Spring Turn One
Let the Slaughter Commence!
All races of the known world have sent forth their greatest armies to the marshes of madness, each seeking out the Chaos God Morahngol K’tah for their own unique purposes. As colossal armies clash in the Deserts, Open Plains, Mountains and Coastlines to the North of Khemri the beast they hunt grows ever more powerful…
Whilst nine of the races are battling over the sodden ground of the marshes others are instead fighting up to the North the War of the Shield in some of the greatest and most gruesome battles ever fought in the history of Chaos’ existence. All available forces of Order are forming a defensive shield far to the North of the Marshes of Madness, preventing the overwhelming hordes of chaos gaining access to Morahngol. As Morahngol hit the earth the worshippers of Chaos began to hear voices in their heads, pushing and urging them to destroy the spawn of Morrsleib. The constant and urgent nature of the voices forcing every Warrior to make for war and head south with all haste, making an army of Warriors, Demons, Beasts and the Damned of such vastness they would span an entire horizon.
The forces of Order acted with admirable speed and courage, forming an alliance to prevent the forces of Chaos from entering the Marshes and slaughtering the armies that hunt for the Chaos God of Confusion. However as each day passes the forces of Order concede inch by inch of blood soaked ground to the Chaos alliance. “One year”; the armies in the south are informed, “One year to find and kill Morahngol K’tah or be thrust into an abyss of darkness forever.”
The Players
Time is of the essence as the armies in the south prepare their hunt for Moranghol, setting up cities to dwell whilst they campaign and quickly fortifying the surrounding areas, ready for battle and prepared for death. The ten armies vying for control of the marshes need ten supreme commanders; luckily we happened to have ten of the most grizzled veterans at the ready.
· In the Purple corner, marching the undead hordes of the tomb kings to battle is High King Adam Chrimes, setting the Legions of the Damned down in the city of Numas to the south of the Great Mortis River ready to expand north and conquer the living that dare to fight there.
· Your local not-so-friendly green horde bustled in on the campaign for Morahngol, led by Big Boss John Hampson, stuffing his Boyz into the thick of it (as any Orc Warboss worth his salt would) in the middle of the central plains north of the River.
· The Mage-Priests of the Lizardmen found it wise to send the Sky blue army to destroy the Chaos God, they also found it in their wisdom to send Mage-Priest Paul Hickey to command them, his first move to begin their divine quest was to build a temple city just to the North of Numas, also bordering the mountains containing Karak-Zorn and the central plains.
· The host of Dark Elves sailed under black sails to the mainland south of the marshes and landed on the north bank of the Great Mortis River near the coast. Led by the Dread Lord Animal they set up their city along the banks of the River, ready to sail and attack crucial locations along the coast if need be.
· The massed sickly green armies of the Ratmen burrowed out of their under-empire to spread the tide of Skaven across the campaign map, appearing to the south of the Marsh their leader Grey Seer Dan Barnes prepared his plague furnaces and Hellpit Abominations and scurried forth to conquer.
· A tribe of Ogres migrated to the badlands ready to spread their Blood Red flags throughout. Ready to smash and, whenever the mood takes them, to feast, they looked to their Overtyrant Ollie Whant who decided they should first set up Camp to the north of the open plains and close enough to feel the comfort drawn from the mountains.
· A contingent of White Wood Elves bound from the forests went forth to the grasslands just north of the open plains, setting up their city south of the Skaven, ready to halt their tide and bring the death to Morahngol. High Born Callum Williams was charged with the task and was determined to do so by any mean necessary.
· Even the Dwarves wandered forth from their great mountain halls, hammers and axes in hand; ready to bring death to Morahngol and any who would stand in their way. Dwarven Lord Andrew Bainbridge ensured his artillery was of a Dwarf standard, ready to hurl, shoot and fire at any who dare oppose the rise of the grumpy blue beards.
· A fledgling Ogre tribe garbed in orange blundered its way towards the chaotic beast, finding themselves setting up camp to the West of the Marshes next to the Pirate City of Pinzence. Oddly enough they are led by Gnoblar Chinbiter Mitch Worton; beggars can’t be choosers I suppose.
· The grey Beastmen of the forests appeared blinking into the sunlight, seeing the hideous display of organisation and the progression of society in the uninhabited Marshes filled Beast Lord Mark Hampson with a burning fury, ready to rampage through civilisation and return anarchy to the land his beasts moved south of the woods into the open plains where the hardest fighting was to be had.
Turn One
After the brief period of calm before the storm Morahngol K’tah made his move, burrowing under the surface and ploughing straight through the Grey Beastmen Empire…but not yet has he reached the surface…that is when true mayhem shall commence. Instantly the opposing armies across the board clashed giving no quarter and all the armies going immediately on the offensive.
Game One: Dwarves vs. Dark Elves
The Dwarves Led by Iorghen Ulventand charged (as much as Dwarves can) along the coastline of the Great Mortis River where a Dark Elf Force under the command of Uraithen Blackheart came forth to meet them in combat. After a charge at the Dwarven gun line both generals crossed blades in an epic combat. Whilst being far greater in speed and style Uraithen was simply unable to penetrate Iorghen’s armour and as a result the Dwarf was able to use sheer brute force and grim determination to deliver a knockout blow from his axe to the Dreadlord, as the Dark Elf force slunk away into the night the surviving Dwarves lifted their weapons to the sky and roared in victory.
Battle Report!
Dwarves VS Dark Elves.
With the Blessings of Ghyran stirring the Marshes of madness into life, Andrew's Dwarfs and Ben's Dark Elves took advantage of the warming weather and clashed on the coastline.
In typical Dwarven fashion, Andrew's army took up their buckets and fashioned crude bulwarks from the sand, whilst Ben let his army spread out, content to let his sizeable block of cold ones splash about in the sea.
In oddly brisk fashion (for a dwarf at least) Andrew went first with little (ok, no) movement and even less magic. The shooting phase saw a cannon and one grudge thrower sail over their targets (we can only assume the gunners failed to compensate for the brisk sea breeze). Their twins were much more obliging however, the other cannon wounding but not destroying a repeater bolt thrower. The Black guard were also greeted by a sizeable chunk of masonry; the rune etched stone landing on target and slaying ten out of the twenty elite warriors.
As the elves swept forward towards the dwarven position, The cold ones thundered ahead, the fearsome mounts baying for blood. As battle commenced, it became obvious that Dwarf's presence here was having an effect on the winds of magic- the flow of eldritch power being reduced to little more than an asthmatic wheeze. Under the watchful eye of Dreadlord Uraithen Blackheart, Ben's sorceress let out a series of curses as she realised the stunted targets in front of her were less than accommodating with regards to her black arts.
The shooting phase saw little improvement with the Dreadlord's sizeable battery of repeater bolt throwers failing to hit their mark. The ranks of repeater crossbow wielding warriors were slightly more successful, a smattering of dwarfs falling with black fletched bolts sticking out from beneath gorgets.
The dwarfs were equally hospitable, greeting the Druchii with a hail of missile fire, the quarrellers tearing through the crossbow men with such force that they were forced to take a panic check. However, under the steely gaze of the sorceress, they thought better of running. The Cannons failed to strike their targets, although this was redeemed somewhat by the grudge thrower continuing to dent the elven ranks.
With a feral shriek, the cold one knights charged into the Longbeards, the frenzied mounts leaping with bared talons as their riders couched lances. The bloodied Black guard made for the Hammerers, bolstered by the piratical corsairs. Ben aimed his shooting at the dwarven artillery that he had now decided had become somewhat of a pain. Sadly, the effect was a little lacklustre, the stunty crews hunkering down beside their stout war machines.
The combat round saw the Cold one knights tear into the longbeards with all the gusto to be expected of velociraptor cavalry. Though thoroughly beaten, the veteran warriors held by virtue of being steadfast. All the while, a chorus of moans echoed up from the dwarfs, complaining at the lack of skill displayed by their opponents and that “Dinosaurs used to be scarier back in my day.”
In his turn, Andrew attempted to charge the hammerers into the corsairs. The hammerers- having longer beards and therefore knowing better than he however, came up with snake eyes on their charge distance, deciding to have a scotch egg or something instead.
The artillery continued to chip away at Ben's bolt throwers with little results. The quarrellers continued their bullying of the crossbowmen, finally breaking the elves and forcing them to flee from the Dawi shafts (giggity). Combat saw more of the longbeards fall, though bereft of the added strength of their lances, the knights found carving through the dwarfs to be more of an arduous process than they originally thought.
The corsairs and black guard swept into the hammerers. Royal bodyguard to Dwarf lord Iorghen Ulventand, the dwarfs hefted their mattocks in preparation for the fight. The crossbowmen managed to catch Uraithen's eye and rallied as they realised the inventive torture their general might have waiting for them if they continued to leg it.
A barrage of bolt thrower fire saw the crew of a grudge thrower thoroughly spitted. In combat, the Cold one knights finally broke the longbeards, running them down and crashing into the grudge thrower ahead. Despite seeing his most veteran clansmen run down, Iorghen gripped his axe haft, sweeping the blade through a handful of elves. Despite the frenzied efforts of the corsairs, not nearly enough of the dwarfs fell and the druchii were pulped as dozens of hammer heads descended onto their skulls. The stunned few survivors took the decidedly wise initiative of buggering off. Snarling behind his fantastic ginger whiskers, the dwarf lord ordered his unit to restrain, turning them to face the marauding cold ones.
Racing to the aid of the grudge thrower, Iorghen and the hammerers crashed into the cold ones. With battle fully joined, targets for the quarellers were sparse and so they continued the campaign of intimidation, shaving a few more elves off of the crossbow squad.
Combat saw the knights butcher the grudge thrower crew and their lance tips pierced the armour of a few hammerers, who repaid in kind.
Whilst their subordinates clashed, the two lords locked eyes, Uraithen raising his blade and letting out a sibilant hiss of challenge to the dwarf lord who raised his rune axe in reply. The nimble elf darted forward, his blade sweeping under Iorghen's guard. Unfortunately, the blade skittered off of the gromril plate of the dwarf lord's armour. Iorghen's rune axe landed more telling blows, cutting grievous furrows into the noble and his mount.
With the battle entering its final stages, the bloodied corsairs continued to limp to safety, whilst the elves shot down the crew of the cannon, already acknowledging that the engines had done their work. In the swirling melee, Uraithen's blade once again failed to land on anything remotely fleshlike. Iorghen had grown weary at this point and deciding to put the proverbial brick into the marigold glove (Had to nick that one Andrew), dispatched the Dreadlord, the runes etched onto his axe blade blazing as they cut into his body.
Seeing their lord cut down bodily, the Cold one knights felt the sneaking suspicion that something was amiss, begin to dawn upon them. This sudden pessimistic outlook was reinforced when the Remaining hammerers lashed out, knocking them from the saddle.
With a few final bouts of desultory shooting, the smoke cleared to find that Andrew had all but wiped the Druchii from the field. Save for the crossbowmen and remaining bolt thrower, his foes were routed. First Blood to Iorghen Ulventand.
Final Victory points:
Dwarves: 2055
Dark Elves 1084
Victory to the Dwarfs.
Game Two: Ogre Kingdoms vs Skaven vs Wood Elves
As the Ogre and Skaven forces charged towards the Wizards tower tucked away in the foothills of the mountains, each preparing to face the other, they both stood still in their tracks as they saw the tower was already occupied by the Wood Elves, a force they were sure was nowhere near this location. Undaunted both armies prepared to storm either side of the tower, surprised at how calm and collected their Wood Elf prey was being. As both sides charged relentlessly at their prize the occupying Wood Elf army mage stood alone in the tower and silently dominated the winds of magic, casting and dispelling incoming spells exactly as required. Meanwhile both forces charging the tower were set upon by ambushes, whilst the Ogres fell in their droves the Skaven grimly ploughed on, only to eventually being repelled by the heroic Wood Elf defenders.
Battle Report!
Ogre Kingdoms VS Skaven VS Wood Elves (Battle Royale)
With the winds of magic stirred by the presence of the vast edifice dominating the battlefield, Wood elf spellweaver Neastra- under the command of Callum, was the first to deploy, flitting from her pathways in the twilight realm, to take up residency within the wizards tower.
Next came the chittering, bearded hordes of Dan Barnes' Skaven, under the command of his grey seer- The artist formally known as the horned prophet (He was big in the 80's don't you know), erupted from their subterranean lair, swamping the right table edge.
Last but certainly not least, the illustrious (And flatulent) Fatsplatter tribe of ogres under the command of Marek Fatback who himself is commanded by the Gnoblar Fez, who in turn is commanded by the handsome and wise Mitch Worton (It's like Inception up in here.), thundered onto the left hand side of the table.
The wood elves began by consolidating their position around the tower, the Glade guard putting strings to bows as they prepared to protect their mage. Over on the right, the wardancers and Willow Smith, the treeman, jumped into the woods next to the oncoming Skaven horde. The rat folk eyed the treeline nervously, paws gripping around spear hafts as they watched for any sign of moving bark.
The Skaven pushed forward, the throng of Plague monks pushing the pestilential furnace of priest Draxqueek, trundling into the forest. Dan's Grey seer showed a little more athleticism, his Storm vermin unit clearing the same forests and most likely flashing some rude gestures in the direction of their diseased brethren.
With typical gusto, Marek's tribe rolled forward, thighs the size of ale barrels, chafing together as the army surged towards the tower. Most of the army ended up inside the woods whilst staring down an army of Asrai (no doubt there was some cunning plan forming in Fez's cashew sized brain).
Taking advantage of the eldritch energies playing over the stonework of the wizard's tower, Naestra casts throne of vines over her army, only to find the spell dissipated by the efforts of The artist formally known as the horned prophet.
Buoyed by this success, the grey seer than attempts to cast warp lightning on the wood elves, the spell only stopped by virtue of Naestra's wand of wych elm. Returning the favour, the wood elf casts tree singing on the forest where the plague monks are residing, rolling irresistible force for the attempt. 4 monks are slain as the ancient trees are provoked into bloodshed whilst Naestra survives the backlash of magical energy released.
Drunk with power now, she attempts to cast flesh to stone on the dryads, sadly, her previous exertions prove to be too much and she fails to cast.
The opening shooting efforts see the Branchwraith picking out Marek, attempting to snipe him with deadly grasping vines. The attack fails to scratch the tyrant's corpulent form however (we can only hope she was aiming for Fez.) The glade guard send a flurry of arrows at the stormvermin, dropping two of the elite rats. Deciding this is a poor showing, the noble carrying the battle standard, pulls out his hail of doom arrow. Flashing his comrades a cocksure grin, he lets loose, the arrow splitting into several as they speed towards the stormvermin. His expression falters however as only a single rat falls to the barrage. He hefts the banner once more, trying to blot out the laughter of the glade guard.
In the second turn, the Wardancers bamfed into the woods behind the ogres, talismanic tattoos shimmering in the gloom beneath the eaves as they readied their blades.
Over on the right, a rumbling heralded the arrival of the Hellpit abomination, it's crude sutures tearing as it hefted it's lumpen form through the tree line. A mass of slaves followed in the beast's wake, the downtrodden ratmen herded mercilessly towards the tower.
On the ogres flank, a woeful dirge began to sound as a mighty phalanx of gnoblars came storming onto the table, spoons and shoehorns glinting in the sunlight.
Harnessing the winds of magic once more, Neastra cast flesh to stone on the dryad unit, the power of Ghyran hardening the forest spirit's already formidable forms. Responding in kind, the grey seer tries to throw out a warp lightning but fails to seize upon enough eldritch power and his concentration is broken.
The Ogre butcher felt it was time to get in on this magic lark and so, hefting a cold platter of troll offal, he attempted to cast trollguts on the surrounding ogres. The wood elf sorceress, foreseeing what a pain regenerating fat could become, wisely chose to dispel.
Turning her attention back to the encroaching ratmen, Naestra focussed her wrath on the plague monks, casting Dwellers below on the unit and the pestilential soup tureen they were pushing. 27 of the poxed rats are dragged to their deaths by killer moles, the plague priest left staring down sullenly at his depleted unit. As if to add insult to injury, the magical backlash unleashed from the miscast then flits harmlessly over the waifish sorceress.
Nocking arrows to bow strings, the glade guard take down 5 plague monks, whilst their brethren on the left flank chip away at the leadbelchers, harming them enough to force a panic check. The dim witted ogres stared dully down at their cannons and realised they'd better fire before they went home and so decided to stay. Now a tad perturbed at the leaf wearing twiglets in front of them, the leadbelchers opened fire, 3 of the elves fall, forcing their comrades to flee in panic.
Turn three sees battle joined as the dryads sweep into the ogres, followed by the wardancers charging into the rear, leaving the ogres scratching their heads in confusion as they were sure they checked that wood on the way in. Bolstered by the sudden aggression from their side, the glade guard take heart and rally.
Over on the right flank, the musk of fear is verily squirted as the warpfire thrower crew fail to wound the treeman as it thundered into them.
The mournfang trot onto the board just in time to watch their perambulating comrades counter charge into the wood elves, possibly spurred on by the tinny yell of “Belly bounce!” thrown up by fez.
The plague censer bearers are over come with a sudden protective urge in regards to their clan skyre buddies and rush to their rescue, charging Willow Smith.
With the battle in full flow, Naestra attempted to find herself a centre of calm. Her attempts to shift the woods was easily dispelled by the artist formally known as, whilst the grey seers own warp lightning based efforts were similarly stopped. Finding herself besieged on both sides, the wood elf barely dispelled toothcracker on the ogres.
Naestra's concentration finally slipped as she rolled another irresistible as she cast shield of thorns on the dryads. Her luck finally ran out as the roiling energy swept her into the realms of chaos. As the tear in reality closed over, many could swear that the faint echoes of malevolent laughter could be heard drifting over the battlefield.
With the troublesome mage dispatched, the skaven felt their grip upon the winds of magic tighten, allowing the plague priest to cast wither upon the Treeman, the forest spirit's bark form becoming tarnished with rot.
Shooting saw the arrows of the glade guard take down 8 of the plague monks, severely diminishing the unit. The leadbelchers took aim at the dryads, two of the forest spirits being taken down by heavy shot.
The combat phase opened with the fanatics of clan pestilens swinging their censers bodily, wafting heavy clouds of warpstone based plague over their towering foe. Three of their number appeared to be significantly less devout than their brethren, succumbing to their own gas. Unperturbed by the spasming corpses of their brothers, nor the jellied remains of the former warpfire thrower crew; the plague censer bearers lashed out with their flails taking 5 wounds off of the treeman, reducing it to one wound. Grievously wounded though he was, the skaven made a fatal error in leaving Willow alive as he proceeded to tear apart the rat folk, over running into the stormvermin commanded by the grey seer.
Howling out a challenge, The branchwraith swiftly dispatches the ogre champion dense enough to accept. Her kin lash out with preternatural swiftness, taking a hefty toll on the ogres, the equally agile wardancers cut heavily into the rear ranks of the ogres also. However, considering the overwhelming mass of sheer mean fat surrounding them, it seemed that their efforts would be in vain.
Clutching at the dice, Mitch then proceeded to astound us all by simply not hitting very much at all. Even the famously violent (and corpulent) Marek, seemed disinterested in the mortal combat raging before him, barely striking down a single dryad. For all the ogre fluffage occurring, the ridiculousness of the melee was further compounded when Callum then decided to pass an obscene amount of ward saves. Clearly blessed by the spirit of Orion, he appeared to have not only survived by the skin of his arse, but had also won combat! Having assessed the situation from a tactical standpoint, Fez felt it was better if the ogres decided to cheese it, the lumbering brutes breaking in all directions, some even lucky enough to make it out of the reach of the vengeful Asrai.
Turn four commenced with the wardancers continuing their relentless pursuit of the ogres. The tattooed warriors leapt into the fleeing ogre unit, cutting them and the battle standard bearer to ribbons. Not particularly encouraged by the untimely death of their chums, the rest of the ogres politely declined to return to the battle, thighs chafing as they continued to run.
Over on the right flank, the roaming tree kin charged into the much depleted plague monk unit, the impact almost jarring the priest from his high platform.
Without the aid of his learned comrade, the wood elf magic phase was left to Willow who had a pop at tree singing, only to find it masterfully dispelled by Dan's grey seer. Trying his best to ignore the boisterous trees laying into the unit, priest Draxqueek decided to bestow his blessings upon his own men, gifting their blades with a patina of blessed filth.
In combat, Willow's rampage was sadly halted as the lumbering giant found himself pierced upon many halberds, his oaken form crashing to the ground before he even had a chance to strike. Breathing a sigh of relief, The artist formally known as the horned prophet, claimed that he had everything under control from the start and hissed at his troops to reform.
The treekin tear through the plague monks, paying no heed to their poisoned blades. Their triumph was short lived as the plague monk downed one of the creatures with a mighty swing of his flail, before yelling at his fume addled crew to unleash the smog wreathed wrecker ball attached to the plague furnace. Colliding bodily with the tree kin, the wrecker took a great toll though not enough to swing the combat in Dan's favour. However, drunk on poisonous fumes and filled with a sense of self righteousness, the priest remained unbreakable.
The game reaching it's final stages, the wardancers turned on the mournfang, their slender blades still slick with the blood of the monstrous cavalry's kin. With a mighty squeak, the gnoblars rushed to the aid of their heftier comrades, connecting with the wardancers. The Dryads charged into the remaining leadbelchers who could only watch dumbfounded as the forest spirits came upon them, shrieking hellishly. True to form, the rest of Mitch's ogres fled off the table, Fez shouting well wishes to the remnants of his battle line as he rode atop Marek's shoulders.
Despite having soul control over the winds of magic this turn, Dan's grey seer was unable to perform even the most paltry of cantrips. Shooting was hardly more eventful, the glade guard firing arrows into the approaching mass of the hellpit abomination, managing to take three wounds off of the dread creature.
In the combat phase, a clash of heroes ensued as Cribbins, the battle scarred gnoblar nipple biter mercernary, bellowed a challenge towards the branchwraith. Now, whilst it may have appeared to all participating that Cribbins was cut down grievously by the marauding forest spirit, we have it on good account that the nimble mercenary in fact evaded her blows by dint of his natural agility and was later seen scurrying towards the rear of the ogre ranks.
The nimble wardancers were noticeably fatigued after their earlier slaughter and so their blows fell short of the mournfang, who repaid the blood debt, crushing a few. Not to be outdone, the mighty gnoblars lashed out, taking down a further two!
The diminished Man eaters lash out at the dryads but find themselves unable to overcome the vengeful creatures. Their resolve breaks and they flee.
Over on the right, the wood elves impetus stalls as, unable to dent the plague furnace, the tree kin are felled (tee hee), leaving only one remaining.
Going into the final turn, the wizards tower was still in the hands of the wood elves, though they faced a mass of skaven that threatened to overwhelm them. To emphasise this point, Dan sent his slaves into the glade guard, trusting in sheer numbers to win over actual, you know...competency.
The magic phase was once again desultory, with warp lightning failing to go off once more.
In combat, the Gnoblars continued to excel themselves, cutting down more of the wardancers and swinging the combat in their favour. The agile glade guard cut deep into the skaven slaves, their natural skill making sure that their blades slipped easily past any form of guard the rats could muster. Though the roiling mass of teeth and claws dragged a few of the elves down, the Asrai still prevailed, though the vast amount of ranks supporting the skaven meant that their courage was sufficiently bolsterered.
The remaining tree kin was finally dispatched by Draxqueek who's squeaks of victory died as he realised he was fairly high up and bereft of followers to push him. Sadly his cries of assistance were lost amongst the din of battle.
With combat raging at the base of the edifice, the game drew to a close with the Hellpit and the slaves vying for control against the glade guard. With the tower looking to remain in no-ones hands, the mighty tome of rules was consulted where it was discovered that if anyone of the contesting players had slain an army general then that would count towards secondary victory conditions. With his army having herded Marek Fatback off the table, Callum's Wood Elves had just clinched it! The Asrai seized the tower just barely, Dan's grey seer sending up a barrage of inventive curses towards the victors.
Victory to the Wood Elves!
Game Three: Tomb Kings vs Lizardmen
The next battle commenced to the south in the mighty desert of the dead with Adam’s Tomb Kings defending their realm from the cold blooded terror of Paul’s Lizardmen. King Raamket II had noticed this invasion and brought his mighty forces to bear down on the invading Lizards who were being led by a mighty Slaan-Mage Priest of the old ones. How would this battle in the desert end?
Battle Report!
Tomb Kings VS Lizardmen (Dawn Attack)
As the warriors of the Old ones marched relentlessly through the punishing desert heat, the ground beneath them began to shift. Disturbed from their slumber, the legions of Numas arose from the ground, sand running from their skeletal forms in heavy rivulets.
Despite rising to meet the enemy force encroaching upon their homeland, the incantations of awakening were flawed, with King Raamket II and his herald emerging away from their tomb guard. Similarly, the skeleton warrior horde found themselves separated from the main battle line. Offering his sincerest apologies, Alhazred, the army's Hierophant, kindly put out the pressing matter of the approaching dinosaurs.
The battle begun with the king and his retainer shuffling their dessicated limbs to the tomb guard. Alhazred urged his skeleton archer unit forward, whilst the skeleton warriors struggled to rejoin the main bulk of the army, bereft as they were of the liche priest's incantations.
Magic saw the master of the mysteries attempt to cast an incantation of protection upon the army, shielding them from harm until the divided force could gain a semblance of coherency. He found his best efforts effortlessly dispatched by the Slann mage priest, the ancient mage becalming the winds of magic, denying Alhazred the power required to cast. Raising a dessicated fist towards the enemy, the hierophant shook it vigorously in the toad's direction.
Shooting saw the blessed arrows of Asph take down a few of the saurus warriors, the enchanted missiles jinking and changing course mid air to strike their targets.
Taking advantage of the Nehekaran's disrupted battleline, the Slaan urged his army forward, Terradons swooping ahead on leathery pinions, preparing to drop heavy rocks upon the undead. Bands of skinks followed in their wake, blowpipes drawn (though what they hoped poison would achieve against an army entirely bereft of veins is anyone's guess). The saurus advanced more cautiously, the brooding warriors closing ranks around their glorious leader. On the right flank, several packs of salamanders sprinted ahead, preparing to unleash gouts of fiery breath on the somewhat flammable Raamket.
Were he still able to sweat, Alhazred would be perspiring like a proverbial, as he struggled to contain the roiling energies harnessed by slann. Despite his best efforts, the mage priest was able to cast wither on the tomb guard, desiccating further, their mummified forms.
The prowling salamanders took advantage of these turn events, one of the creatures slaying 15 of the tomb guard with a single breath. His packmates were less successful, choosing instead to snack upon the skink handlers constantly poking them in the nether regions. Justified some might say.
Still struggling to reach his embattled tomb guard, Raamket continued to shuffle, followed swiftly (ish) by his standard bearer. The skeleton warriors continued their march to the centre whilst the chariot block and necrosphinx continued their posturing.
The magic phase saw Alhazred fail to cast all but a small skullstorm. The raging vortex swept forward towards the lizardmen, halting just in front of the Saurus. The lack of protective incantations invoked however, left the forces of Numas extremely fragile as the battle line was unable to heal itself. Similarly, the drain on magical energies left the casket of souls unable to release the vengeful spirits enclosed within.
Shooting saw the chariots and archers pick off a few skinks but was otherwise a desultory affair.
The lizardmen continued their advance, the terradons dropping their missiles onto the chariots as they swooped overhead, managing to damage one. The salamanders continued to pincer the tomb guard, whilst the stegadons thundered ahead.
The slann found himself hampered by his own becalming presence as he was unable to seize upon a significant amount of power. As it was, no spells were cast this turn and the magical vortex failed to dissipate.
The respite was short lived however, as the salamanders continued to barrage the tomb guard, though without the effects of wither upon them, the undead proved more durable. King Raamket and his general were both wounded by the attacks as the exuberant dinosaurs over shot their mark. Invoking the sacred of incantation of “stop, drop and roll” the monarch was able to avoid lasting harm.
The skinks opened fire on the chariots, dropping three of the machines as their darts found the mark, the crew dropping to an inanimate heap.
Almost at the Tomb guard, Raamket cursed as he saw the ranks of lizard folk sweeping around the flanks of his beleaguered force. Yelling vigorously at Alhazred (what's the ancient Nehekaran for “Get it together?”).
The chariots crashed into the skinks, weathering their hurried shots, whilst the rest of the army desperately consolidated.
Alhazred continued his stellar work in the magic phase, casting bugger all, leaving Raamket sighing with exasperation as even the skull storm drifted back their way.
Shooting found a few salamanders dropped, though the stubborn beats refused to panic. The chariots predictably ran through the skinks, the crew stopping for a moment only to hose the remains from their wheels.
The battlefield dominated now, the salamanders closed in on the forces of Numas whilst the skink priest atop the stegadon aligned the mirrors upon the ancient engine of the gods.
Unleashing the Aztec laser of doom, the engine of the gods destroyed the chariots utterly, prompting a victory squeak from the skink priest. The salamanders continued to bully the tomb guard, wiping the last out and consuming the tomb herald in fire. Filled with righteous anger (and annoyance at his slooooooow limbs), Raamket hefted his mighty kopesh, preparing to fall upon the salamanders. As he charged majestically forth, a shadow fell across the sun and pausing to look up, Raamket saw a terradon passing overhead, followed by a rock falling towards him with unerring accuracy. Thus was the Regent of the Northern marches taken out of the battle by the most slapstick of fates. His ruined body exploding into a swarm of scarabs, he slew the skinks who had such temerity to lay him though, before darting away to his necropolis, to rest and regrow his corporeal form.
Bereft of their king'S leadership, there was little the Nehekarans could do but delay the inevitable for as long as possible. Just when despair began to set in (Well an undead sort of ennui), the hierophant revealed he had an ace up his mothbitten sleeve. Pointing beyond the embattled saurus, he motioned to the ground behind them, the sand undulating as the trio of sepulchral stalkers prepared to emerge, petrifying all those who looked upon them. His triumphant expression was short lived however as the shifting stopped, the constructs deciding they'd rather not get involved at this juncture.
Unleashing a flurry of inventive swear words, Alhazred watched as the mighty necrosphinx was laid low by a rampaging stegadon. The final blow came when the skeleton spearmen finally arrived from their ramble, defeating a small band of skinks. The idiotic grins plastered on their fleshless faces was more than the hierophant could take. With a mental command, he ordered the remnants of the force to retreat, abandoning the mine to the Slann.
Massacre for the Lizardmen!
Game Four: Beastmen vs Ogre Kingdoms
Game Five: Orcs & Goblins vs Dwarfs
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