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.'