Based in the UK and want to take part in an event? We’re holding a narrative event at Battlefield Hobbies in Daventry, Northamptonshire on the 1st and 2nd March next year.

The event is intended for beginners and amateurs of Old World, with the intention to tell a story over a weekend of five battles in the heart of England.

The weekend will involve five games of Old World across two days. Easing you in on the first day with a 1,000 point battle for a vital crossroads as the Forces of Fantasy fight to prevent the Ravening Hordes from linking up their armies. Games will then increase to 1,500pts a side for the next 3 rounds, with a final game where players are asked to team up for a large 3,000 point a side game on Sunday afternoon. Don’t worry if you’re coming alone, we’ll easily find partners for everyone.

Each game will be linked to the previous as you create the story for the defense of Valdorn, a vitally positioned Kingdom within the Border Princes.

There are two types of tickets for the weekend. Each will determine which side you’d like to represent in the coming campaign. Either the Forces of Fantasy or the Ravening Hordes.

Doors will open at 9am on Saturday the 1st, with the first game taking place at 9:30.

Event Pack

Tickets

Introduction Game 1: The Crossroads

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The great war tent stood at the center of the allied encampment, its silken walls rippling in the cold wind that swept down from the northern mountains. Inside, the air was heavy with tension. A large, circular table dominated the center of the tent, its surface cluttered with maps, markers, and hastily scrawled reports from across the Border Princes. Standing around it were the leaders of the allied forces—generals representing the might of Elves, Humans, and Dwarves. Each bore the weight of their people’s hopes and fears.

General Elowen of the High Elves was the first to speak. Her voice, usually as calm and measured as a forest stream, carried a note of urgency. “Our scouts have returned, and the news is grave. The ravening hordes march upon us from the north and east. But that is not the worst of it. From the south, the dead rise—an army of the undead led by Settra.”

At her words, a murmur ran through the gathered leaders. Beside her, Lord Anselm, a general of the Empire clad in gleaming plate armor, furrowed his brow. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, as though seeking comfort in its familiar weight. “How many do they number, Lady Elowen? And where do they march?”

Elowen pointed to the map, her long, slender finger tracing the path of the enemy armies. “The Orc and Goblin warbands are the largest—a horde of the creatures. They come from the north, seeking to drown the world in war and flame. The Orcs and Beastmen move as one, a tide of green and brown fury, crashing through the forests and ravaging all in their path. The Ogres march with them, their brutish strength a hammer to smash any who stand in their way.”

“And the undead?” rumbled Thrain Ironbeard, a dwarven general, his voice like the grinding of stones. He stood with his arms crossed, his thick, red beard bristling with tension. “What of Settra?”

“They march with eerie silence,” Elowen replied, her eyes darkening with the memory of the scout’s report. “A vast host of skeletons, wights, and abominations. They seek to join forces with the northern hordes at the Crossroads of Valdorn. If they succeed, their combined strength could overwhelm us all.”

Lord Anselm leaned over the map, his expression grim. “The Crossroads… are vital. Whoever controls them can dictate the flow of battle, reinforcing at will, or cutting off our supply lines. If the enemy links up there, we will be fighting on all fronts, outnumbered and outmatched.”

“Then we cannot allow them to link up,” Thrain declared, slamming his gauntleted fist onto the table. “We must hold the Crossroads. If we fortify it, we can force the enemy to fight us piecemeal. The Chaos hordes, the Undead… the Goblins —they must be made to bleed for every inch of ground they take.”

Elowen nodded in agreement, her keen eyes narrowing as she studied the terrain. “The forests surrounding Valdorn will be to our advantage. My archers and rangers can harry the enemy as they approach, striking from the shadows. We will make them pay for every step.”

“And I will lead the cavalry to strike at their flanks,” Anselm added, his voice resolute. “We will break their momentum before they even reach the Crossroads.”

Thrain grunted in approval, his hand moving to the map where the hills rose to the west of Valdorn. “My engineers will fortify the hills. We’ll dig in deep, and their ogres will find it hard to break through stone and steel. My Ironbreakers will hold the line, no matter what they throw at us.”

Elowen straightened, her voice carrying the authority of centuries of elven wisdom. “Then it is decided. We must divide our forces, yet fight as one. We will not allow the enemy to unite. We will shatter their armies before they can merge into a force too great for us to overcome.”

Thrain let out a deep, rumbling breath. “Aye, lad. We’ll hold the line, and by the ancestors, we’ll send those monsters back to the abyss.”

With their plan set, the generals took a moment to steel themselves, each lost in their own thoughts of the battle to come. The future of the Border Princes hung in the balance, and the outcome of this battle would decide whether the allied races would stand united, or fall divided.

As they departed the tent, their resolve was clear. The Crossroads of Valdorn would be their stand, the place where they would defy the darkness threatening to engulf the region. There, they would meet the enemy, and there they would forge their fate in the fires of battle.