A desperate Cygnaran stand against the Orgoth unfolds in the ruins of Little Barringdon in this week’s loremachine, which sets the scene for our upcoming Grand Narrative campaign at Lock & Load this weekend!

If you’re at Lock & Load, you’re in for a treat. In this narrative scenario custom-designed by Warmachine loremaster, Sherwin, you’ll venture into a massive 20ft long play area representing the ruined town, stacked with dilapidated buildings, sandbag walls, underground tunnels, and craters. Through the centre runs the train you’ll need to protect, or prevent from making its escape, depending on your allegiance…

All you’ll need is a 50-point Warmachine army. Not booked the narrative yet? There are a few spots left! Head to Eventbrite now and use code LOCKEDANDLOADED at checkout to book your space. 

At the heart of this campaign is Little Barringdon, a market town caught in the clutches of an invading Orgoth force on Cygnaran soil, and a much larger war. What happens there is only the beginning…

Excerpt from The Fall of Little Barringdon

The train shook suddenly as it passed over a piece of uneven track, violently jolting the flatcar and the soldiers sitting atop it. A couple of them cursed, and made a pantomime of rubbing their arses. At the back the youngest member of the unit, a particularly green rookie named Hobbs, awoke and starred about in bleary-eyed confusion for a moment, earning a good-natured chuckle from the assembled soldiers.

“So, what’s so important about this tiny hamlet, anyways? Not like the reds don’t have better things to worry about than marching around in the Gnarls.” Smith’s voice was unmistakable. Gruff and coarse, each word was stained with tar as his jaw worked at the chewing tobacco in his mouth. He managed a hacking cough at the end rather than punctuation, crudely spitting it over the side along with a lump of the foul substance.

If there was ever a dissenting voice raised, Ratcliffe knew, it would belong to Smith. A long time career soldier, first in the Long Gunners, and then the Trencher Corps, Smith had long since given up on both pleasantries and caring for what anyone else thought of him. It was a trait that hadn’t served him particularly well. He’d been passed up for any sort of promotion, and posted out on the fringes of just about every war he’d been in, far from where the fighting needed dedicated and disciplined men and women, and not a gutter-mouthed bully.

Actually, Ratcliffe reflected, perhaps it had served Smith very well after all.

“This supply hub is called Little Barringdon—and it’s not Khadoran troops that our orders are concerned with. Plenty more dangers around the Gnarls, and the brass wants us to ensure that the town is secure.”

Smith snorted. “Still haven’t told me what makes this place so special.”

“It’s one of the only settlements out this far that has rail going to it, and without that, we’d be forced to walk to Ceryl and Fort Balton.” Ratcliffe raised an eyebrow. “Unless of course, you’d like blisters on your feet and having to requisition new socks because the old ones are worn down to threads. We’re to resupply and relieve the garrisons up there, while the officers get a status report.”

“And then?”

“And then, private,” Ratcliffe leant into the final word, hoping it might reintroduce the chain of command back into the conversation. “We get told whether we’re staying put or moving out again.”

Smith shock his head. “Waste of bloody time. Still, beats facing down the Orgoth. I’ve heard they’re worse than the Infernals and skorne put together. I heard they even eat the flesh of the dead.” He leant over the edge of the car again and spat out another mouthful of tobacco juice.

Want to jump in early and throw down in the town? We’re not stopping you!

To read the rest, download ‘The Fall of Little Barringdon’ here.