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.