuring whatever weapons come to hand, but those who have had the chance to monitor them fighting often point out that each monk has their own style. No two warriors quite alike, though equally effective in a situation. How and why such should be only adds to the enigma.
Departing Cathay
After our permitted time in Shang- Yang had expired, we were forced to leave, a departure rigidly enforced by a small column of armoured horsemen who were to escort us west to the edge of the Baleful Desert so that none of the caravan would stay behind. Our translators did seem quite happy to see the back of us and I expected as much, though I was saddened that I couldn’t stay a little longer to further question Xuwei on a great many matters that I could think of.
I did not believe I had even scratched the surface of this distant land and having looked over the many notes I made from my conversations, there were still countless avenues of discussion I wish I had pursued. Over the twelve months we travelled back to the Old World, I organised my notes in an attempt to provide a lot of answers to the most common questions, resulting in this pamphlet.
Yet I was forced to leave much out of this publication, either because it was too unbelievable or I had not enough evidence to make something sound true. I wish that I had time to return to that far land, but even now I hear Sigmar calling me to his side and the travel between our two lands is too long and dangerous for one as old as I have become. All I can do now is dream of it and leave any further discoveries to the young bloods that may follow in my footsteps.
The Road to Riches
the elves
All successful merchants love money and seek new and better ways to profit from their endeavours. For some, this is a new fashion, others profit from the problems and misery that the world inflicts, but the adventurous always explore the darkest or furthest corners of the map, looking for the new and exotic.
It was long thought that Ulthuan was the most distant western continent and that no ship could go east as the Southlands just seemed to go further and further south without end. Then Lustria was found and intrepid explorers sought to challenge the Elven hold on the waters, sailing as far as they could before the crew mutinied or the ship located by Elven vessels and captured. The lucky few survived these dangers and more and sailed around the Cape of the Southlands, into new waters.
These seafaring voyages were unprofitable and brought back nothing of use. Until one captain, his name now lost in the midst of time, found an old map of the world of Elven origin, showing far more land east of the Cape, lands where the Elves held citadels and mentioned lands never before heard of. It was this map that brought to the Old World the names of Ind, Cathay and Nippon, distant exotic names, but with little else of worthwhile information. For many years, this map was considered a hoax created by persons unknown, most likely an explorer seeking to gain enough money to mount a sea trip to these mythical lands.
the dwarfs
Two events changed this way of thinking. The first was the appearance of a strange type of cloth the Dwarfs were starting to sell. This cloth was fine and glistening, soft and shiny. It was also very expensive and of great social standing to possess a garment made of it, the nobles of the Old World wanted more and the Dwarfs could not make enough to cover demand. The appearance of this cloth alone would not have aroused any suspicion, as it would have been assumed to be of Dwarfen manufacture, crafted with their usual level of excellence.
Secondly, a pair of Tilean brothers, Ricco and Robbio, had been thinking about being able to reach Ulthuan via an overland route, travelling east to go west. For years the Dwarfs had warned humans that the lands to the East, beyond the World’s Edge Mountains were more dangerous than they could ever imagine, filled with hordes of greenskins, packs of wolves, the wandering dead, monsters the likes of which couldn’t be imagined and mile after mile of endless desert. No human could go there and survive. No Dwarf explorer had ever returned and now none venture there. The brothers were not totally convinced and spent a great deal of time and money getting to know Dwarfs in the various holds and buying Elven artefacts that the Dwarfs were willing to part with.
These artefacts did seem Elven, made from the new cloth that both races were now importing into the Old World, and covered in strange hieroglyphs that suggested they were either Elven or magical in nature. Their theory must be true, they reasoned, otherwise how else could the Dwarfs have held such curios in the possession. From Verezzo, they raised funds from the Merchant Princes so that they could to take a caravan over the World’s Edge Mountains and then on to Ulthuan, braving whatever dangers they might encounter, believing that the Dwarfs were spreading lies about the difficulty of overland passage to better protect their own trade treaties. Out of all the different Princelings, only Remas would not buy into the scheme and this was merely because the brothers considered them trading rivals and as such did not want them stealing any privileged information and trying to get one up on Verezzo, thus claiming a monopoly.
The resulting caravan was still a sight to behold, with more than seventy caravans leaving Tilea carrying a selection of high quality goods and a large company of mercenaries to protect them against any dangers that might arise. The column was nearly a mile in length and in good humour, even as they reached the last dwarf hold, Karaz-a- Karak, and passed through into the Dark Lands. The Dwarfs were surprisingly good humoured about this band of humans making an effort to go into a devastated and dangerous land, probably because they believed that it spelled certain death for all involved. This would explain why a number of Dwarf slayers would join them, seeking an honourable death in the lands to the east.
On first sight of the barren wastes that were awaiting them, who can guess what thoughts went through their heads. It seemed to be an endless desert of rocks stretching to the horizon, the sky filled with dark ominous clouds. There was an apparent lack of creatures trying to rip them apart, which gave them courage to continue on.
It would take over ten years for the caravan to return to the Old World and it was believed that the brothers had failed, killed by what lived beyond the mountains. In those years, the Dwarfs and Elves continued their cloth trading and the focus shifted from looking for a way to reach Ulthuan to the east, to gold trading from Lustria. It was now believed that Lustria could be reached by going east overland, as opposed to the existing dangers of seaward routes. Elves still maintained their grip on nautical travel and very few explorers saw the need to try and traverse the ways to the Southlands or the south of Lustria by boat. Any that tried would disappear over the horizon never to be seen again.
Then, one day, a dozen caravans, dirty, bedraggled and wounded, trekked into Verezzo, small carts pulled by large shaggy beasts called rhinoxen in their wake. Amongst these men was Robbio and he brought with him tales of far travels and distant lands, realms never before seen or heard-of by Old Worlders, wonder and danger in his tales, and on the cart he had brought bolts of the Elven cloth, that he dubbed ‘Silk’, as well as a number of other artefacts, a green coloured stone carved into the shapes of jewellery and animals, precious jewels, strangely-designed weapons and scrolls and parchments with runes none could interpret.
These men told of a distant land called Cathay, whose people lived in mud huts and ate food from water filled ponds, a land where people were as civilised as the Old Worlders. A land of wonder and opportunity, a land only the bravest and hardiest of all could reach. A strange new land.
the silver road
As the Dwarfs had claimed, the journey took its toll. The blasted wastelands were not uninhabited, as they had first thought. Bands of Orcs and Goblins on wolf back roamed freely, capturing and attacking anything they saw fit. Many times in the distance what they had first thought to be groups of tribesmen who might be friendly to them, turned out to be hordes of the restless dead mindlessly roaming the wastes, animated by someone or something for dark purpose. The winds were relentless and hot as were the days, but at night it turned bitterly cold and on more than one morning they would find one of their party frozen solid in death. There was no respite and their only means of navigation was by the sun. Half of the trade convoy had been wiped out before they came upon a set of large metal gates in the midst of this vastness, killed by the walking dead, greenskins, wolves, dehydration, cold and fatigue.
The first landmark they would find would be a set of large metal gates stood alone in the centre of the bleakness. At these gates, so much like Dwarfen ones, but in aspect far more sinister and in decoration mounted by a bull, the slayers took their leave of the group, heading north with no word explaining their reasons, leaving the group to debate about whether they should return or continue. They did not dare split in half for fear that none would survive. Only the most able persuasion by the brothers and promises of full shares to all survivors and half shares to the families of the dead made them continue on.
If they had thought that the horrors they had already experienced would be lessened as they moved east, the caravan would be proved wrong. As gangs of greenskins lessened, metal monuments to some dark god lined their route and in the distance, smudges of dark clouds could be seen around what appeared to be mountains and the distant sounds of thunder heard. These disturbing signs kept the group moving and slowly the desert changed with them. Winds came up, the sounds of wailing and screaming borne on them. This disconcerting change played on the men and drove some mad. They might then claim it was daemonic in nature, sirens beckoning the caravan on to its doom or make them run screaming out into the desert to find the source. If they were too swift, such madmen would disappear from sight of the group and never be seen again, left to whatever fate as might meet them. If they could be restrained, then they would be bound tightly and placed in the back of the wagon till it wore off.
The worst came one night in that wasteland, when suddenly they were ambushed by Dwarfs in dark armour. They came out of the night, charging into the Tileans and trying to subdue them. The metal armour these dreaded Dwarfs wore was very different to their Old World counterparts and inscribed with a bull. They fought as fiercely as Dwarfs do and the Tileans were forced to flee, taking as much as they could carry with them, losing a great deal of the wagons, the majority of their trading goods and their mad, bound companions. The surviving Tileans, along with the remaining caravans, continued stumbling east as quickly as they could. The encounter with the black Dwarfs played heavily upon them, and the sight of mountains to the east told the brothers that maybe their quest was at an end, for it was likely that these would be the western borders of Ulthuan. They did not dare think that it would be the home of more corrupted Dwarfs and could not know that it was merely the next trial on their passage.
Day after day they neared these mountains and day after day seemed to not get any closer, the peaks growing in size, but still distant. Eventually they reached the roof of the world and then went beyond it. They tore through the sky and it would be a long shadow that they cast. The Tileans wondered how much further they could go on. It was a relief to leave the seemingly endless plain of death and they prayed that it would take no more than weeks to make their way through the canyons and valleys of these peaks.
the ivory road
They would of course have their hopes dashed, upon discovering another world there. It would be a week of hard labour before they found signs of life and that danger had not been left behind. After months in the desert, the Tileans were unprepared for how treacherous these heights would be and how nasty the wildlife would be. The bears were unlike anything they had faced in the Old World. It proved a difficult trial to capture one. The Tileans morale was being pulverized as they made every effort to stay alive.
Of their first contact with the Ogres, Robbio would remain forever reticent about what had happened, except to say that twelve of the bravest men from his personal retinue fled and the rest were eaten or killed. Certainly the appetite and savagery of these Ogres was apparent even then and Robbio would make further mention concerning the diminutive race of goblins that co-existed with the Ogres, pointing out their larcenous trickery, disgusting habits and despicable cowardice. More than once the group would be assaulted by small bands of these contemptible creatures seeking to steal their supplies or cut their throats in the dark. The group even came upon large ruins dotted on various slopes, more immense even than the Ogres who dwelt in the mountains. No race he knew of could have constructed such great fallen dwellings and Robbio would forever claim they had discovered what must have once been the homes of the very gods themselves, no doubt brought low by the savage man-eaters and their packs of greenskins.
He also estimated that it took them the better part of a year to traverse these mountains, surviving on water from streams and meat from whatever they could kill. It was not an easy life, but the explorers were now bound to feel that they could not return home having come so close. Certainly the band must have been lost for the most part, but being unable to ask for help and guidance from the ogre populace, it is understandable. That no fewer than a dozen wagons survived is a testament to their endurance, though the death toll of the camp followers remains a mystery.
Perhaps what was most jolting for them was to come to the other side of the mountains eventually and find only more desert land. At first they believed that they had gotten turned around in the mountains, backtracking to the wastes where they had entered, but this was rockier and less burnt looking. There was less of a wind too and making what preparations and supplies that they could, continued on. Of this desert there was as much to dislike. The sun seemed to continually bake down on them and the rocks turned to sand and the sand turned to glass in places. Bloated insects and scorpions would besiege them from beneath so they found it easier to travel by night than by day, constructing crude shelters from cloaks offering protection from the sun and sandstorms.
With less of an idea of how far they had to go, the Tileans kept moving, with no final aim in mind, only the brothers burning desire to prove that Ulthuan lay that way, everyday believing that they would come across some sign of Elven civilisation. The days bled together and their daily lives were little more than marching through the desert at night and sleeping in the daylight to whatever end they reached.
the borderlands
The first sign of life they found surprised them intensely, when they caught sight of movement on the horizon, armed figures sitting on horseback. The sun was setting and the group were just getting ready to organise their night watch when these were first seen. It would be two more days before it became clear that they had finally crossed the desert and shoots of long green grass sprouted up between the dunes and desert became prairie. The temperature dropped and the effect of the sun dissipated, the days getting marginally colder, clouds in the sky and the wildlife getting less vicious and insectoid.
Growing more confident that they were now reaching the western borders of Ulthuan and that the mounted figures they had seen had been some of the famous Ellyrion Reavers patrolling the lands, Robbio resolved to reveal themselves to the next set of horsemen that they saw, hoping that clemency would be shown to a group of bedraggled human explorers in exchange for a quick sea voyage home to prove his point.
The deserts were now lush grasslands and hope grew that a settlement of some kind would appear. Yet, the more they continued travelling the more deserted the land appeared and this made them worried, for the land seemed good enough for grazing animals, but it was clear of anything that lived. In fact, these grasslands were just the western boundary for Cathay and it would be a week’s travel before the first sign of civilisation was found by the Tileans.
Once again it would be a group of figures on horseback that they would see. This time the figures weren’t maintaining distance, they had evidently seen the Tileans. A duo of mounted warriors forming the vanguard charged the mysterious group down while marksmen peppered them with arrows. A misunderstanding between the two groups was later pronounced to been started when the Tileans panicked having seen these mysterious riders wore metal armour with daemon-faced masks. Having thought the strangers might be a group affiliated with the Dwarfs from the plain of their misfortune, drawing swords to protect themselves. When a crossbow bolt tore out the throat of one of his men, Robbio ordered them to put down their weapons, reasoning that whereas the Dwarfs had desired prisoners, these riders weren’t out for captives and saw less of a threat. Indeed, dropping their weapons did just the trick.
The riders took them hostage, though neither side could speak the others language and Robbio knew no Elvish to try. Unsure about what to do, the group went with them and were surprised to learn that these weren’t Elves, but men. Surprised by this development and now unsure of where they had ended up, Robbio observed his captors and their actions. They were taken to a military camp, which tried to question them, before eventually the group was put into a cage and shipped deeper into lands that would come to be known as Cathay.
Over the following years, Robbio and his men would wind up in the Imperial Palace before the Dragon Emperor and his wife, learning about the culture and people of Grand Cathay and even the most basic Cathayan language. Part curios and part diplomats, the Tileans were welcome in polite society for the most part, but seen as novelties of the royal court until it could be decided upon what to do with them.
They was surprised by how civilised the Cathayans were, but also by how insular they could be, since the Cathayans maintained no contact with their neighbours beyond the occasional trading. Indeed, the Cathayans were quite suspicious of outsiders, since they had been under attack from Hobgoblin hordes and the Hung horsemen tribes to the north for many years, the occasional raid by Ogres to the East, hence the great expanse of grassland between the desert and the nearest major settlement, and skirmishes with forces to the south coming up from a place recorded as the Hinterlands of Khuresh.
the silk road
During their time as visitors the Tileans made as much effort as they could to bring silk, jade and anything that would earn them a fortune. The hardest part was in seeking permission to be released from this new life, as the Dragon Emperor seemed to be fond of having the foreigners in his court, though they spoke only the most basic Cathayan. The best deal that they could manage was for a single member of their party to remain as a hostage and diplomat, so that the others would be honour-bound to return for him. That would be very naïve thinking for a Tilean – they voted amongst themselves to determine who would stay as the Emperor’s envoy, thinking it was a death sentence for the loser. Ricco deliberately rigged the vote so that he could remain, having fallen hopelessly in love with one of the concubines in the court.
They left Cathay sad at the loss of their comrade, whose fate would disappear from history completely, perhaps assassinated for the treachery of his kinsmen by the Dragon Emperor or just vanishing into court life. The Great Caravan would travel through Ind and up the Spice Road and then back through the wastes well defended from roaming predators by the Cathayan sell-swords, having learned that this would be an easier route to travel since Ind was more civilised than the Mountains. Within eight months of leaving Ind, the caravans were within sight of the passes, the return journey easier as the horses and mules used on the way to Cathay being replaced by the larger, stronger rhinoxen and yaks which were more prevalent there.
It took another month of travelling over these passes before they reached Tilea and home. Seventy caravans left to find Ulthuan and a dozen returned having found Cathay. They made a fortune on the goods they brought back and were treated as fools for their tall tales of this mystical land, but only by the commoners. Heads of various merchant houses listened intently and made plans to send a return caravan, hiring Robbio to be guide and caravan-master to which he readily agreed. They set off, intending to follow the way to Cathay by retracing the steps used to return to Tilea. This caravan would disappear into the wastes and never be seen again, but it would be the first of many over the years.
The Dwarfs couldn’t believe that humans would be so ready to throw their lives away traversing the wastes for cloth and trinkets and chose instead to make easy money from those foolish few with the terms of their road tolls and protection money, though it would provide a good outlet for those who sought to follow the Slayer’s Path. It would be many years before the Elves would become lenient with sea-bound passage to Cathay. Since the dangers of the land route were considerable, many merchants tried their luck anyway.
As word spreads of a new and distant land of riches to be found in the east, more and more merchants would try their luck at bringing the wealth of Cathay to the Old World. It would take a century of caravans trampling the wastes, some reaching Cathay, some returning from Cathay, but most disappearing, for some sort of path to appear from out of the rocks and dust. For all the enemies on the path, the Ogres were the easiest to bring into line and with the safe haven of the Sentinels founded, it has become a little easier to travel the Ivory Road.
Fortunes are still made and lost by merchants gambling on caravans heading to Cathay and returning loaded with silk and precious stones. The risks have remained constant over the years, and the regularity of caravans has even made sure that new threats have arisen, as plunderers try their hand. The road is hard and the wastes remain as dangerous as they ever were.
“I seen it fer meself, so this be right outta the mouth of Verena. It were this caravan train run by some wretched Tilean, name was Julio Cavichio see. We’d reached Quanyin, or somethin’ like that in Cathay. Dingy stop it were, but we ‘ooked up wiv some eastern trader ta continue on. They were as tooled up as we were, expectin’ trouble, word was bunch o’ ogres been spotted, ‘cos the muntins o’ Mourn, they was only a weeks march west.
Funniest thing was watchin’ this merchant escortin’ some old feller to a seat atop the front wagon, next to the driver. Old feller is bent double, walks slowly widda stick, squints. I figured they ‘ave ‘im inna wagon bein’ a passenger an’ all, but I’m jest an ‘ired blade, so’s keeps me marf shut.
Anyways, I keep expectin’ us ta be stoppin’, so’s the old beggar can piddle ‘isself, but stubborn like a bleedin’ camel – never goes, even when the rest o’ us do. Jest sits up there, sunnin’ ‘isself an’ asleep. I soon forgets about ‘im.
Two days go by an’ we catch sight o’ three big ogres standin’ in our way – three big bastards they was. Now we got plenny o’ men an’ coulda got ‘em, but it’s take time an’ an ogre ain’t an easy kill, but they didn’t seem ta be fixin’ fer a fight, so’s this ‘as gotta be a shakedown, right. We coulda rid past ‘em, sure, but we’d lose wagons ta ‘em an’ there coulda been more o’ ‘em ‘idden round. They ain’t ‘ard ta miss, I knows, but they ain’t stoopid. So’s we slows down, gettin’ ready ta pay ‘em a ‘toll’.
Then these ogres see the old feller sat onna front wagon as it slows to ‘em. Sigmar keep me safe, I ain’t never seed anythin’ like it. Them ogres, they jest turn an’ run away. They sees the old feller an’ jest turn an’ run off, fast as they can an’ we both knows ‘ow fast them kin be.
The pace o’ the caravan picks back up an’ we carries on. I swear, that old geezer, ‘e ain’t moved a muscle an’ them ogres, they already specks inna distance.
We git ta the next stop an’ that Cathayan merchant escorts the old feller from ‘is perch an’ tries to give ‘im a pouch, guess is full o’ coin or somethin’. That old feller, ‘e looks atta pouch, atta merchant, drops the pouch, spits on it, then walks away leanin’ on ‘is stick. This Cathayan, ‘e jest looks kinda pale now.
But, I swears this, that old feller, ain’t gone buts a little way, when some uvva trader comes beggin’ ta ‘im, tryin’ ta git the old feller ta come on ‘is wagon, an’ the old feller, ‘e goes wiv ‘im. Strangest damn fing I seen onna way to Cathay.
##The Northern Wastes
Exactly where the Northern Wastes begin is hard to pinpoint and thus all travellers who go north from Praag in Kislev can be assumed to have entered – not that there tend to be many travellers going that way, except for those slipping away to join the hordes, mortal or otherwise, who exist up there or those trying to exterminate them. Between these traitors and treasure hunters, no one sane would ever consider north a viable direction.
In summer it seems that the plains are almost verdant and lovely and in winter bleak and unforgiving, making it easy to think that it is either uninhabited or perfectly fertile, but that is to overlook the occasionally warped piece of foliage or mutated animal, as well as the possibility of a raiding party of marauders coming over the horizon and charging any interloper down. Those who are lucky would end up dead during this initial encounter. The unlucky would end up as sacrificial victims for the Ruinous Powers.
It is these marauders that represent the first dangers any traveller in the wastes will face and none would care whether these attackers come from the Kurgan, the Hung or the Tong or some smaller tribe. Eluding these savages to continue north is both stupid and suicidal, but that has not stopped many continuing and the landscape does get colder regardless of the time of year, the sky darker, animal and plant life more stranger, as the mutating effect of the Shadowlands (the borderlands between the real world and the warped lands) take effect. From this point on, reality continues to break down and depending upon whether the gates are waxing or waning, the point where you have left the Wastes shifts.
But the wastes themselves cover the whole polar continent and it is possible to use them to travel to any other point on the planet, provided the traveller wanted to risk their lives and souls. Reaching Cathay this way would take less time, as the distance is shorter, but be many more times as dangerous, because both the Kurgan and the Hung claim parts of these lands as their own and they take the view that all travellers are fair game for their depravations. There can be no negotiation with them.
Even the landscape itself is hostile, as the mutating, ever-changing effect of Chaos has scarred the lands permanently. A lack of landmarks makes map-making extremely difficult and something that can be seen in the distance one day can be gone the next. A traveller might even think they have been going east for many days only to find that they have been going west, north or not moving at all.
Perhaps the lack of landmarks is for the best, because such features do tend to be blasphemous in nature, dedicated to one or all of the Chaos Gods, and more often than not guarded by some creature or warrior devotee, and these can be more powerful than even a marauder tribe, whether such power is expressed as magic or in terms of physical might.
So between the people of the wastes, the monuments to the Dark Gods, the mutating effect of being close to the Realms of Chaos, the weather that can be unforgiving and unpredictable, animals and monsters more predator than prey and an inability to stay on an exact course, it is little wonder that the folk of the Old World consider the Northern Wastes to be a place of evil and foul omens, a place to fear and to be fearful of.
Tribes of Chaos
measure of mankind
Chaos is a near infinite topic. To agree to put pen and ink to parchment in its name is paramount to signing ones death warrant, or worse, committing oneself to an asylum for the criminally insane. Fortunately my folly is limited to an examination of the known Marauder tribes, those men from the north who have fallen under the influence of the Ruinous Powers.
Every man, woman, and child forms personal opinions about Chaos. These are based on the experiences of the individual. I challenge you to read from the Liber Chaotica (cover to cover, footnotes & all if you dare) as I guarantee that you shall disregard previous notions, if its unsanctified leaves don’t consume you first. Assume nothing! For after all change is said to be the will of the gods.
Citizens of the Empire are not inherently good, nor are creatures and followers of Chaos irrefutably evil. So how does good and evil exist in the world? The impure are burned in accordance with Empire law. Mutants in turn harbour deep resentment towards the Empire and would gladly see its fertile lands laid to waste. For their part the Imperial nobility are considered no better than petty racists with vindictive personal agendas.
Religion divides the realms of men. In the Empire alone it creates a fountain of internal conflicts. Tribes of men who dwell in those less verdant locales to the north of the Empire wage war on one another for the glory of their patrons. It might seem impossible to divide black from the white. Unless of course you are a Witch Hunter – whereby there is no grey, only fiery justice awaiting the heretics and the tainted, adults and children alike.
Acknowledgment of the Dark Gods existence does not a heretic make. Agents of Sigmar would throw even more of their comrades on the pyre than they do already if it did. This means a line can be drawn somewhere in the sand. Mariners pay their superstitious tithes to Manann for it would not be wise to invite the wrath of the God of the Sea. If the gods of Chaos truly exist then it might only seem fit to worship them. You may wish to ask yourselves where precisely this marker lies.
the kurgan
Kurgan tribes are led by their Zar, a powerful warrior chieftain who is marked by Chaos. The relationship between tribes is tenuous for each follows one particular god. Each tribe employs a shaman. These sorcerers have themselves been favoured by one of their gods. Tribes dedicated to the Skull Lord have no patience for magic and put shamans to the sword. A muster of tribes will be led into battle by a formidable individual called the High-Zar.
Kurgan leaders adopt a practice of marking their captives. When a Zar lays the mark of his god upon a prisoner it typifies that he has recognised that the subject may offer some merit to his god. If the individual has the sight then he is almost certain to be spared. During wartime members of co-operating tribes will leave marked prisoners be. To do otherwise would infuriate a Zar. Warriors who survive long enough become subjects of shamanic rituals in the temples where they are kept guarded, before being pitted against one another in close combat until death. This determines whether the gods have an interest in the captives. It is thus that men of the Old World are forced to turn their backs on their former selves as they embrace new personas – fresh identities as heroes of the marauder tribes.
When a weapon or a steed has proved its worth in battle it is custom that it receives a name. This is not so much a sentiment as it is a symbol of importance. Marauder bands advocate the skill of archery. Unlike infantry based Imperials, the Kurgan needed a weapon that fires easily from the saddle.
Kurgan raiders use a complex process of fashioning their bows from three parts. A central stave of maple or mulberry, woods which take glue well, laminated with animal sinew on the back and horn on the front, in order to withstand the tension and compression. For special bows, human sinew and bone is used. This stave, the grip, is fixed to the two arms of the bow, along which bone from longhorn cattle has been glued. Bone tips are attached, and the bows are tied up tight against the shape they would be drawn to. The bows are left to dry for weeks, or if time permitted, months.
-Weapons craft of the Kurgans
Following battle it is customary to incinerate the carcasses of slain foes before sweeping the charred remains for skulls, which are piled high to honour the gods. Monoliths have infamously been raised by the Kurgan in the lands of the north. They take many forms in deference to a particular patron. Construction of a monolith typically takes place on a spot where the Winds of Chaos blow strong. These unholy landmarks are places of dark worship. Tributes are made onsite in the form of torture and sacrifice.
Pure blooded Kurgans are raven haired people with ruddy skin complexions. Some tribes are not strictly Kurgan. The Hastlings bloodline contains as much Norse (if not more so) as it does Kurgan. The Dolgans are strangers to Kurgan people and remain bitter enemies of all other Kurgan tribes.
Tribes of the Kurgan: The Vaan, Kvelligs, Gharhars, Tahmaks, Muhaks, Hastlings, Tokmars, Yusak, Avags, Gahhuks, Khazags, Dolgans, and the terrible Kul
Slumber now, Child of mine,
Until they come, with torch aflame,
But do not run,
Your time has come,
For the men of the North stake claim.
They come to claim, Child of Mine,
They come to claim your life,
With hearts of stone,
And splitting bone,
Their wake is deadly strife.
So sleep tonight, Child of Mine,
For tomorrow morn, the sun won't shine,
So stay aware,
And offer prayer,
For the men of the North march time.-Traditional lullaby from northern Kislev
the tong
Many centuries ago a great host of ferocious warriors spilled out of the east. It swept across the north of the world with unforgiving force, crushing everything in the wake of its carnage. This mysterious tribe of grotesquely mutated barbarians is known only as the Tong. Each tribe of men, orcs, goblins and other races it encountered was annihilated. Mortal men or, daemonkin as the few warriors surviving their wave of extermination whispered in hushed tones, the Tong relentlessly threw themselves against the savage people of the north.
Faced with inhuman adversaries fuelled with reckless hatred and possessed of endurance above and beyond lesser breeds, even the most hardened Kurgan found they were powerless against this heedless assault. Skalds in Norsca recount how these despoilers demonstrated total disregard for their own well being. As the horde approached the Eastern Steppes, butchering the Kurgan tribe after tribe, it turned back, and unpredictably marched away. For a time the marauder tribes were diminished by this atypical incursion on their lands.
A hundred years later and their strength of arms renewed, the northern tribes marched south to Kislev afore the abominations of Chaos which spilled out from the Wastes. During the Great War Against Chaos the Tong rose up again from their distant habitat and marched south brutalising the nomadic tribes. Surprisingly these hideously mutated men never joined with the forces of darkness which had encroached upon the Empire. For years the unstoppable horde remained the scourge of warrior tribes across the Steppe. They became consumed with exterminating the Hobgoblin tribes. Their thirst for bloodshed well and truly slaked the Tong finally returned unchallenged to their homeland.
There were those among the Tong who became swept up in the glory of conquest. Following the migration some of the fierce chieftains known as Khagan settled in the domains carved by their blades. The proud Tsavags were one such strong tribe and as keepers of the mighty war mammoths they chose to remain in the Shadowlands.
Since the vanishing of the Tong horde during the Great War, only the rare sightings of small warbands have given credence to their legend. Achievements and lineage are recorded through scoring cuts in the flesh to the face by Tsavag tribesmen including their revered chief handler the Mahout, who tends the herd. This self-mutilating practice of scarification by the mammoth masters serves to maintain their terrifying reputation.
the norse
Of all the marauder tribes the Norse which live in the south of Norsca are least under the influence of Chaos. The Norse are a seafaring race and there are those who have escaped the warping influence of the winds that blow out of the north altogether. Entire tribes have migrated from the icy shores of Norsca in favour of warmer climes. There have been settlements founded along the coastlines of The Southlands and in Lustria, notably the flourishing trading port Skeggi.
Those who remain in the frozen wilderness of south Norsca are more reluctant than their northern kin to take from the gods. In the extreme north the Norse and Kurgan practice overt worship of the four. Each southern tribe has its own special deities featuring ancestors, heroes and spirits to whom tribute is paid in the form of animal or human sacrifice. There is a measure of restraint in not giving so much of themselves to the gods. Perhaps there is a slight reduction to the environmental risk of mutation. It is more likely that the habit in which they pay homage to their pantheons has reduced any Chaotic influence. A mark of Chaos would still be a blessing to any tribesman who is a warrior but great responsibility comes with such a power. Warriors may call upon their many gods of war, desire, decay and hope from time to time. Those who do so likely will become more susceptible to the beguilement and manipulation of otherworldly forces.
Norse culture is steeped in the supernatural and their society has become attuned to it. None more so than a tribes Seer or their resident witch doctors known as Vitki. Communities of Norse people are led by their tribal chieftains the Jarls. Some tribes are collectively lorded over by a tribal King. A dreaded Seer will interpret the will of their ancestors and the gods. They glimpse at future events through reading signs in the entrails of ritual sacrifice in order to advise their Jarl. Each tribe will have some kind of witch or sorcerer. In some parts of Norsca an even older tradition remains. Drawing from the winds of Dhar, the Vitki are able to manipulate dark magic to aid their people through divination, healing and prophecy. Human sacrifices are required to fuel profane rituals and this leads to the death sentences of many thralls and peasants.
The sense of loyalty within a Norse tribe is quite different to that of other marauders of the north. To them the tribe is a family. To anger ones kin or to bring displeasure to the gods must lead to banishment. Cast out into the wilds there is no solace for these renegades. There is no welcome to be found in Norsca for exiles except in times of war. They can only hope to avoid falling prey to the beasts of the Umbra. Few survive a perilous southward expedition to the lands of the Empire.
The presence of a Norseman is tolerated by folk of the Empire. An Imperial noble with a skilled Norther in his employ might see it as something of a novelty and a band of honed mercenaries hailing from Norsca could expect to earn excellent coin. Marienburg with its cosmopolitan culture is a more hospitable location for Norse explorers. The city is more forgiving. Unlike the northern coast of the Empire, its port has not been the target of a Norse raid since the fourth and final sacking of the city in 1848.
The southern tribes of Norsca communicate peacefully with her immediate neighbours. Merchants actively trade goods between ports across the Sea of Claws. Occasionally fleets of longships will be despatched to plunder the coastline when survival is threatened. Although this may seem barbaric to the victims of a raid, these desperate actions can be acts of daring heroism without which a tribe may not survive. Foodstuffs, miscellaneous booty and a child or two is enough to deter a Norse raiding party from razing a village to the ground.
Southernmost tribes of the Norse: The Baersonlings, Sarls, Skaelings, Brennuns and the Bjornlings
To the north, the influence of Chaos is far stronger. Here the four great gods of Chaos are recognised as masters of all lesser gods and worshipped in their true forms. Lacking in patience the northern tribes are more demanding of the gods. No concern in shown to the consequences of drawing the attention of daemon or god. Attracting their gaze is only thought to symbolize their strength. To be touched by Chaos is to be blessed by the gods. The taint in these lands has spread far and wide. Minor mutations have become common place as marauders reap the blessings of continuous devotion.
Beyond the Forest of Knives in central Norsca the land becomes more saturated with the raw energy of Chaos. Its presence twists whatever life exists in this treacherous landscape. Here the marauders will consume the flesh of any man or beast warped by its touch, in the hope of being graced with a mark of their own. These savage northern tribes revel in carnage and destruction. Unlike their southern kin they will slaughter their neighbours out of spite.
Northernmost tribes of the Norse: The Aeslings, Vargs, Graelings and the Snaegr
the hung
In the wasteland to the north of Grand Cathay lives a nomadic race of men who prey upon their borders with an unquenchable lust for butchery. Slavers, deceivers, slaughterers and petty thieves are the feral raiders of the Hung. Their westernmost borders fall beyond the Eastern Steppes. Only the Great Desert separates them from keeping regular company of the Kurgan. Their widespread territory encompasses a land bridge offering passage to the northern fringe of the New World and beyond through the Broken Lands of the eldritch realm belonging to the Druchii.
The roving lifestyle of the Hung is supported by their affinity to animals. War dogs are valued above all other possessions though this would not be recognised by the physical condition of these malnourished hunting hounds. Mistreating their steeds in equal dosage, a Hung is sadistic enough to prepare a diet of mixed grains and human blood. This serves to make their mounts fierce and temperamental in any fight. The cruelty of their masters instils a false sense of loyalty in their stupid pets.
Instead of horses they have selected the toughest war ponies which can be bred for survival due to greater endurance and tolerance for pain. Life in the saddle requires each tribe member carries a dirty woollen tent on the back of a stout steed. Men and women are treated equally in these lawless lands where roving parties of vagabonds travel from one place to the next, accompanied as they are by wagons used by wives to weave primitive clothing and mate with their men.
Those who have encountered the Hung have described them as savage stinking beasts, or worse. They are squat in stature and stocky in build with thick necks and wide ugly faces. Self-mutilation is commonplace among their people. From birth, a mother will cut gashes in the skin of her child. Scarred youths become men who will continue to deface themselves by idly devouring flesh cut from the mutated beasts slain during a hunt in the Wastes. They will feed on fish and game when it is available only untainted food is scarce in their barren domain. When hunting is poor the Hung will consume insects, rats, lice from their own bodies or even afterbirth from a mare’s foaling. Cannibalism is not uncommon and drinking the blood from his own steed will sustain the most desperate horseman.
Like other marauder tribes a war-priest or shaman conveys great influence over their Kahn. Each of these chieftains will recognise the tribe seer can commune with the gods and see into the world of the dead. The Hung will honour their gods in a similar way to the Kurgan by raising monoliths in reverence. Due to their habitual wandering they have no need for temples or shrines. A tribute to the God of Blood could be something as simple as a pit lined deep with corpses. To the God of Decay they might leave a rotting pile of human excrement.
In contrast to other northern marauders the Hung possess no sense of kinship or loyalty. Their treachery is renowned for they have dissolved treaties with their allies and dishonoured their own kind in equal measure. So deceptive are they that the Cathayans invented the phrase ‘Word of a Hung’ denoting a worthless promise. They treat bonds and bargains casually and recognise no dishonour in their actions.
Tribes of the Hung: The Yin, Sul, Chi-An, Tu-Ka, Mung, Seifan, Aghols, Wei-Tu, Man-Chu, Dreaded Wo, Veh-Kung and the Kuj
Border Town Burning
Rumours spread that a new Champion of Chaos is rising, a barbaric chieftain gathering an army of marauders, beastmen and the strangest of creatures to overrun civilisation. The despoiler wanders his homelands, the Northern Wastes, in search of four long-forgotten Chaos Artefacts which shall grant him the power to unite the forces of Chaos. While his number of followers grows, the celestial guardians of a distant trading post on the border of the Northern Wastes and Cathay protect the town community. Honourbound by duty, they make their stand against the tide of evil…
about
Border Town Burning is a new setting for Mordheim. It takes the battles to the borderlands in the east and the wastes to the north that are rife with Chaos. There a barbarian Chieftain is aspiring to become a Champion of the Dark Gods and unite the Marauder tribes with other unimaginable creatures of Chaos then lead a horde against the civilized peoples of the Warhammer World. First, to fulfil his destiny the Chieftain needs to not only fight for his god’s attention but to locate four arcane artefacts that will grant him the power to be approved as a Lord of Chaos.
Unaware of this evil, treasure seekers and adventurers traverse the borders, led by maps and rumours of ancient magical items worth a fortune. Strange folk travel abroad. They trek from distant lands seeking wealth or in answer of the threat posed by tribes from the north. Seers lead their chieftain on to raze the border town guided by these portents of doom while in the east a celestial prophecy of great evil that is to befall mankind is quietly divulged to high ranking officials by the cowled guardians of a fortified monastery on a verdant slope in the borderlands.
features
The Border Town Burning campaign is intended to introduce some new rules and techniques to the Mordheim games. All participating warbands have their own specific objectives and they could be supporting the machinations of Chaos, repelling the threat or just trying to get their own piece of the cake.
The Border Town Burning supplement has special scenarios that are not available for playing battles like regular scenarios. They only become accessible as the warbands come closer to fulfilling their objectives. These special scenarios in whichever order they are encountered will tell the story in your campaign of support, treachery and arrogance. Beside these new rules, there are new warbands, hired swords and exciting new additions throughout the supplement.
accessories
There is a bit of additional game material necessary when running a Border Town Burning campaign. The much sought-after artefacts of Chaos can be represented with markers on the table. When the last owner is taken out of action then a marker would be used to represent the place where the model fell.
There are four unholy artefacts of Chaos. If you wish, you may print the provided templates and cut out the markers for the artefacts or you can design your own individual markers by using appropriate components from some of the Warhammer plastic sprues. Furthermore, some scenarios require special pieces of terrain. The supplement provides printable templates for these or you might prefer to model your own. All of the additional material can be found in the appendix so that you can print it.
personalities
Most players customise their models, create names, or choose appropriate skills to personalise heroes in a campaign. The same principals can be applied to the game environment. For instance, let us pretend that in your campaign the border town of Sen-Quoi in the borderlands of Cathay is a trading hotspot, and it is under threat from hostile tribes of Chaos Marauders. Sen-Quoi will be populated by traders, farmers, peasants, adventurers, warrior monks and soldiers of the militia. You might like to create your own background for the town to help determine what kinds of buildings and terrain will appear in some of your games.
let the games begin
By now you know enough to tread the Silk Road or to enter the Northern Wastes. Good luck to you. You will need it! The Ruinous Powers are unforgiving to both their servants as well as their enemies and the fate of the borderlands now rests upon your shoulders.
West of Weijin
The mindless assault of the bone goliath forced Grand Master Ippan Shu to draw back and redress his iron fan. The weapon seemed ineffective against the raging monstrosity of bone whirling before him. Ippan cursed himself. He knew better than to take on a liche's construct with such methods. But the day was cold, the evening even colder, and this beast had appeared before him like a dream, swirling through the morning haze like a dervish gone mad. The goliath's assault had surprised him, and that most of all, troubled the great Shu. No one, nothing, could ever surprise him. And the fact that this thing, this tower of clanging bone and dark plate, could catch him unawares and flat-footed, concerned Ippan the most. Whoever controls it, Ippan thought to himself as he ducked another thrust of the beast's mighty spear, knows who I am, what I carry, and why I've come.
Ippan Shu drew back a great inhalation of air, held it for a moment, then let fly a stream of fire through bared teeth. The flames splashed against the empty chest of the beast and leeched through its body, bursting through the seams of its steel armour. Flames coursed into its skull cavity, igniting its large, hollow eye sockets and scorching its bleach-white teeth. The goliath flailed madly, dropped its spear, and fell into the line of dead trees flanking the narrow path through the woods.
The forest exploded into flame.
Ippan leaped forward and grabbed the discarded spear with both hands. It was twisted and crude (more like a dead tree trunk than a spear) and lacked the necessary balance for one as skilled as himself, but it would serve its purpose nonetheless. He raised it above his head and raced toward the mass of burning bone trying to right itself through piles of seared bark and branches. Ippan screamed and drove the tip of the spear into the soft dirt on the side of the path. The spear bent but did not break and Ippan vaulted himself up and over the fire. He could feel the heat singe the frayed edges of his red robe as he released his grip from the spear and flew, like a bird, through the air. He landed square upon the hard, toothy chin bone of the beast and heard a crack as the jaw, weak and brittle from the intoxicating heat of the fire, gave way and snapped in two.
Some kind of mad, harrowing moan escaped the hollow mouth of the goliath. It was not the beast's words; it could not speak for it did not have lungs or a throat. But it seemed to understand that its jaw had been severed. An escape of hot breath came up through its charred mantle and washed across Ippan's face, forcing him to leap to safety beneath the swipe of a huge skeletal hand. The beast rose out of the ash and flame, flailing with both arms now, twisting its jawless head back and forth as if it were trying to find its assailant through the billows of black smoke. Every loose strand of dry cloth, every leather strap hanging from the goliath's legs and arms was on fire. If the situation weren't so dire, Ippan could almost appreciate the size, power, and relentless drive of his foe and the sheer determination of its master... wherever it may be.
But now was not the time for reflection.
Ippan dodged another fist blow, leaped and grabbed hold of the goliath's wrist as the large curled fingers drew close. The rough bone of the beast's arm scorched Ippan's bare hands. Pain shot through his arms. He was a Dragon Monk, true, and fire was as natural to him as breathing. But the fire roping through the goliath's lurching frame was too hot even for a grand master. I've overdone it again, Ippan thought to himself with a frail smile.
The goliath waved his arm violently to try to shake off his attacker, but Ippan held firmly. He waited -- one, two, three shakes -- until his legs were close to the beast's neck. Then he let go, somersaulting through the air and landing solidly on the left clavicle where the armour had chipped away. Here the bone had been spared the flame. Ippan held on tightly as if he were grasping the reins of a wild horse. The goliath thrashed to and fro, its sharp, razor-like fingers snapping over its shoulders to try to snatch Ippan's robe. The goliath's skull rolled forward. Ippan drew his fan and snapped it open. Now or never...
With one swift motion, Ippan drew the sharp edge of his weapon across the tender gap between neck bones. He could feel the fan cut through the dry, dead cord with a silent swick! The beast slowed, dropped its arms to its side, and wavered in place. Ippan drew the fan back and made another cut, this time through the bone. The skull dropped forward again, but this time, it did not recover. Ippan watched as his cuts grew larger, larger, until that final snap. The goliath's head tumbled off its shoulders and hit the ground with a deadening thump.
The fight was over.
The rest of the goliath dropped straight down, an eruption of bone, broken armour and black leather flying everywhere as Ippan grabbed the limb of a nearby tree and flung himself away. He lighted gently upon the ground, turned and watched a huge, consuming flame sweep over the goliath's remains and reduce them to a pile of black soot. Ippan smiled, breathed deeply, and waited until the final pop of heat escaped the heap and dissipated into the growing quiet. Somewhere in the forest where the trees were not burning, a crow sounded, its screech resounding through the dead forest like the howl of a lost soul. Was it the liche, Ippan wondered, revealing its displeasure with the destruction of its toy? Maybe so, but Ippan had other concerns at the moment.
He found the path again and located his bedroll, which he had ditched into the weeds when the goliath had appeared. He checked it twice, rubbed away stray grass from its silk fabric and tucked it beneath his left arm. He then stuck his hand into the right pocket of his robe. The object, which he had sewn into the lining, was there and safe. He tapped his fingers across its tight surface and smiled. The liche had not prevailed in its attempt at recovering the object. Ippan was grateful for that. At least until his next attempt. And there would be others... no doubt about it. This conflict was far from over.
But now he turned his attention to the long walk before him. The day would take him out of the forest and into a flat land where the fortress monasteries of the monks resided. There he would take succor and bathe his sore feet. And then, gods willing, he would pass into the land of Cathay and greet the emperor.