Your Reporter Is Alive!

Fear not, gentle readers!  Your reporter lives on.  The reports of his demise were premature, though often perilously close to the mark.  He has just returned to the safety of his cogitating room, so that he can relay to you his adventures, his escapades and his thoughts.

So, as a hush descends over assorted vid screens and the releasing of breaths across the Imperium of Man (and beyond – we broadcast everywhere as we are an independent publication and no-one will censor us), your reporter is taking a quiet sup of brew he has become quite fond of in his recent travels.  And as an independent publication, we are free to picture said brew.  Not that your reporter is soliciting for freebies, but any contribution is most welcome…

Tasty, hoppy, beery goodness.  Cures the galloping trots.  

But, that’s  not why you’re here is it, gentle readers?  You want to know why the Courier has been silent  these past weeks.  Well, your reporter has been engaged on a most gruelling and tiring journey to one of the most far flung points in the bright firmament of the Imperium.  A death world, no less.  Where the ground is literally raised to accommodate the bodies.  Where the living sleep alongside their ancestors and dream the same dreams.  Where tales are told of their passing and toasts are raised in their memories.  Where your reporter was struck low with a crippling illness, and only his commitment to get the job done for you, loyal readers, was his goal.

The name of this place?  Orkney.  Not, as the name might suggest, a nest of those thuggish barbarians with which the Space Wolves have struggled with recently, but rather the home of the Orcadians, who have not suffered xenos incursions for over a 1000 years. 

A close-call with a tree dragon. Your reporter was preparing to sacrifice his trusty servitor when this beast decided to move off in a different direction.

Beautiful to behold, and deadly for the wary, let alone the unwary.  Only the very best prepared will survive.  And your reporter.  Arriving with his trusty servitor, and already suffering the effects of what must have been a poisoned blood sausage, your reporter ensconced himself in his base camp.  Only for the planet to test both fortitude and stamina.  So began a battle against the elements and the very fauna and flora of this death world.

Spiders!  Great hairy-legged, flesh-devouring spiders.  This was the very last straw, and the passing freighter was clearly a gift from Him on the Golden Throne.

It was only by going underground, where rubbing shoulders with the dead was a literal as well as notional idea.  The locals considered your reporter quite mad for his efforts in trying to decipher the ancient text on the stones.  If only he had had the intelligence to ask the elders, they could have shown him the work carried out over 100 years ago which answered all of the questions.  At this point, with the galloping trots, halfling-eating beasties and the locals shunning his questions and company, your reporter was relieved to hear of skirmishing on a planet not too far away.  Hailing a passing freighter that kindly transported him free of charge (many thanks to the Pentland Inter-Transit Guild), your reporter made good time to the battle zone.

And what a battle zone.  Not 1, 2 or even 3 skirmishes.  But 4!  The picts your reporter took are still drying, but the words are being placed down on the vid screen, and very soon they shall be ready for your enjoyment.

And I’m sure you’ll all be relieved to hear that the trots have jogged on, and left your reporter in the rudest of health…  Stay tuned, loyal readers, as these four battles were incredible in their violence, and surprising in all of their outcomes...

Orks In Tactical Victory Shocker

Your reporter has seen many strange things in his long years in the business.  And not all of them of the result of a blood sausage that Papa Nurgle himself would take two sniffs at to check it was OK.  No, these reporter's jaded, old eyes have seen many marvelous sights in his wanderings across the galaxy.


The flickering green balefire of the undead as they march in their ragged ranks through the Drakwald forest.  The Jokaero weaponsmiths who are more like furry mannequins than filthy xenos.  Eldar.  The list goes on.  But never did your reporter expect to see what transpired today.


Orks working to a plan that, with the help of Mork (or maybe Gork), led to an incredible result.  But this reporter is getting ahead of himself.  For when the day started, he was many, many miles away, having had an unexpected week off.  When the frigate Shield of Truth made planetfall above the latest battlefield,  it was to find the vagaries of the Immaterium had meant your reporter had arrived before he had set off.  


This paradox threatened to upset your reporter's delicate mental faculties, but the presence of a well-stocked hostelry provided a most beneficial distraction.  And it was from one grimy window that your reporter espied a small, black craft as it plummeted to the ground.  Sensing a possible story afoot, your reporter took only what was required for a day in the country.  And if you have glanced at his previous missive on what a roving reporter requires, you'll be fully aware of what that is.


Pausing only briefly to cook some sausages and onions, and then some small cakes, your reporter eventually reached the area where a keen sense of intrigue quickly identified where the strange craft had landed.  And yes, after some scouting about, this reporter discovered more spy beacons.  Now, given that where these beacons are placed, a battle inevitably follows, your reporter decided to return to the hostelry, where the innkeeper had promised a nice, plump bird for the evening.


Only four days later, and with this reporter's appetites almost sated, the unmistakable sound of Orks could be heard in the far distance.  Grabbing his pict-grabber, lunch, two breakfasts and several medicinal snifters, your reporter made his way to the scene of the battle.

The Space Wolves took to the field first and quickly arranged themselves for the conflict.  Confidence was supreme, but these are the Emperor's Wolves, and anything less would be unthinkable.

The Deffdread pilot cunningly hid his great red, smoke-belching, stomping machine behind a low stone wall.  This survivor of many conflicts had just been repaired following the last encounter with the Space Wolves, when it survived mostly in one piece.

The grotz, under the watchful, single eye of Old Bazdak.  His grot prod hardly ever needs to be used nowadays.  We shall come back to these little fellers later...

Led by their Wolfguard, the Grey Hunters prepare to begin the battle.  Fully three squads of marines were fielded by the Space Wolves.

Lone Wolf Ralph, with his lupine companions.  Did you know there used to be no wolves on Fenris?  Though there seem to be plenty knocking about nowadays.

Meanwhile, the Orks took up their positions.  Here the Tankbustas employ probably the most cunning of Ork stealth tactics - hiding behind a wall.

The battle started, the Deffdread pilot looked down to select a gear, and the machine was  struck by the Living Lightning of the Wolves' Rune Priest.  With a thunderous explosion, the machine was completely destroyed.

A slightly shocked Rune Priest, just after unleashing his Living Lightning.  One shot, one kill.  Could this be a good day to fight?  The after effect of the psychic power caused this reporter's hands to shake somewhat.

Shrugging off everything the Orks fired at it, the Rhino brought its deadly cargo closer to the Ork lines.

With the Deffdread dealt with at the very first time of asking, the left flank of the Wolves moved forward to control the Inquisition spy beacons.

The Tankbustas spring their surprise on the Dreadnought.  And miss.

Advancing behind the Rhino, the Grey Hunters are unable to target the Orks.

Set loose by the Tankbustas, two of the bomb squigs race towards the Dreadnought.  But out of the explosion of dust and debris and bits of squig, the Dreadnought emerges unscathed.

However, the third bomb squig hares off towards the battlewagon.  A very large explosion is heard.

Wrecked!  The Ork warlord's pride and joy is blown into tiny pieces.  The squig was, incredibly, only singed.  It was knocked unconscious though.

The Tankbustas have a vigorous discussion on who was to blame for the training of the third squig.  So intent on this argument, they forget about the enemy.

And with the enemy being a dreadnought with a still working heavy flamer, the Tankbustas were very soon invited to dance the burny dance.

Lone Wolf Ralph gets stuck into the Ork Warboss and his nobz.  The terminator armour and storm shield proved incredibly difficult to land even a glancing blow on.

Your reporter is advised by the Space Wolves to stand aside and watch them cut the threads of the Emperor's foes.

The Grey Hunters engage the Lootas with bolter and plasma fire.

The Lootas prove incredibly susceptible to the aforementioned bolter and plasma fire.

Disembarking from the Rhino, the third squad of marines have very little left to do.

Immobilised and disarmed.  Every Evil Sunz nightmare.  Especially the immobilised part.

Sven the Slightly Unbalanced proved more than a match for the Tankbustas, despite being hit several times.  The ancient sarcophagus was impervious to the rokkit on a pole tactic so successfully employed last time.

And then the unthinkable happened!  Lone Wolf Ralph dies at the hands of the Ork Warboss.  Elsewhere, another marine is shot and killed.  Two marines dead, as Orks lie bleeding and broken across the battlefield.

The Warbodd considers his options, then sees the dreadnought and all sensible thoughts pack their bags and leave his tiny brain.  Waaaaaaaaagh!!!

The Wolves suddenly realise that despite securing the flank, the battle is in danger of being lost.  None of the spy beacons are easily recoverable.  And if atmospheric conditions worsen, the battle may end early.

The gretchin stream out to secure a spy beacon.  Well, one is sent out on a sacrificial basis on the off-chance the battle will end early.

The Space Wolves are left disconsolate.  Despite killing all before them, the Orks secure a tactical victory by controlling 2 spy beacons to the Wolves' 0.  What was an absolute walk-over became a lesson in over-confidence.

Whilst looking for some mementos of the battle, the bomb squig chose an unfortunate moment to recover consciousness...

And so the battle ended early, with atmospheric conditions forcing the two sides apart.  Despite 50% losses, the Orks won the day with a 2-0 scoreline in controlled spy beacons.  Somehow.  Though, if truth be told, and this reporter believes in always telling the truth, the Space Wolves threw away victory.  Their performance in battle could not be faulted.  But their tactical decisions cost them dear.  Even the loss of two marines and two wolves, incredibly light casualties in the circumstances, left them tasting the bitterness of defeat.

This reporter was amazed, gentle readers, and will not forget what happened in a hurry.  

Stay healthy, loyal readers, and keep tuned to this channel.  This reporter shall return. 

Incoming Reportage

Our reporter is currently compiling his report of another clash between the Space Wolves and Orks.  Early copy indicates that the Space Wolves may have taken as many as 4 casualties, but their nature is unconfirmed.  What is clearer is that the Orks suffered very heavy casualties.  


We hope to have the full story soon.

Cook It, Smoke It, Eat It

This reporter gets around a bit.  And as a roving front-line correspondent, it is seldom that one day is the same as the next.  The same goes for the food, and as any halfling worth his salt will tell you, you're only as good as your last sauce and side dishes.  Whether it's trudging through the Drakwald on an Elector Count's hare-brained scheme to hunt goblins with hounds; or sat on a shiftship en-route to another of the Emperor's battle  grounds, a good meal is essential.


And, being possessed of not a little skill in that department, this reporter likes to travel with the basic ingredients to stave off the privations of the campaign.  Of course, expenses are available when a suitable hostelry is present.  But often such buildings have been razed by marauding Orcs, or flattened by a careless Titan's footstep.

Tea.  The start of and end to every day. 

So tea, herbs, and salt and pepper.  Some coffee and sugar.  A small amount of butter, lard and some onions.  Beer, say half a dozen bottles, with some wine and a small flask of port.  Amasec, dried Grox and a selection of peppers.  Tobacco and a pipe.  Because you can't finish a meal without one.  Breakfast is especially fine with a pinch of Old Man Alebelly's Special Number 9 Mix to mellow it out.


Just the very basics, but they can mean the difference between having a very nice sauce to spread over you Imperial Guard-issue rations, with a little spicy side-dish, or having them plain.  And a plain rations are no laughing matter.  Not for this reporter.


Until next time, dear readers, when this reporter hopes to be able to get shore-side ready for the next big scrap.

Orks And Space Wolves In Bloody Stalemate

Whilst partaking of a particularly fine tipple in the Flea and Firkin, this reporter was almost half-way through second breakfast when a breathless urchin burst in, looking for someone to pass on his news.  He was stammering his words, so hard had he run that he was scarce able to catch his breath.  But his words, well those that made sense, made this old reporter's blood pump like he was 20 years younger.  The Adeptus Astartes were nearby!  It is not every day that the Emperor's finest warriors can be viewed at close quarters.  And not only were they nearby, but they were about to face off against Orks.  Savage brutes with a single-minded purpose to inflict as much violence as possible on their enemies.  And Orks are almost as dangerous.  It was too good an opportunity to resist!


So, pausing only to slurp the rest of the gravy, smoke a small pipe, and to cuff the urchin for trying to filch a chicken drumstick, this reporter made his excuses to the landlord that the food was unfit to eat and he could query the bill with the expenses department and left to seek out this battle...

Before the battle started, both sides agreed to have some promotional shots taken for a recruitment drive.  Here the poster boys of the Ork force put on a show of bravado.

Tankbustas are elite troops in an Ork force, and what is there not to be impressed about a warrior so committed that he'll nail a rocket to a length of metal pipe and then run up to a tank and hit it with all his strength?

The rank and file of an Ork army is equipped in a pleasingly simplistic fashion.  Here one of 'da boyz' hunts for squigs amongst the ruins.

The Space Wolves, feared as perhaps the most savage of all the Space Marines, have hidden depths.  Lonewolf Tuomas is an accomplished saga teller, for example.  But he also insisted that he has cut the threads of many, many of mankind's enemies, and this reporter's would follow should he be mocked in any way.

The Grey Hunters pause before the battle.  Their thoughts are almost alien to this reporter, and he still fears for his life thread should he perhaps offer a less than serious caption.

A Rhino, faithful transport of the Emperor's Angels of Death.

And so the scene was set for conflict.  Both sides refused even the very idea of parley.  It seems the forces of the Inquisition had previously been in the area, and left behind five of their sophisticated surveillance devices.  Both sides were desperate to recover them.  But to this reporter's finely-tuned senses, it seemed that the two sides were more geared up for violence than the simple act of collecting some discarded equipment.

And so it proved.  Gentle readers, this reporter is seldom wrong where his senses guide him. Particularly in taste and smell, and this day he could smell blood.  And gravy.  It seems he had managed to bring the gravy boat from the table next to him in the inn, as well as several bottles from the bar.  Not wishing to waste such an unexpected surprise, he spread out a pocketful of cutlery, also seemingly from the inn, and had time for a swift snack before the dice was cast, and the Space Wolves launched the battle.

An Inquisition spy beacon.  yesterday.

The Orks lined up in a classic long line formation, completely ignoring the Inquisition spy beacons.  They were too keen to get to grips with the Space Wolves and have a good scrap, they had previously confided to this reporter.

The Space Wolves were similarly composed, and whilst mindful of the spy beacons, were more concerned on eradicating the Xenos scum.  Making use of smoke from the Dreadnoughts and Rhino, they advanced.

The Orks advanced methodically, with seeming invulnerability as melta blasts and rockets exploded harmlessly or missed completely.  The barking of the bomb squigs was drowned out by the smoke-belching monstrosity - the Battlewagon.

Advancing with his lupine companions, the Lonewolf survived withering fire to remain standing, battered but unbowed.  Singing the sagas of old, he advanced towards the Orks alone.

One shot, one kill...
Though obscured by smoke, a lucky shot from the zzzap gun on the battlewagon created a massive pyrotechnic display of exploding dreadnought...

The Rune Priest was struggling to compose his thoughts and channel the power of the warp.

The Lonewolf reached da boyz, and was straight away surrounded by the green horde.  But he shrugged off his attackers and dispensed the Emperor's justice.  He was soon joined by the Grey Hunters who destroyed the massive mob of 'da boyz'.

The Tankbustas spied the Rhino, but the Battlewagon got a shot off first.  It missed, leaving the coast clear for the rokkits to strike home.

Incredibly, the Tankbustas scored hits on the Rhino, and destroyed it utterly.  At this point in time it seemed that nothing would stand in the way of the Orks.  They were destroying the Space Wolf vehicles one after the other.

The Deffdread wanted in on the action, but the pilot was so fixated on the marines in front of him that he failed to notice the threat on his flank.

The Dreadnought unleashed a barrage of fire at the Ork Deffdread, who didn't even notice.  Clearly the targetting machine spirits of the Space Wolves had not been sufficiently appeased prior to the battle.

Seeing how the Orks were advancing, the Space Wolves decided to wait in cover.

The Rune Priest attempted to snap shut the Jaws of the Werewolf, but it proved to be the Jaws of the Mouse, with a hint of Nuzzling By Old Labrador.

And then it started to go wrong for the Orks.  The Mekboy with the Lootas, in his enthusiasm to gun down the Lonewolf, blew himself up as his Kustom Megablasta lived up to its name.

The Deffdread reached the Grey Hunters, and started to carve them up.

However, the Space Wolf sergeant, seeing his troops falling, fought back well, almost destroying the Deffdread.  But ultimately, the big, red, stomping machine proved superior, though it was badly damaged in the process.  Only some rapid repairs by the Grots on board allowed it to start walking again.

A Dreadnought pilot's worst nightmare.

Finally reaching the Space Wolves in cover, the Ork Warboss and his Nobz emerge from the Battlewagon.

Roaring his fearsome battle cry, the Ork Warboss looked for something to kill.

Rocked by exploding bomb squigs, the Dreadnought was unable to withstand the Tankbustas special 'rokkit on a big pole' wonder-weapons.

Preparing to unleash the Jaws of the Werewolf on the unsuspecting Orks, the Rune Priest forgot a crucial nuance of the spell.  The Orks were oblivious to how close they had come to being utterly destroyed.  Could anything stop them?

With his fighting dander up and the rage of Mork (or maybe Gork) on him, this reporter stayed firmly behind a stone wall to grab this pict.  That attack squig was on a long chain, and this reporter still had some sausages to finish before he would be running anywhere.

And then it happened!  Somehow, the Rune Priest and the Grey Hunters defeated the Ork Warboss and his Nobz.  They slew them as the Ork seemed to grow scared of the Space Wolves and turned to flee.  Creeping closer, this reporter was able to grab a quick pict from atop a metal walkway.  If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, this reporter would scarce have believed that an Ork would lose belief in a fight after just one round.

As the battle drew to a conclusion, the Lonewold charged the near crippled Deffdread.  

But it still proved too much for the brave warrior.  Leaking hydraulic fluids and belching exhaust fumes, the Deffdread had survived.

And so the battle drew to a close.  This reporter had heard the plans of both sides, how they would recover the spy beacons, and then he had watched as both sides threw themselves fully against the foe in an all-out attempt to annihilate them.

Savage losses on both sides saw them both retreat from the battlefield.  It was barbaric, it was inhuman, but it was a spectacle.  As the sun began to dip towards the horizon, this reporter sat on a discarded helm and raised a bottle of wine which appeared to have fallen into his backpack in the inn, and saluted the warriors of both sides.

Ad Victorem Spolias. In this case, it was truly this reporter, who now has five inquisition spy beacons, a Space Wolf helm and a large barrel of fungus brew to while away the long hours till he is called upon again.  Stay healthy, loyal readers, and keep tuned to this channel.  This reporter shall return.