Sorry for the lack of pictures this time around. Hopefully the words help paint one.

Frimm Mor unleashed a column of roiling flame down upon the enemy center to start the battle. The site of the clash was a lush, fertile farmland that would support further raids deeper into Tilea. As the burning magics descended, a group of pistoliers were devastated, but the unit somehow held its ground. The sorcerer raised his gloved hand in rage.

Mutant ogres hailing all the way from Troll Country charged headlong into Tilean mercenary ogres. The clash was deafening. Meanwhile, the summoned allies of daemonettes ran with lightning speed through forests to savage another group of pistolier skirmishers. Still, the Tileans held. Rallied by the urgings of their general, Lorenza the Celestial, and the coffer of money held by the paymaster who himself traveled with the army, the defenders fought on against the fury of the raiders.

All was not lost for the Tileans, however. Though the mercenary ogres fell, the mutant ogres were, in turn, destroyed by the paymaster’s elite bodyguard. Marauders of Khorne were also blasted by gunfire, and finally put down as they charged a core formation of pikemen. And the chaos army had not fully been able to organize, for some of their warriors had been unable to control their lust for sacking the countryside and so came late to the fight. They came now, but a good distance behind the front.

The slaughter of the Tileans continued, however, with the pikemen collapsing backward and the elite bodyguard unable to break the flank of a delayed unit of chaos warriors. Whatever the reason, things seemed to turn around when Il Cuoco and his halfling assistants was able to finally fend off the last of the attacking daemonettes with meager rolling pins and frying pans. A last rally of the pikemen, and a charge of the bodyguard that finished two flailing chaos spawn, forced Frimm Mor to assess his strategic position. The evil sorcerer could kill more, but his situation was untenable. He called the retreat. The chaos gods would receive sacrifices from his own army later, to make some amend for the defeat.

The Menagerie of Miragliano has had many fascinating caretakers over the years, but none so fearsome as Filomena. Her mastery of the myriad beasts kept there for study and display, whether docile or dangerous, is unmatched in all Tilea. When the skaven last invaded the crucial trading city, Filomena was instrumental in its defense. The Menagerie’s entire herd of twenty great stags alone held the financial district for three weeks under her direction. Her most legendary moment however came near the end of the incursion where she dispatched the commanding enemy Grey Seer from atop a massive hippogriff affectionately named “Sweet-Wing”. Beloved by the people of Miragliano, she will stop at nothing to protect her city and the beasts who reside there with her.

Frimm Mor, gifted with sorcery, left his Kurgan tribe years ago because of a vision that he join a great movement against enemies far to the South. The little fire magic he knew helped him survive the journey. Upon encountering Gunnar the Varg, and Gunnar’s liege, Valdemar, Frimm Mor felt he had met those who would fulfill his destiny, and so he joined their expedition to Tilea. Fortunately for Valdemar and Gunnar, Frimm Mor proved to be the first sorceror of their warband to avoid destroying himself with his own magics in his first or second battle. In fact, despite his lack of experience, Frimm called forth some of the most powerful fire spells from the maelstrom of Chaos to be seen in the lands of men. As such, it is believed that in fact the gods bless Frimm and there is truth to his vision.

Valdemar Three-Face, the Twisted Sentinel, Blade of the Changing Lord, has come to the Lands of Tilea. Once a champion of Nurgle, a gift too far had mutated him to the edge of becoming a spawn. Feeling betrayed, he gave himself to Tzeentch, forsaking all to have what he thought would be revenge on his former master. While Tzeentch accepted his fealty, in cruel irony, he tore Valdemar’s mind into three parts, and placed them in three separate heads. Perhaps Tzeentch saw the destruction of Valdemar’s sanity as a benefit, for who knows how the Chaos Gods think? Whatever the case, Valdemar is now a gibbering slave, who strides across battlefields in Morrsliebb armor, hewing down enemies in the name of The Lord of Change.

No one knows precisely what sent Borzag over the edge of sanity but when he was found alone and gibbering on a small rocky island off the coast of Estalia, it was clear he had lost his grip on reality. Originally the boss of a small Sartosan outfit known as Borzag’s Brigands, he and his fellow orks were the scourge of the Estalian trade routes. He specialized in hit and run techniques focused on ramming and boarding. Often his crew would forget their plunder and revel only in the slaughter of the enemy. Some believe he ran afoul of Dark Elf slavers and only managed to survive by diving overboard. Others feel he went mad due to his own battle lust and inadvertently killed his own men. Whatever the truth may be, Borzag isn’t telling. He spends his days aimlessly wandering the docks of Remas, barking unintelligible orders at a pack of stray dogs and large rats that follow him everywhere he goes.

Mort, a bit of a rascal and con-man, found his true calling in Verezzo when he happened upon a notice for the position of head chef within the republic’s standing mercenary forces. All applicants were to bring their own heavy pot and best recipe to the Via Patata the following day where a tasting would determine who would be hired. Mort knew he’d have to appeal to more than their stomachs if he was going to win the job and set off for the Via the next morning prepared. Judges from the republic’s leading families slowly made their way through the line of hopefuls, commenting to each other about flavor, texture, and appearance until they reached Mort. He bade them not to taste his concoction, but instead gestured to a small armor rack at the end of the Via Patata. Clearing a lane, Mort loaded his heavy pot into a slingshot and let fly his horrible soup. The impact of the projectile upon the ground in front of the target sent scalding gruel all over the stacked armor dissolving the fine Tilean plate suits into a pile of bubbling goo. When the judges asked Mort’s name so they may award him the position, he smiled and responded with “you may call me Il Cuoco.”

The history of the fortified city of Monte Castello is rife with bloodshed and suffering. Strategically situated on a rocky promontory overlooking the Black Gulf it has been subjected to numerous raids and sieges at the hands of ambitious pirates and slavers. Past losses have been so severe that the dead in the ground now greatly outnumber the living above. It is said that in times of great need, the amethyst mages of the Forbidden Ossuary call forth unquiet spirits to defend the walls and gates. Such dark pacts make Monte Castello a cursed city, haunted by a violent past and doomed to a violent future.