A Visit from Nurgle (or the Night before 9th Ed WHFB)
So with mixed emotions we all wait with bated breath for what 9th Ed brings.
The anticipation is almost like Christmas, with the very real fear that we may just end up with coal in our stockings...
A Visit from Nurgle (or The Night before 9th Edition)
- With Apology to Clement Clarke Moore
'Ts been months before 9th Ed, and all through the web
Not a creature was blogging, not even a pleb;
The rumours had run dry, does anyone still care?
Feels if Fantasy Battles 9th Ed will never be here
The gamers are nestled all snug in their beds;
Elves on round bases dance through their heads;
End Times, speculation and rumours, so sick of this crap,
I’ll just settle in for a long winter's nap.
The faithful departed to Warmachine: that’s bad
Or Star Wars X-wing, to me that is sad
The End times left us stunned and confused
GW’s marketing policies are oh so obtused
Does all the anticipation still matter,
When my Ogres, Lizards could all just go splatter ?
They squatted the Elves, my Druchii lament
What does combined stats, KFC and the Glottkin portend?
Down to my man cave I flew like a flash,
Tore open the doors and looked at my stash.
The moon on the figures like new-fallen snow,
Gave Lustria’s denizens a sad sorry glow
What else to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a unit of dwarfs drinking Bugman’s sad beer,
My Warhammer world once lively and quick,
Now gone? In Bubbles? I’m feeling so sick.
More rapid than eagles my feelings came,
I cursed and I shouted called them all names:
"Now, Dashit! Now, Hashit! You Pratts and You Vixens!
Oh, come on, how stupid ! Oh, Donner und Blitzen!
From the top of the porch! From the top of the wall!
Now dash it all! dash it all! dash it away with it all!"
As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
I wonder about 9th Ed and look to the sky;
So up to the workbench the modeller withdrew
To his pile of plastic models, of paints and of glue
The stump of a brush I clenched tight in my teeth,
And bent down to Flames of War, now stored underneath;
With Tigers and Panthers, with StuGs I made merry
Painted Russians and Germans and Brits (and a dairy).
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of a harpy’s hoof ?
As I swung my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney I spotted a green Nurgle hound
Please nerf him, I thought, as hard as my Kroot
And his mates conga-lining behind him to boot;
A bundle of misery he had flung on his back,
Nurgle’s herald was just opening his sack...
The stats - how broken: poison, challenge, regen, how scary!
Line ‘em up, smell the roses, oh look, oh how merry!
My Daemon army, at least this I know,
May still remain useful come the 9th Ed blow.
Nurgle was chubby and plump, not quite a dour Dark Elf,
But I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had everything to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Of poisoned blogs and of rumours; then turned (what a jerk),
Pulled the finger, and blew snot out his nose,
And passing wind, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his palanquin, to his nurglings a whistle,
And tangled me quick in bramble and thistle.
As I screamed he exclaimed, ere he drove out of sight—
“There will be no 9th Edition, and F@ck you, Good night!”
