Count Joe Kürbisgärtner

A /tg/ OC for Warhammer Fantasy designed to work as a battlescroll.

The Legend

Count Joe Kürbisgärtner appears as weathered old farmer dressed in overalls and a hat. In reality, he is a humble Vampire Count who lives on a plot of land on the outskirts of some damned blighted ground somewhere in the Empire. He cultivates multiple fields of crops, which he trades in the nearby town found just out of sight of his estate. His secret is well known, but ever since his presence was first reported almost three hundred years ago by a terrified tax collector who found a Master Vampire paying him in chickens and a pumpkin, he has sat on the backburner of the local nobles as well as the Witch Hunters. After all, most individuals are bright enough not to poke a sleeping dragon without cause. No "living" being has knowledge of his origins. Only a few clues exist, like his family name appearing on the wall of a crumbling ruin atop an old mountain in Kislev once known to house a company of Blood Dragons; an old polished suit of armor that gathers dust in the corner of his "thinkin' room" in the old Estalian style; a skeletal horse, whose movements seem more deliberate than that of a mere reanimated beast; and a wagon wheel made of Gromril hung ornamentally from a fence post. Count Joe has never been seen to exhibit a lust for blood in the living recollection of any man in the village. Some of the older gents who spend their days spinning yarns of incensed charging into portals to war on the domains of the Ruinous Powers, races of Dwarfs swallowed by locusts from the blackest of nights, virtuous knights that draw power from the blood of maidens, and similar such nonsense will claim to know what makes their neighbor differ. Sit enough With them on the right day and you'll hear that he was planted in the Earth a sinner and grew into a saint. That like a dog that loses sight but can hear for miles, the lack of light made Ol' Joe attune himself with the soil. That Joe loved a woman from the village, and she bore his child to another man so Joe turned to watch over his kin in the village for all time. No matter the story, the ending is the same. Count Joe Kürbisgärtner is here to stay, and is as good a neighbor and a better farmer than any have ever known.

When angered, he summons an army of corpses from the aforementioned blighted locale: the first time because a Warriors of Chaos army pillaged his fields for rations while he was at market on their way to destroy the Empire. The Emperor, only knowing that the intervention of "a crazy old farmer and his farmhands" saved the day, granted him title and a medal for his service. The former was added via paint to the name on his mailbox, the latter hangs proudly on on his favorite scarecrow.

His actual "field hands" are various skeletal and incorporeal undead. He never utilizes Zombies as he finds them disturbing (particularly to his flower beds), and finds the table manners as well as the outlandish slang and music preference of Ghouls to be offensive. He only ever had one Dire Wolf, an old hound dog named "Rip" who can be found terrorizing (literally) Chaos mutated wildlife down by the creek. His personal symbol is a sunflower growing out of a skull. It adorns the crates he transports goods to town in, as well as an old battle flag that hangs from his barn when not borne into battle by skeletons wearing gardening gloves. When well and truly riled, there are stories that the plant life acts in unnatural ways; that trees will leave a plot of land and avenge the owners slain by villains in the night. That pathways into the area close before armies of the damned, that fields of wheat blaze like fire when raiders attempt to cross them.

When he and his crew march into battle, the old haywagon is hitched to a team of skeletal steeds. Whatever remains of Count Joe's crop is loaded into the rickety old oak vehicle and thrown at the enemies of the farm. The ill will felt by scores of cheated laborers strengthens the frame of the wagon, and passes into the plump ammunition causing pumpkin innards to wrap around men and strangle them, corn cobs to burn flesh and steel, and rhubarb to strike men with the force of a sharply loosed tipped arrow.

Hay ride: 50 point upgrade to Corpse Wagon. Gain 3 skeleton crew who can attack in any direction from the cart. Also gain a 6" ranged attack resolved at S3 which can be used in melee. >Pitchfork For 20 points, Joe may take a pitchfork which allows him to strike any model behind his target in the same attack. >Jug (Instrument) For +10 points, musicians may take Jugs. Jugs provide an additional 1M to the unit.

> Skeletal assistants help him grow his multi hundred acre crop, being washed to a gleam so to not contaminate his vegetables > Said skeletons have mastered precision, making them adept at severing whole bushels of crop, to severing dozens of heads with their weapons > Any army can ask for supplies > Joe will face their captain in combat > if worthy they may re supply from his field > if a passing army steals, Joe reaps their bodies like wheat until the debt is paid > Due to being washed daily they are clean in appearance > All weapons and armor are well maintained and thus are better in ability >Joe uses life spells in order to not provoke the thirst > Has gained a boon from thr natural world, being able to summon tree monsters as an allie > Gain regain wounds via the very ground struggling to keep Joe Alive > Gains +1 IN by drinking a flask of moonshine, only lasts one round

 Count Kürbisgärtner has a special rule when it comes to stragglers and weary travelers: All can resupply and rest in the solitude that is the amber acres of his rule, but you have to be courteous, polite, and prove yourself worthy of his fruits. There have been many times that Dwarves and Empire soldiers have stopped by while en route to the middle lands of the Empire, their water skins low and cheese as hard as their bread. As travelers approach the fields, their presence has already been reported by the many scare crows that dot the fields, jumping from their posts to report to their master. These scare crows take care of the more... rowdy visitors, their poisoned talons tearing into flesh and cutting loose the bone. Its it when visitors arrive to the Count's humble mail box that he appears, walking through the golden stalks of wheat to appear before them. His ancient Blood Dragon armor is more simple in design than his brothers, being made up of over lapping chest plates, smoothed spaulders adorn his shoulders and a heavy skirt of leather with studs of brilliant copper cover his legs. While most blood dragons wield mighty swords of demonic power, Joe swings an extremely heavy pitchfork, simple is design but contains the raw energy of the earth within it. There have been times that the pitch fork has pierced through armor and embedded into the flesh below, the very person screeching in horror as their legs hardened into wood. Within moments the assailant transforms into a tree, their soul stored deep within the heart wood.

 The sight of the Count alone, emerging from the wheat, has caused travelers to flee in panic. Those who stay, desperate for resupply, ask the Count for food, water, and a place to sleep away their exhaustion. That is when the Count challenges the leader of the group to one on one combat, and that is when the travelers can earn that flour and hay to sleep on. If they fail to impress the Count, they are given directions to the town, and are promptly stalked by the scare crows to make sure they do not attempt revenge upon the fields.
 Those who are worthy enough to venture forth into the fields travel down a dirt path. As you walk you are greeted by the sight of skeletons farming and tilling soil, plucking vegetables gingerly, and stacking arms upon each other to grab the ripest fruit. The skeletons are not the usual gritty specimens summoned forth by Strigori or Lahmians, but polished to a point their very bones shimmer and shine in the sun light, giving them an almost gold appearance. Soon the Count will show you to the grand barn, made of formed stone and marble, three levels high and just as long. Inside is clean and tidy, with skeletal horses stomping while in stalls. The horses show more fluidity and personality, as if the spirit of the horse still finds joy in undeath. Past the stalls are the guest quarters, immaculate yet spartan racks line the walls with cloth covered hay beds in every bunk. On the opposite wall are kegs of wine, beer, water, and stacks of raw veg and fruit as high as an elf. This is where the worthy sleep and recharge to go about their journeys. Everyone from Bretonnian Knights to Dwarven Dragon Slayers have slept and gotten drunk in those halls, and all show their thanks to Joe when they leave. It always throws off the travelers: As they leave they always see Joe, clapping a skeleton on the back and tilling in the soul with the rising morning sun kissing the horizon.

The Dark Elf Incursion

 The bordering town that rubs shoulders the the Many Acres has flourished from the Count's kindness. However... No other race loves healthy Empire citizens more than Dark Elves.
 One fel night the Dark Elves moved into the city, dispatching the lightly armed guards with sinister efficiency. Thankfully a quick minded Patrolman threw a torch in a high arc, the flaming bundle landing within the wheat of the field that lay just within reach. The Patrolman was cut down like a child, but his death was not in vain: A scare crow, sensing an attack on his plot, had stalked up to the torch, wary of its burning embers. The scare crow cocked its head when it heard a blade being shoved through flesh, and saw the town under attack. With a startled skip, it took off down the fields to warn the count.
 In the town things were looking grim: The Dark Elves had rounded up the villagers, stripping them naked and tying them to poles for transport. Corsairs tossed babies in the air, catching them on swords while foot soldiers broke open kegs, drowning the weaker men in the frothy beer. Cries and sobs echoed in he night, filling the starry air with sorrow and pain. There was however, a noise, a noise that caused the Dark Elves to stop their gleeful slaughter and look up into the quickly cooling air. Fog moved in over the walls, crawling along the ground, the finger tips of the Count's rage that echoed into the sky.
 It was abrupt, the first attack. As soon as the echo of the Count's challenge stopped, the scare crows lept the walls under the cover of the fog. Sentries posted on the walls cried out, but were cut abruptly short as taloned hands sliced through necks and bowls, spraying viscera on the clean parapets on the town walls. The veteran soldiers and common ground troops rallied to the center of the town, dropping the enslaved citizenry and leaving them to their doom. With the scare crows bounding over the walls and roof tops, they quickly dispatched the archers in their little roosts. With this completed, the Skeletons began their advance, quietly coming out from the fog in their iron willed silence. The Dark Elves panicked as the Skeletons marched past the tied towns folk, their gilded armor and mail clean and perfect, but silent, not even the softest "chink" to be heard. Then with a terrible screech the Skeletons tore into the Dark Elves, their scythes and swords cutting them down as if it were just another day in the field. Then with a challenging roar Joe came cutting in through the Skeleton's ranks, smashing the fork of his great weapon into the spoiled Dark Elves. The squals of them changing into trees over matched the screech of the Skeletons, their skin gnarling into wood and twisting painfully.
 It was then the Leader of the Dark Elves grabbed Joe's son, placing the barbed sword to the young boys neck. Joe stared at the Elf holding his boy hostage, his pitch fork glowing a sharp green in the night. Then Joe smiled, flicking the Pitch fork into a spear position and chucking it into the throat of the Elf. His boy slipped away, running back to his mother as the Elf began to silently scream into the night.

As soon as it began, it was over. All that was left of the Dark Elves and the Undead warriors were the blood stains on the streets, and the small grove of trees in the middle of the square.

--RebelHyena (talk) 03:37, 11 April 2014 (UTC)