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.
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