Battle Report: Ogres vs Chaos Warriors

The land was cold, bleak – the jagged stone mountains cut into the overcast clouds like teeth and hither and tither small rays of light broke through to shine on the sparkling snow that lay deep enough for a man to sink up  to the knees in. Men, such as those that dwelt in the weakling Empire of Man would die within an hour in such conditions. Sven Orffson felt nothing except the fires of his own fury which seemed to manifest in the foggy breaths that vented from the grille of his skull-faced helm.

He had travelled to this place, not so different from the regions where he was bred, in search of the prize that had intruded, unbidden, into his dreams. He recalled the visions he had had in his sleep; a pair of cruel, hooked axes cast of black meteoric metal. The aura the blades exuded was unmistakable: limitless power, unending glory, and the strength to carve out a kingdom that spanned the world as surely as Sven could tear a man in two with his bare hands.

Others he had spoken to had had similar visions but the prize was always different; a wand, a horned crown, a massive black shield, even a crow with eyes filled with balefire. But all of them made the same unspoken promises.

Sven looked down into the valley. This was the trail, the trail that lead to his destiny. He had seen others treading it from afar. Grand hosts and small raiding parties, but something told him they all moved with the same purpose of finding the prize. He was not great leader, not yet. The group of crimson armoured Chaos warriors that followed him did so because he was the strongest, the most brutal, the spirit of murder made flesh. Now below him, he spied a group of ogres.

The grunting bipedal beasts hawed and spat into the wilderness as they trudged along. Silently,  Sven hefted his axe and began to march down the hillside and without a word, his warriors followed him.

***

A standstill – the ogres had formed up in uncharacteristic patience behind a treacherously frozen lake while a huge cannon fired great balls of steel at Sven’s warriors. A group of goblin-like things grinned evilly at the Chaos warriors and Sven knew that but a few feet away, the ground was laden with traps that would maim his small force if they were foolhardy enough. Bit by bit, the wild Norscans that had joined Sven’s company, mounted on their swift steeds, charged towards the ogres’ lines and hurled their axes, cutting down the gnoblars and showing great restraint not to sate their battle lust and engage the ogres in combat.

Sven knew that time was against him. The rhinox-drawn cannon had thus far drawn a petty toll on his warriors but it could not last forever. Eventually his warriors would feel the sting of the ogres’ firepower.

Then he cursed. The marauders had finally succumb to Khorne’s call and charged the cannon. The beast reared fiercely but before it could dash the marauders to pieces, their hefty flails beat it to the ground and left it for dead with its skull crushed in. They overran it, fresh from their victory and Sven thought they would be butchered by the ogres, only to see the ogres turn tail and flee.

Victory! And so soon…! Seizing on it, Sven charged after his marauders, only to find the ogres turn about face suddenly. A feint! The ogres came charging down and smashed into Sven and his warriors. Their champion met the ogre bruiser face to face but was crushed in a single blow from a giant hammer. Sven himself hacked and hewed at the ogres but could not kill more than one at a time, for their bulk was astounding. A half-dozen blows from the ogres’ great weapons came down with the force of an avalanche but Sven dodged all but one. He brought his shield up with lightning reflexes but the enormous club smashed through it and shattered his arm. The blow almost carried through to compact his entire skeleton into the rocky ground but just at that moment, the old amulet he had worn around his neck since he was a boy flared brightly and the force of the blow dissipated until it was no more than a mighty thud that knocked the wind out of him.

As Sven got back his footing he looked around. His warriors had slashed and cut at the ogres but all around him his warriors were being massacred. The ground was sodden with blood, brains and cracked breastplates. He tried to shout for them to hold but the lungs in his battered chest merely heaved in protest. The rout was impossible to stop and the battle was over.

Sven did not swear vengeance that day, for he had been bested and was glad of the lesson. He merely swore that he would not be defeated again by any creature that walked on two legs, no matter how big it might be.