Tail FeathersTail Feathers is the exciting new miniature skirmish game by Jerry Hawthorne set in the beloved world of Mice and Mystics. Soar across the table, send your troops on dangerous missions, and defend your nest! Players will recreate the famous battles for aerial supremacy that shaped the Mice and Mystics world. Pre-order Tail Feathers today for $15 off the retail price and a free promo Mice and Mystics Lost Chapter compatible with Downwood Tales!

“Ya don't scare me,” grunted the boar named Torm. He was a grizzled old thing with skin tough as the bark on a tree. Scars from a hundred fights decorated his hide, and he had a blind eye that was milky white. But he was tough, his massive canines were still sharp, and he was not at all amused with the hook beak black bird that eyed him hungrily. “Buzz off why don't ya?”

It was galling, really. Wherever Torm went in the woods, he was the most powerful thing there. Smaller creatures got out of his way and predators had only to look at him before thinking twice. Who was this little bird with the nerve to eyeball him? There was no logic to it!


The bird must have come to its senses, for it spread its wings and flew away, though Torm would have sworn it gave a cackling laugh as it disappeared into the trees. Why did it laugh? It was a tiny bird! The absurdity of it all made Torm toss his mane and stamp the ground in anger. The fact that he was terribly hungry didn't help either. Here in the blighted part of the Downwood, there was little that was edible. The plants were either rotting away or dangerously poisonous, and most of the tastier little critters had fled to more fertile neighborhoods.

Torm paused to consider a bush that had succumbed to the blight. It was a black-blue and thorny thing, and if one watched it long enough they would see it moved on its own. The blight had a way of turning beauty into an unholy nightmare, and Torm couldn't eat nightmares. Perhaps it was time for him to move on as well? But as Torm crossed a dried out riverbed, failing to find any fish carcasses to snarf on, a fiendishly revolting scent tickled at his nostrils.

“Bless my bum, those is eggs I smell.” Not just any eggs – judging from the luscious stink that had his mouth watering, these eggs had broken several days ago. “Ripenin' just for 'ol Torm,” he said, and trotted in the direction of the ambrosial assault.

He quickly found the sickly tree that didn't grow from the ground so much as it jabbed out of it like an angry splinter. It was tall and twisted, its bark the color of tar and ash. All along its base were shattered eggshells, and looking up, Torm spotted the rotting remains of a shabby old nest, sitting high up in the branches. Strange. The nest looked like it hadn't seen an occupant in a year, but there was no denying the treats that now littered the ground. Torm dove snout first into the slimy ruin that had splattered along the tree's twisting roots, and he grunted with satisfaction as he lapped up the decomposing egg. Such an exquisite flavor! A veritable symphony of competing notes!

“S'good,” Torm grunted as he ate up yolk, shell and dirt. “S'real good.” He was beginning to feel sad as the last of the sparse meal vanished into his mouth when, smack! An egg fell from above and exploded right in front of him. Torm looked up in astonishment. “It's my lucky day!” he exclaimed. “It's an egg tree. A magical egg tree.” It was the only possible explanation, and as Torm began to feast on the new arrival, he marveled at how perfectly foul the egg was inside.

Another egg struck the ground, even as Torm finished the last, and he noted that he was starting to feel sleepy. If this was indeed a magical egg tree, then it only made sense to nap here. After all, he would need to guard the tree from intruders to ensure those sweet treats remained only his.

“Yes, perhaps I'll doze a bit,” he said to no one, but his legs felt woozy, and he staggered briefly before falling over on his side. “The dickens?” he tried to exclaim, but the words came out all funny, and his tongue felt strange and distant, like it wasn't his tongue but someone else's and he was only borrowing it. Borrowed tongues? His brain was acting a bit strangely too. Then a great pain took hold of his belly, and Torm squealed. Had the magical egg tree betrayed him?

And then, from above, came a familiar laugh. Torm looked up, tears running from his eyes, and there was the black bird with the hook beak looking down at him from the nest.

“You!” Torm gasped. And now the woods came alive with the cawing laughter of dozens of black birds, and they looked down at him from the blighted branches of their trees. “Done in by treats and trickery,” Torm moaned, and the hook beak bird fluttered down next to him on the ground.

“I am Wrunk,” said the bird. “And you are supper.”

Written by Mr. Bistro.
Mr. Bistro is a writer and game designer for Plaid Hat Games.

Click here to pre-order Tail Feathers today for $15 off the retail price and a special promo Mice and Mystics scenario with initiative and search cards compatible with Mice and Mystics: Downwood Tales!

Tail Feathers Preview Articles
Videos: Video Overview, Game Trailer
Week 1: Round Phases, Story Part 1
Week 2: Flight Basics, Aerijin & Zure, Story Part 2
Week 3: Attacking, Grizzard & Snag, Story Part 3
Week 4: Ground Troops, Snibble and Sienna, Valchirp and Wella, Story Part 4
Week 5: Scenarios, Staborah, Story Part 5
Week 6: Squads, Chumjaw and Wrunk