Barrt the Fierce waits for the ogres....

In the months of seiqe, where the ogres have declined to attack, Barrt the Fierce has had the chance to almost get fully painted.

Latest portrait shots here: courtesy of Tilean Court Painter, Leonardo da Vanchai

Seige of Caslte Ormshole

Barrt the Fierce stood on the battlements and looked out over the camp outside the castle.

The ogres had been there for weeks without even attempting the walls. They drank and sang and farted, but never made a single approach towards the walls.

Barrt had sent messages out to them challenging them to attack, but the answer came back that the Great Maw was not happy with them that day; they were expecting visitors; they had seen the piles of elven bones and were too frightened to attack.

'They'll have to attack some time,' one of his men said.

Barrt nodded. His armour was polished. His sword sharp. He was ready for them when they came.

Summer Round 2

Summer Rules Effects:
Whenever an expedition is removed from the map for any reason replace it in an unoccupied tile anywhere in your empire.



Random Events:
Alex 22 Settlers: pick unclaimed tile and put flag into it.
Justin 56 Blood Sacrifice. Force enemy to re-roll character injury table
Sam 53 Diplomacy. Pick an opponent. They cannot challenge you. (Empire)
Caz 11 Elven power politics results in army removed from the field

Mines:
Caz: mine exhausted. Next battle + 50 points troops
Sam: Relic and a 20 point magic item
Justin mine exhausted. Relic and a 30 point magic item
Alex: 200 points towards next battle

Battles:
Justin vs Sam: Ogres assault the castle at Ormshole
Sam vs Caspian:

Relic Count:
Sam: 0
Alex: 0
Caz: 6
Justin: 3

The Second Battle of Ormshole

Marshal Kurdt von Uffen did not fear danger. The long-ears had had a price on his head, and his head was still attached, despite many attempts from many men, and worse, to disconnect it from his head.

Father Ulric had tried to block the passes to the ogre armies, but somehow this one had snuck through. That's what you got when you left fighting to men of the cloth. They fethed it up. Better leave it to professional fighters. Men whose fathers were warriors, and whose daughters could tear the head off an orc.

There was going to be no finesse today. Just a straight up the guts charge with his best knights, and see which way the skulls fell.

With that thought he slammed down his visor and the war-horn sang!

Charge!


The few men on the walls of Castle Ormshole watched as Kurdt von Uffen's men cut down the last of the maneaters. Their horses stamped the dead bodies into the ground and then swung round to the help the centre, which was being slowly ground down by the foe.

Suddenly the centre broke and was trampled down by the monstrous cavalry. There were shrieks and cries of fear and alarm! Would they all end up as ogre-snacks!

The knights looked so magnificent as they wheeled round and drove another unit of ogres and knoblars from the field. Now the two generals faced each other.

'Flee!' men shouted. 'Save yourself lord Kurdt! Save our king!'

If Kurdt heard he did not show it. He remained tall and resolute in his saddle. The remaining knights, bloodied, battered, exhausted, lowered their lances for one final charge. The ogres did not flee, but braced their clubs and prepared for the fight.

Kurdt picked out the biggest and drew his sword. Kurdt von Uffen did not fear danger. His head was still attached, despite many attempts to remove it from his head.



The Victory Feast

The Battle of Bluegut Pass

Ulric the Black spent the night in prayer.
It had been three weeks since news came of the terrible demise of Luddvig the Accursed.
Sigmar had deserted them.
'Lord Sigmar!' he prayed, and tears of blood flowed from his eyes. 'Save our people from the terrors of this world!'
If Sigmar heard he gave no sign. The two armies lined up for battle. Blocks of swordsmen and halberdiers in the centre, a unit of knights on the right wing, and flagellants on the left.
Father Ulric had put his acolytes into the main units to raise the courage of the men.
All they had talked of was the size and the terror of the foe.
'I fear no big-gut!' Father Ulric shouted, his voice hoarse in the cold mountain winds, but somehow carrying across the bleak pass, and warming the hearts of the assembled men. There was a dull rumble, and he turned and saw the ogres coming towards them in a giant line.
He took his place in the centre of the line. There was a dull thud as the first of the blackpowder weapons began to fire.

The knights moved forwards. Their hearts were heavy. Against them were lined the most terrifying cavalry they had ever seen: ogres atop giant beasts. The priest with them called on them to have faith in Sigmar. 'If we die this day we shall feast at Sigmar's benches!'

The enemy came towards them, and they spurred their warhorses forward into the charge. It was terrifying riding towards these beasts. The stench of them came closer and closer. They drove their horses into the charge and the pennants on their lances fluttered at the long points were lowered.


Ulric watched as the the two lines of cavalry collided on the right wing. There was a sickening crunch, audible from this far away. He could not tell what had happened, but he prayed the knights sacrificed themselves dearly. At least to give him long enough to hold the centre. If he could just hold them off till nightfall, then perhaps the nomadic warriors would look for easier prey to the east or west.

'Lord!' a man cried out. 'Look!'

Ulric looked with dread, expecting the knights to have been crushed and broken, but instead he saw a most wonderous sight. The enemy cavalry breaking and fleeing like frightened children. The knights scattered them to the four winds, then turned towards the centre, and crushed a wheeling unit of ogre infantry, who were desperately trying to hold their flank.

The knights crashed into them and drove them from the field. They turned and wheeled again dipping their blooded pennants in a grim salute.

'Sigmar be praised!' he cried, and his men charged forward.

Earlsborg is surrounded.

The halls rang out with hurrying footsteps. 'Lord!' the steward, an old man with one eye and a beard as white as the snow on the far mountain tops. 'The ogres have slipped past our watchmen and are even now marching towards Earlborg! Men say it is time to flee. For what can withstand the might of these great beasts with their terrifying cavalry of monstrous wild things.'
Uter nodded. He could hear hammering from the armoury. The smiths were making him a suitably impressive suit of full plate as they talked. He wondered if he'd live long enough to wear it. A vision came into his head, of his broken and bloodied body, the bright armour stained red, and an ogre foot upon his chest, crushing the life from him. He banished it as he had banished his mother. Locked them both away and made no sign.
'But there is worse lord!' the man said.
Uter nodded. Go on.
'It is your mother lord.'
Uter nodded. Speak.
'The Countess.'
Uter allowed himself a wry smile. His mother was no more a countess than he was a mermaid.
'She has bribed the garrison at Ormshole, and now they have deserted their posts and the castle, which Marshall Kurdt von Uffen won with such great slaughter against the long-ears.'
'I heard it was Barrt the Fierce who defended the place. Kurdtt didn't arrive till the elven foe had already fled.'
'Well,' the steward said. 'Anyway! We are surrounded and two great hosts of the ogre kin are upon us!' His voice rose in pitch and volume until the last words came out in a terrified shrill. 'We are doomed! Flee my lord flee! The end if nigh and we would not have you slaughtered as your poor father.'
Uter looked at the man, and he stopped his mad ravings. 'We do not speak of that, Lord Steward. Understand?'
The man nodded dumbly.
'Send word to Father Ulric the Black and Kurdtt von Uffen. Order them to meet the foe with all the strength at their disposal. I want no heroics. Just slow them down. How many men have we here?'
'Few my lord. Just those who survived the battle where your father...'
'What about the new army we raised?'
'Those men are untested, lord and they have been listening to tales.'
'What tales?'
'Of the last battle. And how no man could stand against the foe.'
'Well,' Uter said, 'they had better stand this time, or we shall all be filling the guts of the Great Maw!'
The steward nodded and calmed sufficiently, he turned to go.
'And Steward!' Uter said. 'If you come to my hall like that again, I shall feed you to the ogrekin myself. Understood?'
'Understand, my lord.'
'Good. Now go.'
Uter watched the man leave. How had it come to this. Shiester! he thought. How the hell can we stop the ogres!?

The Choices of Prince Khorandis

The mid-morning sun cast brilliant rays across the barren wasteland that lay stretched out infront of Prince Khorandis. He watched it with one foot upon a bloodstained boulder, noticing a small, half-starved bird fluttering down and pecking at the ground. At first it seemed about to give up but then, finding its quarry, it flew back to its nest with a leafed twig clasped in its mouth.
"Report," he said without turning to see the elf who had quietly come to stand a few paces behind him.
"No enemy activity has been spotted for many miles around," the sergeant stated matter-of-factly. "Commander Fenorr reports his regiment is as good as ready for your orders."
Khorandis' ears twitched. "Fenorr has sent word?"
"He's here m'lord. Rode through the night with his bodyguard as I understand it."
"Then I suppose we'd better grant him an audience."

***

Khorandis marched through the camp, responding when his men saluted him, slapping his soldiers on the back as if they were old comrades. Every action he made and the expression fixed to his face was designed to project utter confidence but it only served to highlight to himself how far from reality that really was. His armies had been crushed on every front since enterring this accursed land and if his men did not have a victory soon then the despair growing in their hearts would defeat them faster than any flesh and blood enemy.

As he approached an ornately embroidered tent, the halberd wielding guards posted at its entrance swept away the curtained porthole. He stepped through and when his eyes had adjusted to the dimmer lighting he saw Calistari sat next to a prone figure. As green-tinted magic drifted from her fingertips to the figure's chest and forehead, the elf's breathing seemed to grow stronger, though he did not open his eyes.
"Will he live?" he asked, not bothering to mask the concern in his voice.
She finished mouthing a few words of an incantation before standing up and answering him, her eyes still fixed on her patient.
"Maybe if we were in Ulthuan, but there is little I can do for him here besides ease his suffering. Isha herself would find it hard to make anything grow or heal here."
Khorandis took a few steps closer and realised that the wounded elf was Ilthirion, a footsoldier in the spear regiments who had gained minor fame in Saphery for his epic poems.
"We march in a few hours. If you wish you may remain here and tend to the wounded. We go to secure more defensible positions, not to engage."
"How very thoughtful of you," she snapped, turning an angry glare on him. "If I'm not mistaken, retreat is also a valid strategy."
"Not for me," he said coldly.
"How many of our kinsmen must die for your revenge?" She demanded.
He stooped down and picked up one of Ilthirion's gauntlets that lay beside him. He turned it over in his hands like a master craftsmen evaluating the work of an apprentice.
"I know you spoke out against the latest raids on Naggeroth and advised the Phoenix King against the latest expeditions to Lustria."
"I did," she said without hesitation. "They were unnecessary and every elf life lost is a blow to our race."
"Then you would have us cloistered on Ulthuan."
"There are worse places to retreat to."
"True, but the fact of the matter is that we as a race will never regain our former greatness if we do not venture out. Risk is part of greatness."
"You speak like a human," she said, and he shot her an angry look. She almost laughed. "You hate them so much and yet you're more like them than you wish to admit. Why not return to Ulthuan? There is no shame in realising that this fool's venture is not worth the blood of our kin."
Her words cut through him and he found himself disarmed yet again in a way that only his oldest childhood friend could do. He was about to speak when Bel Fenorr swept the curtain aside and enterred the tent.
"Sire, I've come to report and discuss our strategy if you will it."
Khorandis took a deep breath and recomposed himself.
"We are continuing the campaign, are we not?" Fenorr asked.
"Yes..." he said as much to himself as to his lieutenant. "We are continuing. And what's more is we'll win. Call the other commanders. Tell them to be ready to say farewell to the taste of defeat and be ready at the war council with any and all suggestions."
The tall elf nodded and left the tent, letting the flap close behind him. Khorandis himself got up to leave and then Calistari called his name.
"Khorandis, you know I'll stand beside you whichever road you choose."
He gave a sad smile and nodded.
"I just don't want to see your hatred destroy you. You won't let that happen, will you?"
"I hope not," he said with a weak smile before walking out.

Summer Round 1

Summer Rules Effects:
Whenever an expedition is removed from the map for any reason replace it in an unoccupied tile anywhere in your empire.


Uter the Bastard takes over from his reputed father, Luddvig the Accursed.

Random Events:
Alex - 34 Bad Intelligence
Justin 24 Sapper - remove enemy fortress
Sam 21 Stoking unrest - pick enemy tile and remove flag
Caz 63 Treasure chest gain d3 relics

Mines:
Caz: +150 point to army +50pt magic item
Sam: +200 p[oints to next battle
Justin +250 points to next battle. +50pt magic item

Battles:
Justin vs Sam: A resounding Victory to Father Ulric the Black and the Empire! RESULT: EMPIRE GAIN RELIC. MARSHAL GAINS MAGIC ITEM OF 40POINTS. OGRES DRIVEN BACK TO CAPITAL. KNOBLARS STUPID IN NEXT BATTLE
Sam vs Justin: A great rout of the ogres by Marshal Kurdt von Uffen, who held the place of slaughter. RESULT: EMPIRE UNITS CAUSES FEAR. OGRES DRIVEN BACK TO CAPITAL. REGIMENT OF RENOWN REDUCED TO GREEN TROOPS

The End of Luddvig Giantkiller

When Luddvig awoke, strapped to a stone altar, with a ogre shamen carving bloody runes into his living skin, he thought he had passed from the living world into some nightmare of horrific proportions.

He struggled futilely. This time there was no escape. The last moments of the battle came back to him. A desperate - no he thought with bitter amusement - a single, last glorious act of heroism. His only heroic moment, in fact, and it seemed his last. Charging - and almost routing the enemy general before being sat upon and crushed from his horse.

He wondered if his army had escaped. And if they had - had they escaped with his gold. He cursed his men as he thought of them enjoying his ill-won gains. He shut his eyes as the shamen reached the end of his bizarre ceremony.

There was a moment's pause, as the bloody knife was lifted into the air.

-------------

Word came to the windy crags of Earlburg.

The rider threw back his hood. 'The news is true, my lord,' he said. 'Your father has gone to meet Sigmar.'

'How did he die?'

The messenger could not bring himself to tell Uter the truth. 'He did not survive the battle,' he said.

Uter the Bastard had always dreamed of this moment. But here he was, barely sixteen years old, and now with the weight of authority thrust upon him, and at this of all times, with rampaging armies of ogres and elves and lizards besetting him on all sides.

'Bring me my sword!' he said.

Ludvig the Accursed no more..... Luddvig Giantkiller!

Luddvig swore when he saw the ogre camp that had suddenly appeared in the valley behind him.
'Shiest!' he said. 'What the hell are they and what the hell are they doing here - and what is that stench!'
'Ogres my lord,' his banner bearer said - a one eyed cut throat almost as wily as Luddvig himself.
'Shiester,' Luddvig said again. 'There between me and the wagon train with all my gold. Sigmar's Shiest!'


Luddvig was a man who liked to avoid battle, unless it was one he was sure he could win - he hadn't risen as high as he had among the Border Princes by taking unncessary risks. But this time it looked like he was outnumbered, and by a foe he had never fought before.
'It's simple,' he bluffed as he marshalled his captains together. But later that night when he called his squire in, he said. 'I'll ride the fast horse tomorrow, just in case.'


The drums sounded as the columns of men took their places. A rank odour spread across the battlefield. 'What do these ogres eat?' Mage Uter wondered.
It was the first time he'd been in battle, and he checked his pills and potions and little talismans, and calmed himself with deep slow breaths.
'Ready?' Luddvig shouted from the right flank, and waved his sword.
'Surely they outnumber us,' Mage Uter said.
One of the men next to him overheard.
'They do. Luddvig's brought us all in a pickle.'

On the right flank Luddvig chopped a giant down and surged forward through the enemy, hacking his way ruthlessly through the ogres before him.
'Sigmar's balls!' he shouted as he wiped the blood of the last ogre he had slain from his cheek. 'Where's the rest of them?'
They looked back to see the rest of the army beset on all sides by beasts and ogres and snapping knoblars.
Through the rank and smoke they could see the knights cutting the enemy down and trampling them under hoof. Then suddenly a great beast appeared. The Tyrant of the enemy host. The stench made all their eyes water.
'As they charged towards Luddvig's swordsmen fire and lightning charged towards them.
'Shiest!' Luddvig thought. 'They'll get my gold! What's happened to the rest of the men?! I best that fool Uter has screwed up again. Last time I take a hireling mage with me!'


The Tyrant stank. Luddvig felt an sudden burst of courage, or foolishness, and clutching a lucky potion he charged forward - single handedly smashing into the tyrant's bodyguard. The tyrant was slow and stupid. Luddvig's sword flashed in the setting sunlight. He chopped and slashed and drew blood from the monster.
For a moment the ogre general seemed about to flee. There was a moment of hesitation, when the ogre ironguts lost their courage and it was only the tyrant's bellowing that stopped them fleeing.
Luddvig laughed at his foolishness, and thought he had won the day, but then a sudden back hand from the tyrant knocked him from his horse. A rain of blows fell against his black armour, and Luddvig laughed them off. 'You fat sack of sweat!' he shouted. 'You'll not take me!'
And the tyrant seemed to understand that there was no way he could beat this manling through a feat of arms, and turning his backside to the man he sat down upon him, and there was a sickening crunch of bones and finest Tilean armour.

The Siege of Castle Ormshole

Bel Fenorr swepted forth with his griffon over the battle lines. Ranks of spearmen, mostly from his home lands, stood to attention, their bright spears glinting in the sun that warmed them despite the high altitude of the mountains. He looked on the castle with scorn and sneered: this was going to be easy.

Only moments after the first elf regiments started their advance on the castle, the air around them errupted in a defeaning roar. It suddenly seemed as if every inch of space between the elves and the castle was filled with lead and shrapnel. It seemed impossible that the men had managed to pack so many guns onto the castle walls, as if their entire force were somehow armed to the teeth with powder weapons. They must have ransacked the entire Empire to have brought such firepower with them, Bel Fenorr thought. Such an array was as unheard of as a pair of steam tanks in one army or a pair of war hydras in the hosts of his dark cousins, for that matter. Elves cried out in pain all around him and Bel Fenorr grimaced at the sight of his kinsmen falling.

In fury he swept forth on his griffon Swiftclaw, the great beast screeching at the men manning the top of the foremost tower. They let forth with a volley of handgun shots and Swiftclaw was torn from the skies, the proud bird crashing down at the foot of the castle. As Bel Fenorr struggled to extricate himself from beneath the body of his fallen steed, a mage of the Empire, a grotesque midget covered in blisters and boils, appeared on the battlements above and licked his lips at the sight of the fallen elf hero. Sniggering with glee at such prey he unleashed a magical fireball and smote the elf hero where he lay. Rendering him unconscious.

As night fell and the men of the Empire poisoned themselves with crude drink and song, Bel Fenorr crept out from under the pile of his dead comrades under which he'd hidden and walked away into the night.

As he reached the peak of the mountain trail leading away from the castle he looked back on it once more with more anger than he'd thought was possible and swore he would have vengeance.

Round 3

IT'S THE END OF SPRING!
3/3
Any dangerous terrain tests are failed on a roll of 1 or 2.
Any wizard casting Lore of Life this season receives +1 to casting value

Mine rolls
Alex: no mines.
Justin: +250 points and a 10 point magic item
Sam: +50 points next battle
Caz: +50 and +250 points for next battle

Random Events
Alex: Stacking the Odds: next game your army is +25% over enemy
Justin: Settlers: pick a tile and plant a flag
Sam: Blood Sacrifice - force enemy to re-roll Character injury table
Caz: Bolstered Defences: any fortification saves this turn at +1

Relics:
Alex: 0
Justin: 1
Sam: 0
Caz: 1

Battles
Sam invades Justin: win to Sam Ogres cause fear to Empire armies. Ogres gain magic artifact worth 60 points and a relic. Empire general captured and sacrificed for 2 relics

Alex invades Sam: Win to Alex and the Skinks!!! Ogre Slaughtermaster has a heroic escape, survivng on stones alone, an experience which makes him even tougher than before (+1Toughness). Lizards army becomes elite. Sam's army driven off.

Seige of Castle Ormshole

It was a lightning strike by the elven foe: and Barrt the Fierce barely had time to put the spy glass to his eye, roar at the halberdiers by the gate to slam them shut and bar them, before the first arrows began flying.

'What shall we do lord?' a petrified hand gunner asked.

Barrt was already scribbling out a message himself, and he fixed it securely to the leg of a raven.

'Seek Marshal Kurrdt!' he whispered and threw the bird up from the tallest tower.

It turned west, with great flaps of his wings, and swerved left as elven scouts appeared from the trees and fitted arrows to their bows.

'Will the Marshal hear?' a man nearest to Barrt asked. His fears were shared by all around him. Barrt did not answer. He turned to the east, and watched a dust cloud rising behind the elven siege train. He put his hand to his hilt, and the sword seemed to hum in satisfaction at the thought of blood spilling to come.

Soon, he thought. Soon, there will be blood enough.



The elves threw a siege around the fort, and Captain Barrt kept his men busy, banned all officers from private messes, and insisted that all men - however well-born - should eat together.

The elves were too impatient for hunger to do it's work. and on the second week they formed up with a blast of trumpets and attacked the fort from all sides.

Barrt had formed his plans long ago, and the men knew their places. Blackpowder in the towers, and halberdiers on the lower walls, where they thought the assault might come. He stopped at the bottom of the steps, and made the sign of Sigmar.

'Help us!' he prayed.



With a blast of trumpets the elven host that encircled the fort rushed the walls. Praying to Sigmar the halberdiers waited, while in the towers the handgunners waited till they could see the white of the elven flags.

'Sire they are attacking us from all sides!' a messenger panted when he had found Captain Barrt slapping men on the back and trading black jokes about Morr and the afterlife.

'Fools!' he laughed. 'Then they will waste their strength!'

Barrt clambered up to a tower to see for himself. Indeed, the elves had come at all sides at once, and no where in strength enough to overwhelm his forces. 'Too slow and with too little strength,' he thought. But the sight gave him satisfaction and hope that they would not meet Morr's gatekeeper just yet.


Once the smoke from the exploding hellblaster had cleared, it seemed that battle was all over. The remaining elves were in full retreat: though most of them lay at the bottom of the walls they had tried to take.

Their leader lay by the carcass of a grey-feathered Griffin, which had crashed from the tower early in the battle. His cloak was smouldering, and his armour was dented with shot. A few of which had penetrated the golden elven armour.

Captain Barrt the Fierce put his foot on the elf's breast. 'What is your name, elfling?'

The elf would not speak.

'Name!' Captain Barrt said, and ground his boot into one of the elf's wounds.

It cursed in elvish. Or some such. 'Speak plain,' Barrt said. He was losing his patience now.

'Fenoor,'the elf said at last. 'Captain Bel Fenorr'

'Well,' Barrt said. 'Get ye gone, Captain Bel Fenorr! This is the land of men, not of elves. It was only arrogance that brought you here, today, before my walls, without canon or shot.'

The elf laughed - a bitter laugh. 'We do not use such crude things,' he said. 'As blackpowder.'

Barrt looked about. The air was heavy with the scent of muskets and canon. Two towers had been set alight by powder catching light. But the walls were strewn with dead attackers. He sniffed and looked back at the wounded elf. 'Perhaps you should try it,' he said.



It was later that day when Marshal Kurdt von Uffen arrived with his knights.

Men were digging graves for the elven dead.

He stopped before the gates. They were shut before him.

Captain Barrt's silhouette appeared between the battlements. 'You are late, lord Marshal,' he called down. 'We have vanquished the foe. They had long since fled back to their own land. Their dead lie in heaps and we are feasting on waybread and fine Ulthuan wine.'

Round 2

IT'S SPRING!
2/3
Any dangerous terrain tests are failed on a roll of 1 or 2.
Any wizard casting Lore of Life this season receives +1 to casting value

Mine rolls
Alex: exhausted.
Justin: exhausted and a 10pt magic item
Sam: 300 and 200 extra points for next battle
Caz: 20 point and 40 point magic items

Random Events
Alex: Settlers: pick a tile and plant a flag
Justin: gain a relic and place a mine
Sam: Enemy sympathisers: fortification rolls made at -1
Caz: Siege Equipment - the next time you attempt to take an enemy's territory, you will succeed automatically

Relics:
Alex: 0
Justin: 1
Sam: 0
Caz: 1

Battles
Caz vs Justin: Justin Win (elite army/green troops caz)
Justin vs Alex: Alex Win Justin army destroyed (Justin roll green troops on defeat)

Round 1

IT'S SPRING!
1/3
Any dangerous terrain tests are failed on a roll of 1 or 2.
Any wizard casting Lore of Life this season receives +1 to casting value

Mine rolls
Alex: 300 extra points for next battle
Justin: 200 extra points for next battle
Sam: 300 extra points for next battle
Caz: 2 x magic items each worth 40 points

Random Events
Alex:
Justin:
Sam:
Caz:

Relics:
Alex: 0
Justin: 1
Sam: 0
Caz: 1

Battles:
Sam vs Caz: Sam win
Caz vs Sam: Sam win
Alex vs Justin: draw

Battles 1&2

Prince Khorandis marched on through the Badlands, his gleaming armour reflecting the glory of his warhost in every curved plate. They had been marching for two days and it was then, as they made their way swiftly through a narrow valley that they heard the howls of two legged beasts upon the cliff tops.

“Ogres,” said Vraitel, the champion of the Dragon Princes with whom Khorandis rode. “How can this be? We were told that the undead inhabited this region!”

“Evidently the winds of fate have blown us off course!” Khorandis replied bitterly. “Prepare for battle!”

Woe betide Khorandis’ host that day, for the horde of ogres rolled over them, not as from any strategy but simply with the animalistic instinct to march straight forward and crush any they found underfoot, and that they did.

“Beasts!” Khorandis hissed from the back of his barded steed as he saw the last of his regiments crumpled underfoot. They had come to this fight unprepared and understrength but as Khorandis turned his back on the field of battle, he swore that he would see the ogres’ blood spilled in a great river of vengeance.

LOSS

Elsewhere the territory the elves had taken came under attack themselves by yet more ogres. Calistari the moon-sage summoned all her powers of healing and potency but the ogres overran them all the same. Her bodyguard, the sword masters of Hoeth, received the blessing of her magic and felt their bodies become as hard as great oaks and yet still the ogres slaughtered them without breaking step.

The regiments of spearmen similarly received Calistari’s attention and likewise became tougher than any elf ought to be and at the same received powers of regeneration and yet still the ogres crushed them easily. All the while, a trio of repeater bolt throwers uselessly sank bolt after bolt into the ranks of the ogres without felling even a single one of their number.

LOSS

Translation of the Plaque of Huaxtepec

Much of the Plaque of Huaxtepec is destroyed but what remains is intriguing. The mighty slann mage Axayacatl had arrived in the region locally known as the 'badlands'. His forces the army of the 7th Sun had already established themselves and had already made contact with the enemy. Huitzilopochtli was present at the mustering of the host and was given the honour of being named the Tlacateccatl or general of the army.

Axayacatl was to spent a week in meditation, scrying the strands of the future. Then on the eighth day it was announced by the skinks that interpreted his musings that they would be returning to the site of the battle where only a week previously Huitzilopochtli's expeditionary force had narrowly escaped defeat.

As predicted the forces of Ulric had remained and had swelled in number. As Axayacatl approached he sensed the fear wash like a flood through the enemies ranks. His presence unnerved them and he relished the sensation. This Ulric and his men saw Axayacatl as a bloated toad, but he knew that his body was merely a vessel for his transcendent consciousness. They knew his power was great but still they underestimated him. It would be their undoing.

Huitzilopochtli led the Nahuatl or 'saurus' warriors forward to the left of Axayacatl and his Cuauhtli believed to mean 'temple guard'. Neither side committed forces forward to readily and the opening phase of the battle was cagey. The 'skinks' ranged ahead tying up the enemy formations and goading them into charges.

As expected, charge they did, and while the temple guard and saurus warriors led by Huitzilopochtli became embroiled in a long and bloody swirling melee the Tepoztopilli or 'cold one' cavalry ran down and crushed Ulric's own cavalry forces. With the left flank won and the regiments of men turning tail and running one by one it was only Ulric and his unit that remained fighting.

From the safety of a nearby tower the priest Ixlilti called on the power of the heavens to watch over and protect the warriors while Axayacatl himself cast powerful warding and healing magic. It is written that Huitzilopochtli challenged Ulric to single combat to settle the grudge they both harboured from the first battle. But while Huitzilopochtli could not best Ulric neither could he kill the mighty Tlacateccatl of the army of the 7th Sun. Each wound inflicted by Ulric drawing only more roars of hatred and bitter curses. Axayacatl's regenerative powers healing Huitzilopochtli as he fought.

It was clear that the battle was lost for Ulric and his men, and indeed Axayacatl could have ordered them all slaughtered. But while Huitzilopochtli detested and loathed the man, as is clear in the text from the Plaque of Tochtepec, the mighty slann mage had seen further into the future than just this minor battle and knew that this Ulric had a greater role to play somehow. As such Axayacatl ordered his warriors to hold fast and allow Ulric's retreat. The field was won, the Tzintzuntzan were victorious.

So ends the Plaque of Huaxtepec.

Translation of the Plaque of Tochtepec

As is written on the Plaque of Tochtepec Huitzilopochtli's battalion of the army of the 7th Sun made landfall on the eve of the Feast of Coyolxauhqui. The next morning they marched west and at Quetzalcoatl's zenith they encountered the forces of Ulric 'the arrogant' (translation?). Quite foolishly but typical for the race of man, they sent an emissary intent on suing for peace. It is believed that Huitzilopochtli sent back two meager blow darts a symbol which represented the utter contempt he held for Ulric.

Battle was joined soon after with the Xiuhcoatl or 'skinks' skirmishing ahead of the main army. This tactic is a well-known one for the armies of the lizardmen and woe betide any who ignore these diminutive creatures for the jungle poisons they employ on their blow darts and javelins can fell the mightiest of beasts.

The plaque describes Huitzilopochtli's army as having foreknowledge that the battle was unwinnable, that they would have to fight with brawn and cunning alone and without the guidance or blessings of the heavens to escape but that a greater victory was on the horizon should they survive. This would go someway to explaining death of their priest Cinteotl early in the engagement and how it did not affect them. His spirit sits at the right hand of the old ones and is at peace.

The knights on the right flank took the bait and charged the skinks that had been harassing them. While the loss of those brave warriors was mourned later, it was a strategic necessity for it allowed the tepoztopilli or 'cold one' riders to flank charge the knights and gain the advantage. Ultimately these cowards as Huitzilopochtli would describe them later were run down and slaughtered, their scalps shorn from their heads right then and there. However, they allowed a single man to escape, the army's priest. Seeing this supposed man of courage and faith flee from combat across the field of battle driven mad by fear would give the army of the 7th Sun the respite they needed.

Just moments before Ulric the arrogant's craven wizard would cast the cataclysmic spell of Tezcatlipoca or as men in the Empire know it 'the Purple Sun of Xereus'. The plaque speaks of this monumentally destructive energy employed by Ulric's forces that annihilated an entire flank of the lizardmen and would have seen them all routed had it not been for the prescience of their mage-seers and the foreknowledge of the effect the fleeing priest would have on Ulric's army. It was at this point that had the humans pressed their advantage they would have surely won the day. But instead they were paralysed by fear and sent running themselves. The chaos that ensued and the time it took to restore order in the ranks allowed Huitzilopochtli and his remaining forces to withdraw.

So ends the Plaque of Tochtepec

Ulric the Black rallies his forces and returns to battle. Battle 2

Ulric refused to let the raving flagellants join his army this time. Their leader was a familiar figure to those who had fought the week before: the chaplain of the Knight's Teutonia, who had been flogged to within an inch of Morr's embrace, and had gone quite mad.

Ulric had summoned all his swordsmen, and they formed up in two columns with fresh knights on the right wing, again facing off against the lizard cav. The battle started badly as their only canon blew up without firing a shot.

They had brought their toad this time, a vast bloated thing that looked out on them with lidless eyes. 'A Jabba!' Hovman Daark said. 'Look - a Jabbatoad! This bodes ill, I fear. They are said to control the winds of magic.'

So it proved. Hovman struggled with the winds - but could do little with them.

'Faith in Sigmar!' Ulric shouted to the men around, and so it proved. Faith protected them and Ulric's greatswords flanked the toad-guard and began to chop ruthlessly into them, while Ulric battled in mortal combat with the enemy's general: a little blue lizard with yellow cat eyes - that hissed in pain as Ulric smote it.

'They're blood is red!' he shouted, and the greatswords cut down the guard around the quivering bloated thing at their centre.

There was a long and bloody battle, but fate did not favour Ulric again. At last the swordsmen broke before the onslaught of the lizards, and only the mortar crew stood unharmed. Fitting, as they had failed to harm the enemy also.

Loss.

Ulric the Black leads his forces into the east. Battle One

I
The two Nordland halberdiers stood awkwardly as Ulric the Black knelt before bare foot, in the snow before the shrine of Sigmar.

He had been there all night, but rather than succumb to the cold, the snow had melted around him so that there was a patch of wet ground in the midst of all the snow.

'Sire!' the first halberdier cleared his throat. 'The enemy have been sighted.'

Only at the word 'enemy' did Ulric look up. 'The cold-bloods,' he called the lizard folk. 'Have they accepted our offer of peace?'

'No sire.'

The emissary was brought to him. There was a sickly colour to his skin.

'I tried to parley,' he said. 'But they answered me with these.'

He held up what looked like sharpened twigs. 'Poison darts,' he said.


II
Father Ulric surveyed the battlefield. On the left wing, a demi-lance of battle hardened Knights Teutonia kicked their warhorses forward. In the centre the main body of the army, drew up in ordered ranks, with halberdiers in close support.

Hovman Daark stood at the fore, while the Sigmar banner flapped stiffly overhead.

Hovman Daark was already in the middle of some spell, and he suddenly turned and grinned. 'There was a mage with them. One of the little lizards. He reached out to me, and I crushed his soul and sent it back over the seas to where ever they have come from.'


III
The Knights Teutonia saw lizard cavalry ahead of them, and they spurred their horses forward. They hit a skirmish line of small lizards with blowpipes and although they cut them down all around them, somehow, beyond hope, the little blue-skinned creatures did not flee. And as the knights cut the last of them down, the enemy cavalry charged forward and took the milling knights in the flank.

IV
Ulric led the swordsmen forward towards the main body of the enemy. They came forward with an eerie silence, only the flicking of red tongues any indication that these strange creatures felt anything approaching fear.

Hovman Daark was in the middle of his scorceries. The temperature suddenly dropped, and a whirlwind stirred in front of him, and then a dust devil swirled up, and deepened and blackened as it dragged dirt up with it.

It was a dreadful purple colour as Hovman hurled it forward straight into the face of the approaching foe.

There was a dreadful silence as scores of the foe were dragged into the unearthly maelstrom. Only four were left when the maelstrom passed.

Ulric dropped his arm in a brief order. The hellblaster roared, barrel after barrel, and when the smoke had cleared, not a single lizard was left standing. There was a strange silence, and a few blooded bodies twitched on the ground. Some of the men made the sign of Sigmar, or mumbled prayers to Morr. No one could witness such slaughter, without feeling sympathy for such creatures.

It was unfortunate, looking back, that this was the moment, that suddenly from beyond the woods a single raving horseman came galloping. The Knight's Teutonia's chaplain: a thin and sour-faced man.

'Slaughter! Horror!' he shouted, 'they are all dead. All your brothers. Devils on monsters are coming! Flee Flee!'

Ulric smote the man across his face. 'Silence, coward! This day is won!'

But chance played strange games on battlefields, and even as he spoke the first shouts were raised, and soon the whole company was falling back in disorder.

'Stand!' Ulric shouted. 'Stand you fools! We have but to face these monsters down and the day is ours!'

DRAW