Recently, two of my fellow gamers played a battle of WFB -- the first Fantasy battle my gaming group has seen in a long time, since we are all predominantly 40k players. Though I was not actually participating in the battle, I offered to do a batrep of it, and both of them accepted. So it is that I have written a fluffy batrep in the tradition of Chilipeppa and Luc Arkham. Enjoy!
Bretonnians (1500 points):
Paladin- barded warhorse, lance, heavy armour, Virtue of Knightly Temper
Paladin- barded warhorse, Banner of the Lady, Virtue of Duty
Damsel- level 2, 2 dispel scrolls
Damsel- steed, level 2, 2 dispel scrolls
9 Knights Errant- full command, Errantry Banner
8 Knights of the Realm- full command
5 Grail Knights- full command
10 Peasant Bowmen- Villein
10 Peasant Bowmen- Villein
10 Peasant Bowmen- Villein
Grimgore’s Ardboyz (1500 points):
Black Orc Big Boss- boar, great weapon, heavy armour, Nobbla’s ‘Elmet
Orc Shaman- level 2, 2 dispel scrolls
Orc Shaman- level 2, 2 dispel scrolls
15 Black Orcs- great weapons, full command
20 Big ‘Uns- light armour, shields, full command, Nogg’s Banner of Butchery
20 Big ‘Uns- light armour, shields, full command
10 Arrer Boyz
Boar Chariot
3 River Trolls
Effigy of Gork
SPELLS:
Bretonnian Damsel on foot- Master of Wood, Master of Stone
Bretonnian Damsel on horse- The Oxen Stands, The Wolf Hunts
Shaman #1- Hand of Gork, Ere We Go
Shaman #2- Ere We Go, Gaze of Mork
EFFIGY SPELLS:
Black Orcs- Bash 'em Lads!
1st Big 'Uns- Ere We Go
2nd Big 'Uns- Bash 'em Lads!
Gaspard du Couronne grimaced as he saw the village of Laufeld burning in the distance. Even from this distance, he could smell the scent of burning timber and flesh hanging heavily in the air. It was a smell he could never get used to, no matter how many times he smelled it.
The Paladin tightened the grip on his lance. A warhost of foul Orcs had come here to pillage and slay, and Laufel had fallen foul of their vile attentions. It was only thanks to a swift messenger that he received the news of the Orc attack and had been able to muster his knights. So far, he was unsure of how many villagers had died -- all he knew was that a good portion of the population had already escaped and were making their way to the safety of the castle. Those villagers that could fight had taken up their hunting bows and vowed to fight alongside the knights to avenge their village.
Through the smoke, Gaspard could just make out hulking figures gathering in large groups. Obviously, the Orcs had seen them, and were preparing for battle. Gaspard would have attacked them early on and caught them by surprise, but such was the thickness of the smoke that he and his knights could have easily been ambushed.
Gaspard turned to Bertrand, his standard bearer. “Have the men form up for battle,” he said. “We’ll make the Greenskins come to us.”
Bertrand nodded, and shouted the order to the rest of the knights. As the warriors of Bretonnia took up their positions, Sophie, one of the damsels of the Lady that accompanied the force, walked up near Gaspard. Her fair face was set in an expression of deep concern.
“Something is not right, Sir Gaspard,” she said.
Gaspard raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” he asked.
The damsel stared across the field at the burning village. “Some great power accompanies the Greenskins. I can feel it . . . It is vast and brutal.”
“Orc magic?” Gaspard asked.
The fair maiden shook her head. “More than that,” she said. “It is a raw force of vast power. I can feel it: it is alive. It hungers for battle.”
Gaspard shuddered slightly. He was certain that no good could come from this premonition. Shaking his head, the knight turned back to face the village. Let them bring the daemons of Chaos itself, he thought. Under the protection of the Lady, the Knights of Bretonnia would conquer all.
At Gaspard’s signal, the knights dismounted from their horses as one, drew their swords, knelt down, and began t pray.
***********
ORCS TURN 1
Ruzgob Knightbasha grinned when he saw the Bretonnian knights in the distance. He and his boyz had travelled far eastward after the fighting at Middenheim, and had burned and pillaged their way eastward across the ‘umie lands with reckless abandon, smashing aside anyone who dared to stand in their way. By now, this was perhaps the twenty-ninth or thirtieth village he had raided so far. Of course, killing weak ‘umie peasants was beginning to be a dull, unchallenging affair, and he was glad that some ‘umie warriors had finally showed up. He was even more pleased to see that they were knights -- he had earned the name “Knightbasha” by slaying the horse-riders of the Empire. Now he would have more fun bashing the knights of Bretonnia . . .
Just ten minutes ago, while the rest of the warband was busy smashing and looting stuff, one of his boyz reported a force of armoured, horse-mounted humans approaching in the distance. At the mere mention of an approaching enemy force, Ruzgob’s ladz had stopped smashing stuff and playing soccer with severed heads, and readied themselves for battle. Grinning, Ruzgob trotted along on his boar behind the battle line, watching as his boyz got ready. Already, Ruzgob’s fellow Black Orcs, under the leadership of their boss Guzrag, had arranged themselves in a disciplined formation, their massive axes and mauls at ready. They were the biggest, toughest and meanest Orcs in the warband, and they had smashed countless foes in the past. To their right, the Boar Chariot trundled up into position, its drivers impatient to charge headlong at the enemy. Personally, Ruzgob couldn‘t blame them.
Next to the Black Orcs were a trio of slimy River Trolls that his shamans had managed to goad into accompanying them. The Trolls were incredibly stupid, and had an annoying habit of eating Ruzgob’s lads, but these disadvantages were offset by their resilience in battle. To the left of the Trolls, Nazgrub and Grontsnar’s boyz grouped up, hurling insults at one another all the while. While Ruzgob was watching them, though, they would at least keep in line and not start attacking one another. At the back, the Arrer Boyz took up positions on top of a hill, and behind the main mobs, the two shamans Zagrod and Morgrazz stood ready. Most important of all, though, was the big effigy of Gork they had set up in the village. With Gork himself watching over them, they couldn’t possibly lose.
Ruzgob grinned to himself: he took great pride in having a warband comprised of the biggest and toughest Orcs around. All of his boyz were Big ‘Uns (well, except maybe the Arrer Boyz), and there were no weak Gobbos whatsoever. Gobbos were, after all, weak. It was because of the lack of Gobbos, the size of his boyz, and the fact that they carried around an effigy, that many other Orcs (and some ‘umies) thought they were part of Grimgore Ironhide’s Waaaaagh! Which, of course, was just ridiculous -- Ruzgob served no boss but himself.
Seeing that his boyz were ready for a fight, Ruzgob rode up near the center of the line and raised his massive axe above his head.
“WAAAAAAAGH!” he roared.
“WAAAAAAAAAGH!” his warband echoed. With the battle cry still in their throats, the Orcs charged off towards the praying Bretonnians.
The Black Orcs and Nazgrub’s boyz advanced straight forwards, while the Trolls loped ahead of them. With Ruzgob behind them, pointing them in the right direction, the dumb beasts weren’t holding the rest of them up like they sometimes did.
The Arrer Boyz, meanwhile, after climbing a tall hill at the back, reached the top, only to discover that the hill in the middle of the battlefield obscured their view of the Bretonnians. After cursing vehemently for several minutes, the Arrer Boyz walked down the hill again, broke out some bottles of squig wine and a deck of cards, and began to play euchre. Their bows were useless for now, so they could afford to wait.
Meanwhile, the hunched shaman Zagrod hobbled on his staff behind Nazgrub’s Boyz, trying to stay close to the Waaaagh power they were generating. To the left, Morgrazz, Zagrod’s rival, followed in the wake of the Black Orcs. To the right of the battlefield, Zagrod saw Grotsnar’s boyz slowly trying to clamber up the rocky hill in front of them. Seeing that they weren‘t really moving in much of a hurry, Zagrod decided to give the lazy gits a little push . . .
Zagrod clenched his staff tightly and tapped in to the powers of the waaagh! His eyes rolled over, and foam dribbled down his mouth as the power took hold of him. Through sheer force of will, he channelled the powers and unleashed the towards Grotsnar’s boyz. The big Orcs were suddenly surrounded by glowing green auras. Before they realized it, their legs were suddenly moving faster than before, running up the steep slope of the hill against their will. Many Orcs tripped and fell over one another, and quite a few fistfights broke out. Nonetheless, the Orcs reached the top of the hill in record time, and the magical glows around them disappeared.
Zagrod chuckled. He loved doing that to them.
BRETONNIANS TURN 1
Gaspard felt a feeling of strange calmness and serenity wash over him. He felt like some pure, holy force had come over and touched him. Slowly, he opened his eyes and stood back up. Slowly but surely, his fellow knights did the same. The Lady was with them today.
Turning to the ruins of the village, Gaspard saw the Orcs advancing towards him. Gaspard watched as the Orcs advanced. He was surprised at how large these brutes were -- if anything, there was a greater proportion of larger Orcs in this warband than in any he had faced before. On the left, he could see a mob of them clambering over on the hill, while, on the right, he could see more of the brutes, accompanied by a trio of disgusting trolls. Most surprising of all, however, was the large stone that the Orcs had placed in the centre of the village. The huge rock was crudely cut and chiselled so that it took the appearance of a vast Orcish face. Crude totems and glyphs had been erected around the strange idol, and Gaspard felt his blood boil at the thought of the Orcs brazenly setting up an altar to their vile god on Bretonnian soil.
“That’s it,” Sophie suddenly side. “That’s where the power is coming from.”
Gaspard turned to face the damsel. “What do you mean?” he asked.
Sophie looked up at Gaspard with her clear blue eyes. “Gaspard, the Greenskins’ god is with them on the battlefield,” she said.
Gaspard was taken aback. “Are you sure?” he asked.
The damsel nodded. “Power that vast cannot come from any mere mage,” she said. “The Orc god is working through that idol.”
Gaspard shuddered. With grim resolve, he clutched his lance tightly.
“We have the Lady watching over us today,” he said. “No barbarian god shall defeat us while we have her blessing.”
Gaspard turned to his knights and shouted the order to remount.
All across the line, knights remounted their faithful steeds. On the right, Knights Errant gripped their lances tightly in anticipation. Gaspard could almost imagine them itching to kick their spurs and charge headlong towards the foe. Gaspard smiled and shook his head. Young bucks such as these were always too eager to prove themselves. To the left of the Knights Errant, the more experienced Knights of the Realm watched the Orcs with more patience. In the centre of their ranks rode the damsel Irena. Gaspard knew that the knights would die to the last man just to protect Irena -- it was the way of chivalry.
Next to the Knights Errant were Gaspard, Bertrand, and the Grail Knights, while Sophie stood behind them, ready to aid them with her magic. In the hills behind the knights, meanwhile, were three companies of peasant bowmen -- villagers of Laufeld who had agreed to fight alongside the knights.
As the brutish Orcs advanced, Bertrand turned to Gaspard. “Shall we charge?” he asked.
Gaspard shook his head. “At this distance, our momentum will run out before we reach them,” he said. ‘We’d best hold our ground until they get closer.”
Meanwhile, standing near the base of the hill, Sophie watched the Orcs advanced. It sickened her deeply to see these foul creatures defiling the lands of Bretonnia, burning its villages, and slaughtering its people. She would punish these beasts, and show them the power of the Lady.
Raising her hand, Sophie closed her eyes and began to whisper arcane chants. Gradually, her voice rose as she felt the power gradually growing inside her. As she chanted, the power grew and grew. Her hand shook as magical energies inside her began to churn at their limits.
With a final chant, Sophie let loose the power. Her hands glowed as she invoked the powers of the land. Then, without warning, she felt he power suddenly pushed back. Sophie staggered back, stunned. Her power had been blocked somehow -- there Orcs had a spell caster among their number.
Cursing, Sophie closed her eyes and tried to seek out her opposite number. In her minds eye, she could see two ragged, hunched individuals hobbling behind the Orc lines. The raw, brutal power emitted by the Greenskin horde and the barbaric idol radiated around these two individuals like moths to a flame.
Sophie cursed and opened her eyes. While that idol stood on the battlefield, the Greenskins’ magic would be hard to stop.
The Elmric, Villein of the peasant bowmen positioned on the hill behind her, noticed her evident displeasure. “Is something the matter, m’lady?” he asked.
Sophie turned and shook her head. “Nothing for you to worry about,” she said. “Just give those Greenskins a hail of arrows.”
The villein grinned, revealing a few missing teeth. “With pleasure, m’lady,” he said.
The villein barked an order to his bowmen, who immediately notched arrows to their bows and raised them. Further down the line, the other two companies of bowmen raised their bows as well.
With a shout from the villein, thirty bows all let loose a whooshing hail of black arrows that, for a brief minute, darkened the sky. The ground around the charging Orcs was soon littered with arrows. As Gaspard watched, one of the Black Orcs fell, an arrow protruding from its neck. Sadly, Gaspard could see no other casualties, and the charge of the Greenskin horde had not been slowed in any way.
The paladin sighed. You could never rely on peasants to shoot accurately . . .
ORCS TURN 2
Ruzgob roared with rage as the arrows fell around his boyz. What the zog was this? Instead of coming out an charging them head-on, the damned humans were sitting back and peppering them with weak arrows! The Orc Boss was well and truly disappointed -- he had hoped that these humans would provide a good fight, but so far, they were turning out to be just a bunch of weak sissies. Even more insulting, one of Ruzgob’s own Black Orc lads slumped over and fell, an arrow protruding from his neck. Clearly, he hadn’t been wearing his armour properly.
The hail of arrows, however, hadn’t slowed his boyz down at all -- they were still charging forwards, eager to give those ‘umies a good smashing. Well, everyone except the River Trolls, that was -- the damned slimy gits suddenly stopped in their tracks, picking their noses, staring at the sky, and generally acting like the stupid idiots that they were.
With a snarl of rage, Ruzgob kicked his boar in the flank, causing the porker to squeal and accelerate. Ruzgob rode up behind one of the Trolls and conked it on the head with the flat of his axe. The surprised Troll whirled around, and its fellows, seeing their friend’s sudden movement, turned as well.
“OI!” Ruzgob roared, pointing to the Bretonnian battle line. “GET ‘EM!”
Having been given this nice reminder, the River Trolls turned and charged off towards the Bretonnians. Well, “charged” wasn’t exactly the right word -- it was really more of a very fast waddle (which was all they could do on their squat, webbed feet). However, with this fast waddle, they quickly outpaced the rest of the charging Orcs. Clearly, the Trolls were hungry.
Meanwhile, Zagrod watched as Grotsnar’s ladz slowly picked their way across the dense ground of the hill. While they were up there, they would be a prime target for bow fire, and they would probably be late getting to the actual fighting. The shaman groaned. It looked like he would have to give the stupid gits another push . . .
Clenching his bonewood staff tightly, Zagrod began to tap once again into the powers of the Waaagh! The shaman began to judder violently as he felt the raw power building up inside him. His adrenaline rushed as he felt like he was going to burst . . .
Suddenly, the magic energy was brutally ripped from Zagrod’s body before he could cast his spell. The shaman fell onto his back, shocked. He felt blood trickle out of his ears and nose. He growled in irritation: one of the human sorcerers had defeated his spell! He looked to the left, and saw that damned git Morgrazz chuckling at his misfortune.
Zagrod deftly gave Morgrazz a rude gesture, and stood back up. He’d teach those weedy humans to make a mockery of him . . .
BRETONNIANS TURN 2
Gaspard glared sternly at the approaching Orc horde. Before long, they would be in charge range. The Paladin turned to Bertrand, nodded. The standard bearer promptly turned to the rest of his army and roared “ADVANCE!”
The Knights of the Realm and the Grail Knights slowly trotted forwards, lowering their lances in preparation for the inevitable charge. It was then, however, that Gaspard noticed the Knights Errant looking with excitement at the approaching River Trolls. Before the Paladin could order them to halt, the young knights lowered their lances and kicked their steeds into a charge towards the beasts with exuberant war cries.
The Knights Errant crashed into the oncoming Trolls with tremendous force. To their surprise, however, their lances either broke harmlessly against the Trolls’ thick, hides, or slid against their wet, slimy skin. The few actual wounds inflicted by the lances slowly knit back together. Gaspard cursed -- Trolls always did have an annoying tendency to regenerate damage. One knight, having broken his lance, kicked his stirrups hard, causing his steed to rear up and kick one of the Trolls in the forehead with its front hooves. The blow was powerful enough to send the Troll staggering back, surprised, as dark blood dribbled down its forehead.
As the Knight yelled in triumph, however, the Trolls cheeks suddenly swelled up. In an instant, a stream of sickly green bile gushed out of the Troll’s mouth onto the knight, covering him in fetid slime and stinking fish guts. As Gaspard watched, the knight clutched his unprotected head, screamed, and fell from his mount. A second later, the bile began to bubble, and the knight’s armour and flesh began to dissolve at an incredible rate.
Before the other knights could react, the other Trolls followed suit and vomited as well. More knights fell, the corrosive vomit eating away at them. Despite these losses, however, the Knights Errant raised their banner high and drew their swords, determined to avenge their brethren.
Seeing the Errants fighting for their lives against the Trolls, Sophie decided to give the Orcs something to worry about. Seeing the greenskins advancing near the woods on the right, Sophie closed her eyes and began to chant. She felt her link with the land becoming stronger, and the trees slowly began to answer to her will. To her frustration, however, the spell was immediately blocked by the Greenskin mages. Her blue eyes burning with anger, Sophie concentrated and tried to invoke another spell. Concentrating on the Orcs advancing on the left flank over the rocky hill, she closed her eyes and began to re-establish the link again.
The damsel grinned as she felt the Orcs’ blocking attempts brushed aside by the power of her spell. The Orcs on the hill yelped in bewilderment when the very bedrock they were walking on began to explode underneath them, sending shards of rock scything through their ranks. Many Orcs fell with deeply bleeding wounds and cuts. Sophie smiled, but then noticed that none of the Orcs had fallen -- those that had been injured merely stood back up again and continued to advance, ignoring their wounds.
Meanwhile, Elmric, the Villein of the right most company of Archers, fitted an arrow to his bow and gazed at the advancing Orc horde. His attention was fixed on the big armoured brutes advancing down the right. Remembering how one of their number had already fallen to a lucky arrow, he signalled for the rest of his archers to target them.
The peasants drew back their bows and let loose another hail of arrows. The Black Orcs looked up to see another hail of arrows come raining down on them. Their leader barely had time to yell an order before the arrows struck the unit hard. Most of the arrows either struck the ground or bounced off of their heavy armour. Two of the beasts, however, fell, impaled by wooden shafts. Elmric grinned as he saw his own arrow -- one that was marked by red fletching -- bury itself deep in a Black Orc’s eye socket. The brute staggered for a minute, surprised, before falling over with a crash.
That’ll teach them to burn my village, Elmric thought.
ORCS TURN 3
Ruzgob growled as he felt his blood pumping with excitement. The Trolls were already having fun killing off knights, but the rest of his boyz were slow to catch up. The Big Boss lifted his great axe -- he wasn’t going to wait for these slow gits any longer. By Gork, he was going to bash some knights!
Seeing a large unit of fancy-looking knights within charge range, Ruzgob kicked his boar into a charge and raised his axe with a mighty cry of “WAAAAGH!” The Grail Knights, seeing the Big Boss charging towards them, reformed ranks to meet him. One knight -- an un-helmeted git who was obviously the ‘umie leader -- was about to ride in the front to meet Ruzgob, when one of the other knights suddenly rode up instead. Ruzgob watched, intrigued, as the knight stuck his lance in the ground, drew his sword, and got into a defensive stance. So this knight wanted to fight, eh?
Barely halting in his charge, Ruzgob barrelled into the knight at full speed, swinging out with his mighty axe, The Grail Knight, however, moved quickly, ducking the blow and stabbing out with his sword. Ruzgob laughed as the human blade bounced harmlessly off of his armour -- it had been blessed before the effigy itself -- before swinging out again with his axe. The Grail Knight raised his shield to block the blow, however, and the axe merely buried itself in the shield’s wooden surface. Snarling, the big Orc wrenched his axe free and swung with all of his might at the Grail Knight’s torso.
What happened next startled Ruzgob immensely: in mid-swing, his huge axe swerved to the side, tearing a glancing blow across the Grail Knight’s armour, but not wounding him. The Black Orc was understandably shocked: his axe hadn’t done that before! The Boss was so shocked that he nearly forgot to block the Knight’s sword-swing. He chuckled to himself: so far, this weedy git was putting up a good fight.
Meanwhile, Zagrod watched as the Boar Chariot followed in the wake of Ruzgob’s reckless charge. The shaman sighed -- Ruzgob was always liked to show off by charging in before his boyz. Of course, it helped that he had one of the warband’s only three boars (the rest were eaten during the course of the journey to Middenheim). As Zagrod watched, the Black Orcs and Nazgrub’s lads advanced further towards the Bretonnian knights, while Grontsnar’s boys were slowly reaching the other side of the hill. The shaman grinned -- before long, those ‘umies were going to get a good stomping.
Morgrazz suddenly walked up to Zagrod, nearly startling him.
“Oi Zagrod,” he sneered, “I betcha ya can’t out-shaman me!”
Zagrod growled and raised his bonewood staff. “Yer on, ya poncy git!” he snarled.
Morgrazz chuckled and turned to face the Bretonnian battle line. Slowly, his own staff began to glow with green energy. Zagrod felt the power of the Waaagh building up slowly in Morgrazz, increasing in power as he charged up his spell. As the power grew stronger and stronger, Zagrod felt that he might actually pull this one off . . .
The was a flash of light, and Morgrazz stumbled back, disoriented. Zagrod chuckled -- despite his bravado, Morgrazz had failed to get past the defences of the human mages. Grinning, Zagrod turned to the enemy lines and began to invoke the power of Gork himself. He smiled as he felt the familiar power surge through him. He would show this git who the better shaman was . . .
With a mighty roar, Zagrod unleashed his spell to make Nazgrub’s boyz go fasta. However, the spell was barely cast before it suddenly fizzled on the wind. Zagrod couldn’t believe it -- those damned humans had countered him again!
Zagrod hurled his staff down in anger. “YOU ZOGGIN’ ‘UMIE GITS!” he yelled. “I’Z GONNA STOMP YOUZE REAL GOOD FER THIS!”
Morgrazz, of course, could barely contain his laughter.
As Zagrub seethed with anger, he noticed the fight going on between the slimy River Trolls and the Knights Errant. The young Knights were hurling themselves enthusiastically at the Trolls now, darting around the big brutes and slashing and stabbing at them with their swords. Most of their blows did little damage, or simply slid off their slimy skin. One knight, however, managed to drive his sword deep into the gullet of the Troll that was already wounded, causing brackish blood to spill out. The Troll shrieked and lashed out with its claws, buffeting the knight across the front and knocking him back. The knight’s horse, however, must have been well-trained, as it quickly reared up and kicked the Troll in its already-injured forehead. Zagrub heard a sickening crack of bone, and the Troll staggered back, bleeding heavily from its chest and forehead. For a minute, it seemed that the beast would topple over, but then its chest wound closed shut, and it stood straight once more.
In reply, the Trolls unleashed their vomit once more. Zagrod chuckled as he saw two knights and their horses dissolve under the putrid slime. Despite this, however, the knights furiously continued their attack. Zagrod grinned -- those knights were pretty enthusiastic for a fight, but they would be fleeing in terror soon enough.
BRETONNIANS TURN 3
Sophie watched the battle unfold around her: to her right, the Knights Errant were locked in a desperate battle with the Trolls, while to her right, one of the Grail Knights was bravely fighting a monstrous Orc twice his size in single combat. There rest of the Orc hordes, however, were continuing to advance relentlessly -- the hails of arrows from the peasant bowmen hadn’t slowed them down, and her magic had been easily dispelled. She gripped her staff tightly and sent a telepathic message to her fellow damsel Irena, who was ensconced within the unit of Knights of the Realm. The time was now.
At Irena’s signal, the Knights of the Realm kicked their steeds into a charge
towards the Orc brutes advancing near the Trolls. Seeing the knights bearing down on them, the burly Orcs raised their shields to receive the charge . . .
The Knights hit home with the force of a thunderbolt. Lances tore through shields and green-skinned bodies alike, impaling Orcs with their momentum. The front rank of the Orc mob disappeared under the impetus of the Bretonnian charge. Sophie saw the champion of the Knights drive his lance through the skull of the largest of the Orcs, killing the beast outright. Although a total of five of their number fell under the Knights’ charge, however, the Orcs did not waver -- rather than breaking and running under the impetus of the knights’ charge, the Orcs raised their crude weapons and fought on. Sophie cursed silently -- the momentum of the knights’ charge was beginning to run out, and soon they would have a tougher fight on their hands.
Further to the left, meanwhile, the young Knights Errant fought on furiously against the lumbering Trolls, eager to avenge their dead comrades. As Sophie watched, one knight managed to drive his sword deep through the throat of the already-wounded Troll, causing black blood to ooze out. As the Troll staggered back, the Knight wrenched his sword free and slashed out with all of his might, cleaving through the Troll’s vile neck in a single blow. As the Troll fell, headless, the knight raised his sword in victory. His celebrations were cut short, however, however, when another nearby beast turned and doused him with stinking vomit. Both the knight and his horse fell to the ground, writhing in pain as the vomit ate away at them. Roaring with rage, the three remaining knights lifted their standard high and leapt at the Trolls with renewed vigour, while the Trolls fought desperately to fend off the humans’ assault.
As Sophie turned her gaze to the right, she suddenly saw a ramshackle Orc Chariot come lumbering up. Terror seized her heart when she realized it was heading straight towards her . . .
Meanwhile, Gaspard watched as Mathieu, one of the Grail Knights, and the Orc Boss circled one another warily on their steeds. When the huge Orc had come charging towards them, Gaspard had been about to fight this brute himself when Mathieu strode forwards to challenge the beast. Gaspard, Bertrand, and Mathieu’s fellow knights watched the fight tensely, praying for the Lady to watch over the brave man.
With a roar, the Black Orc lunged at Mathieu with his huge axe. Matheiu, however, was ready, and he calmly steered his horse to the side to avoid the blow. This nearly unbalanced the Orc, who was left open to a stabbing sword-strike from the Grail Knight. As Gaspard watched, however, Mathieu’s sword once again bounced harmlessly off of the Orc’s thick armour. Grinning, the Orc brought up his axe in a mighty swing at Mathieu’s exposed head.
Moving quickly, Matheiu ducked the blow and lashed out, stabbing his sword into one of the legs of the Orc’s boar mount. The tusked beast squealed in pain, turned around and ran, carrying its cursing, hollering rider with it. Yelling a mighty warcry, Gaspard and the Grail Knights charged off after the Orc leader. As the Orc struggled in vain to get his boar to turn around, the knights suddenly caught up with him. A lance speared the boar through the side, killing it instantly. The boar collapsed, throwing the Orc onto his back. The Orc boss barely had time to yell before he was trampled under a stampede of hooves.
Seeing that the Orc boss was no more, Gaspard looked up and saw that their charge was about to lead them straight into a tight formation of Black Orcs. Grinning wolfishly, Gaspard raised his lance and led the Grail Knights onward for the kill.
(NOTE: THE BRETONNIAN PLAYER FORGOT COMPLETELY ABOUT HIS SHOOTING AND MAGIC PHASE THIS TURN)
ORCS TURN 4
Zagrod watched in horror as Ruzgob’s wounded boar turned and fled from the Bretonnians, carrying Ruzgob with it. As Zagrod watched, the Bretonnians rode in after his boss, killing his boar from underneath him. As Ruzgob fell into the mud, he was trampled under the stampeding charge of the Bretonnians. The shaman cursed: the boss was dead, and the warband was now leaderless.
Morgrazz turned to Zagrod. “Oi!” he said. “Now that Ruzgob’s kicked da bucket, I’m da boss!”
Zagrod frowned. “Who sez?” he growled.
“Sez me!” Morgrazz growled back. “I’m da hed shaman!”
“No you ain’t!” Zagrod retorted. “I’M da hed shaman!”
Morgrazz growled and raised his staff. Zagrod growled back and raised his own staff. For a minute, it seemed like the two shamans would come to blows.
Finally, Morgrazz grinned and lowered his staff. “Tell yer what,” he said, “howz bout whoever bashes da humies better gets ta be da boss?”
“Fine by me,” Zagrod growled. “Tho that’s only iffn Guzrag gets isself killed as well. ‘E’s Ruzgob’s numba two git, ‘e is.”
Zagrod turned and watched as Guzrag’s Black Orcs raised their great weapons, ready for the Grail Knights’ charge. The shaman grinned when he thought of a good way to demonstrate his power.
“Watch ‘an learn,” he said to Morgrazz. Turning to face the Black Orcs, Zagrod raised his staff and began to invoke the power of the Waaagh once more. This time, though, Nazgrub’s lads were now fighting nearby, and, as a result, were generating more power than before. Zagrod trembled as he felt raw power course through his body. The very essence of Gork himself was flowing through him, and for the briefest second, he felt like he was one with the Greenskin god.
Migraines flared to life in Zagrod’s head as more and more power surged through his body. He felt like his head would explode any minute now. Unfortunately, he couldn’t stop the spell -- it had grown beyond his control.
With a final, agonizing effort, Zagrod blasted the spell out from his body, smashing aside all of the Bretonnians’ feeble attempts to block it. The Black Orcs were suddenly surrounded by a strange green glow -- the power of the Waaaagh was with them.
Seconds before the Grail Knights hit home, Guzrag and his Black Orcs surged forwards, and, with unfathomable speed, lashed out with their great weapons. In the blink of an eye, one Grail Knight was instantly eviscerated by a swing from Guzrag’s mighty axe, while another Knight’s head was crushed by the swing of a huge spiked mace. Thanks to the power of the Waaagh, Guzrag’s boyz were fighting faster and more fiercely than ever.
Morgrazz turned and glared at Zagrod. “You wuz just lucky,” he grumbled.
Zagrod merely grinned. His grin disappeared, however, when he saw the front rank of the Black Orcs disappear under a storm of lances, blades and horses hooves, their green glow suddenly gone. The Grail Knights, led by their leader, smashed and hacked their way through the Black Orcs with horrific ease, cutting them down as though they were children. Swords hacked off limbs and heads, lances speared through torsos, and horses trampled Orcs beneath their hooves. The Knights were surrounded by a strange heavenly aura as they stampeded through the Black Orcs, slaying all in their path. One knight rode at the fore of the fighting, holding aloft a highly decorated banner depicting a fair human woman holding an ornate Grail in both hands. Zagrod shuddered -- something about that banner gave him the creeps.
Zagrod counted no less than nine of the Black Orcs fall beneath the Grail Knights’ horrific onslaught. In a matter of seconds, Guzrag and his standard bearer were the only two Black Orcs left standing, desperately trying to keep the knights at bay with great swings of their axes. With a desperate roar, Guzrag lunged forwards and brought his great axe swinging down on a Grail Knight. To Zagrod’s surprise, the blade of the axe snapped off its hilt mere inches away from the Bretonnian’s helmet. This was just too much for Guzrag and his standard bearer; the two dropped their weapons and ran. They didn’t get far, though, before they were trampled under the hooves of the knights’ horses, just like Ruzgob. Exultant in their victory, the Grail Knights swept further down the battlefield. They were now just across the field from the two Shamans . . Zagrod’s green face was by now white with shock. The Black Orcs -- the biggest, toughest, hardest and nastiest Orcs in the warband -- had just been massacred by mere ‘umies! Trying to ignore his urge to flee in terror, Zagrod turned to Morgrazz, who looked somewhat amused.
“Alright, lessee you do any better,” Zagrod growled.
Morgrazz grinned. “Okay,” he said. With that, he turned to face the Bretonnian lines and raised his staff. In a minute, Morgrazz had summoned forth the power of the Waaaagh. With a roar, the Shaman pointed his staff at the central unit of bowmen and unleashed a blast of green energy that crackled across the battlefield. The peasants barely had time to react before the green energy slammed into their position. Four humans were instantly reduced to ashes in a green blast that scorched the entire hilltop. The remaining peasants, seeing their comrades atomized by the Orc magic, dropped their bows fled in terror.
Zagrod turned to the grinning Morgrazz. “Dey’s just weedy gits,” he growled. “Dey don’t count.”
“Sez you,” Morgrazz sneered.
Muttering a particularly foul curse, Zagrod turned to observe the fight between Nazgrub’s boyz and the Knights of the Realm. Despite their earlier losses (which included Nazgrub himself), the Big ‘Uns were fighting hard against the knights. As Zagrod watched, one of the Big ‘Uns suddenly lifted up a banner that depicted the face of Gork. Zagrod grinned -- he had made sure that banner was placed near the effigy itself.
Nazgrub’s lads, seeing the face of Gork looking down on them, suddenly fought with increased ferocity. The Knights of the Realm soon found themselves surrounded and desperately trying to fend off the Big ‘Uns’ frenzied attacks. One Orc swung his choppa into the exposed leg of one knight, hacking through his armour. As the knight cried out in pain, another Orc smashed his choppa deep into his exposed back. The knight slumped over, was dragged bodily from his saddle, and was promptly hacked to bits.
The remaining knights, seeing that they could not fend off the Orc assault, turned and broke into a retreat, with Nazgrub’s boyz in hot pursuit. Further down on the right, Zagrod saw the vomit of the River Trolls disintegrate yet another of the Knights Errant. The remaining two knights, finally realizing that their efforts were quite futile, turned and fled in terror from the Trolls. The Trolls slowly lumbered after them, but the two Knights quickly outpaced them, and soon rode off the battlefield. The Trolls were soon joined by Grontsnar’s boyz, who clambered down from the hill that they had been traversing for most of the battle. “Took ‘em long enough,” Zagrod thought.
On the far right flank, meanwhile, the Boar Chariot thundered towards a brown-haired human woman with a white dress and a long staff -- one of the Bretonnian mages who had been giving Zagrod so much trouble. The shaman grinned, expecting her to be trampled and mangled under the charging Chariot. To his surprise, however, the damsel lithely leapt out of the way of the charging chariot, and was only grazed across the right leg by one of the boars’ tusks. As Zagrod watched, the damsel spun around, quickly drew a sword from under her cloak, and slashed out, expertly slicing off the head of one of the Chariot’s crew in a spray of blood. Zagrod was shocked: this woman could actually fight!
No sooner had the first Orc been killed, however, when his mate lashed out with a heavy club, hitting the damsel in the back of the head and sending her crumpling to the ground. As the Boar swept onwards down the line past the startled peasants, Zagrod grinned -- now no one could stop his spells.
BRETONNIANS TURN 4
At Gaspard’s signal, the Grail Knights ceased their charge and turned around. Their charge had carried them far from the actual fighting, and they needed to get back into the fray as soon as possible.
Looking down from the other end of the battlefield, Gaspard took stock of the situation: the Knights of the Realm, with the damsel Irena in tow, had fled from the Orcs, and the last of the Knights Errant had also fled in the face of the seemingly un-killable Trolls. A company of Peasant Bowmen had been obliterated by magic, and Damsel Sophie was lying face-down in the mud after being clubbed by an Orc charioteer. Gaspard couldn’t tell if she was alive or dead, but even if she was merely unconscious, then she could do nothing to counter the Orc mages.
As Gaspard watched, the Knights of the Realm continued to flee down the battlefield. With so many Orcs and Trolls close to them, they couldn’t rally without being charged. The Paladin gritted his teeth -- the battle was clearly turning against them.
Meanwhile, Elmric, seeing the damsel lying on the ground, quickly dispatched two of his men to retrieve her body. The peasants quickly returned, carrying Sophie’s limp form to the rear of the unit.
Elmric looked down at the damsel. Blood streamed down her fair face from a nasty gash on her scalp, and her skin was bruised. Antoine, a healer’s son, quickly checked her over.
“She’s still alive,” he said. “She won’t survive long unless we get her to the castle, though.
Elmric gritted his teeth. They couldn’t leave the battlefield now -- not while the knights were still doing battle.
He turned to his fellow archers. “We’ll try to hold out long enough for Sir Gaspard’s knights to come to our aid,” he said.
With that, Elmric turned to face the oncoming Orc horde. He nearly trembled at the sight of so many Orcs and Trolls advancing on their position, and of the Knights of the Realm fleeing from this horde. Already, Renauld’s bowmen had been largely obliterated by Orc magic -- a sight that made Elmric‘s men quite nervous. Despite this fear, however, he kept his nerve, and signalled for his men to fix arrows to their bows.
The advancing Orcs were suddenly met by another hail of arrows. The foremost Big ‘Uns, the ones who had routed the Knights of the Realm, raised their shields to deflect the incoming arrows. Elmric cursed when he saw that not a single Orc had fallen. This was not good.
Further down to the left, meanwhile, Oswald’s bowmen opened fire on the Orcs that had just clambered down from the hill. As Elmric watched, one Orc fell, multiple arrows embedded in its chest. Another fell with a white-fletched arrow in its neck. Judging by the white fletching on the arrow, Elmric concluded that it was shot by Oswald himself. Elmric cursed: he and Oswald had constantly taken part in archery tournaments in the past, and the score between them was even so far. In this case, however, Oswald’s men had scored two kills where Elmric’s had failed.
“Lucky dog,” Elmric thought to himself. He turned to his men. “You call that shooting?” he exclaimed. “Let’s give them another round -- like hell I’m going to be beaten by Oswald again!”
ORCS TURN 5
Zogrod watched with glee as, after running off the battlefield, the Boar Chariot came thundering up near the fleeing Knights of the Realm. The shaman grinned -- if those knights did somehow rally themselves, then they would be charged by Nazgrub and Grontsnar’s lads, the Trolls, and the Chariot.
As Zagrod watched, however, Nazgrub’s lads turned and began to advance towards the bowmen on the far left, while Grontsnar’s lads turned in the same direction, seemingly ignorant of the archers just to their right. The remaining two Trolls followed suit, loping off towards the archers on the left. On the way there, however, they suddenly stopped, and looked around dimwittedly. Zagrod slapped his head in frustration. Trolls were so stupid, it was a wonder that they knew how to breathe!
Morgrazz, meanwhile, turned and pointed to the Grail Knights. “See dem?” he said. “I’z gonna smash ‘em good.”
“Riiiiight,” Zagrod muttered.
With that, Morgrazz raised his staff and began to invoke the power of the Waaaagh once more. As Zagrod watched, Morgrazz built up more and more power, before finally unleashing a searing bolt of green energy that blasted into the Grail Knights.
One Grail Knights was instantly enveloped by the green blast. Unbelievably enough, though, the magic did little more than scorch his armour. The blackened Grail Knight turned and looked in the direction of the two shamans, and Zagrod felt a strong urge to hide.
Suddenly, a hail of arrows suddenly fell around the Bretonnians. The scorched Grail Knight was hit in the neck, and went down with a crash of armour. Turning in the direction of the arrows, Zagrod saw the Arrer Boyz jeering at the Bretonnians. Up until now, the Arrer Boyz had been doing nothing but lounge around at the back of the lines. Now that they had something to shoot at, though, they were eagerly giving it their all.
Zagrod grinned, and turned to Morgrazz. “You wuz saying?” he sneered.
“Aw, shaddup,” Morgrazz growled.
BRETONNIANS TURN 5
A whistling sound signalled a downpour of arrows. Cursing, Gaspard whirled around and raised his shield just as black arrows came raining down on him and his Grail Knights. Thankfully, most of the arrows were poorly-aimed, and struck only earth. One arrow, however, penetrated the joints in the armour around Mathieu’s neck. The knight fell from his saddle with a crash. Gaspard cursed -- Mathieu had shown his quality by bravely fighting the Orc Boss, and now this gallant knight had been felled by a cowardly arrow. Turning, Gaspard saw a group of gangly bow-armed Orcs across the field, jeering at them. Gripping his lance tightly, Gaspard momentarily considered avenging Mathieu’s death. Turning back to the main battle, however, he knew that the Grail Knights were needed elsewhere.
Surrounded on all sides, the Knights of the Realm, rather than face un-winnable odds, beat a hasty retreat back to the castle. Gaspard could not blame them -- had they rallied, then they surely would have been slaughtered. Besides which, they had a damsel to protect. At the thought of damsels, Gaspard turned to where Sophie lay. To his surprise, she wasn’t there -- the peasants must have taken it upon themselves to retrieve her body.
Gaspard could just see the main Orc units advancing on the peasant bowmen. If they broke through to the castle, then the battle would be lost.
Kicking his stirrups, Gaspard led the Grail Knights in a charge towards the main Orc horde. There was still a chance that they could win the day . . .
Meanwhile, Oswald, the Villein of the left-flank company of archers, drew another arrow and nocked it to his bow. He had been damned lucky so far -- those Orcs were ignoring his archers, despite the fact that two of them had died to their bow fire. The peasant chuckled -- no doubt Elmric would be fuming over his lack of kills.
At Oswald’s command, the archers let loose another volley at the Big ‘Uns. One Orc fell, riddled with arrows. However, that was the only kill -- the rest of the arrows failed to hurt any of the Orcs. Oswald sighed -- he really had to teach his men how to aim properly.
On the right flank, Elmric’s men opened fire on the Trolls that were lounging about. Countless arrows thudded into the beasts’ slimy flesh. The Trolls, however, were obviously too stupid to notice, as they continued to lounge about, picking their noses and belching.
Oswald shook his head. Throughout this entire battle, archery had been doing very little. Still, at least they didn’t to fight the Orcs in close quarters, although Oswald would have gladly fought them in hand-to-hand combat if it meant protecting his village. But that would have amounted to nothing anyway -- his village was ruined, and there was nothing he could do about it.
Except make every arrow count, that is.
ORCS TURN 6
Zagrod watched as the Grail Knights kicked their steeds into a charge back into the fray. He was thankful that they were leaving him and Morgrazz alone (well, alright, he wouldn’t have minded terribly if they killed Morgrazz). The shaman grinned: even if the Grail Knights got back to the battle in time, they would be outnumbered four to one.
The shaman turned to his rival. “You gonna give it annuver go?” he sneered.
Morgrazz gripped his staff tightly. “’Jus watch me,” he snarled.
With that, Morgrazz turned to the Grail Knights. Again, he raised his staff and gathered in more Waaagh power for another deadly blast. After a few minutes of charging up his spell, Morgrazz unleashed yet another bolt of green energy at the knights. Once again, however, the magic did little more than blacken the knights’ armour slightly.
Zagrod chuckled at Morgrazz’s misfortune. At this, Morgrazz turned and glared at Zagrod.
“Yeah’ll, at least I smashed more ‘umies than you,” he growled. At this, Zagrod promptly shut up.
The Arrer Boyz, meanwhile, seeing that the Grail Knights were still in plain view, nocked their bows and opened fire. Their good luck could not continue, however -- all of their arrows either missed or bounced off of knightly armour.
Zagrod shook his head. The day was obviously going to be won by bashing the ‘umies up close, not by blasting them from afar. As hard as the Grail Knights were, even he doubted they could take on so many boyz on their own . . .
BRETONNIANS TURN 6
Oswald grinned as he saw the Grail Knights come charging up towards the gathering Orcs with a vengeance. The sight of these saintly figures filled him with awe. These were knights were who blessed by the Lady herself, and each of them was a hero in his own right. With these great warriors riding to the rescue, victory could yet be theirs.
Taking hope from the charge of the Grail Knights, Oswald fixed another arrow to his bow and fired at the nearby mob that was marching past them. The arrow pierced one of the brutes through his thick skull, dropping him. The rest of his archers followed suit, but again, they failed to kill a single Orc.
Spitting in disgust, Oswald turned to see if Elmric’s men were doing any better. To his surprise, Elmric and his archers weren’t shooting at all -- instead, they were watching the Grail Knights in awe. It was then that Oswald noticed a white dress in their midst. The damsel Sophie lay at the back, being tended by one of Elmric’s archers. This could only mean that Sophie was still alive, which meant that they would have to get her to the safety of the castle.
Turning back to the battle, Oswald watched in excitement as Sir Gaspard and his knights charged into the fray.
Gaspard, meanwhile, led his Grail Knights forwards. He could just make out the lumbering shapes of the Trolls loping ahead. The big brutes were heading towards Elmric’s company of bowmen, seemingly oblivious to the knights who were bearing down in their exposed flank. Gaspard gripped his lance tightly. The Knights Errant would be avenged.
Yelling a mighty warcry that was echoed by his fellow knights, Gaspard raised his lance. With a tremendous thundering of hooves, the Knights of Bretonnia closed in for the kill.
The Trolls barely had time to turn around before the knights smashed into their flank. Gaspard’s lance drove itself deep into the foremost Troll’s bulbous head, coming out the other side in a spray of blood. The Troll went cross-eyed, teetered and fell, causing Gaspard’s lance to snap in half. Bewildered, the last Troll sound itself surrounded by angry Grail Knights. Lances stabbed through the beast’s hide, and gleaming swords slashed great gashes through its skin. The Troll staggered, bleeding from countless wounds that would have killed any creature twice over. Slowly, however, the Trolls wounds knitted back together. Snarling the Troll lashed out at its attackers, but its claws scraped harmlessly against the knights’ shields.
Gaspard saw fear light up in the Troll’s eyes as it caught a glance of the blessed banner of the Lady held aloft by Bertrand. It was too much for the craven beast to handle. The Troll turned to flee on its waddling feet, with the knights in hot pursuit. Gaspard lashed out with his sword, cutting the Troll’s head from its neck in a spray of vile blood. The head rolled across the ground, and, slowly but surely, the Troll’s body collapsed with a crash.
Looking up, Gaspard took stock of the situation. Despite the loss of the Trolls, the Orc horde still outnumbered them four to one. Nearly half of the Grail Knights were dead, and only two companies of archers remained. Even worse, the Orcs still had their mages accompanying them, and they had no way of defending themselves against a magical onslaught. Gaspard cursed bitterly -- the day belonged to the Orcs.
Though he would have gladly fought in a final stand against the Orcs, Gaspard knew that such an act would be futile. Cursing, he and his knights rode up to Elmric’s company of archers.
Gaspard looked down at the awe-struck peasants. “Fall back towards the castle,” he said. “We cannot win here.”
A look of despair passed over Elmric’s face upon hearing of their defeat. Grimly, he nodded, and signalled for his bowmen to fall back. The peasants hurried off in the direction of the castle, carrying Sophie with them, and Oswald’s archers followed close behind them.
Bitterly, Gaspard turned around and took a last look at the Orc horde and the burning village of Laufeld. The Greenskins had won today, but, by the Lady’s honour, he would not rest until he had purged them from the land with lance and sword.
*******************************************
After the Bretonnians fled from the field of battle, the Orcs celebrated their triumph by breaking out the Squig wine, looting weapons and armour from the dead knights, playing some more “hed soccer,” and generally being their usual, rowdy selves. Of course, the odd scuffle broke out between Nazgrub and Grontsnar’s boyz -- the latter of whom were taunted mercilessly for not actually doing any fighting. Even the Arrer Boyz joined in on this taunting (and a few of them got beaten by the bigger Orcs as a result).
Zagrod and Morgrazz, meanwhile, were engaged in a lively debate over which of them did more in the battle, and which of them should take up the title of boss.
“I’m tellin’ yer, I’m da better shaman!” Zagrod growled. “I gave Grontsnar’s ladz a push up da hill, an’ I helped Guzrag’s boyz smash da ‘umies!”
“So?” Morgrazz sneered. “Guzrag’s boyz got killed anyway, an’ Grontsnar’s ladz didn’t do zog. I, however, at least zapped dose ‘umie arrer boyz on da hill.”
“As if dey count fer somefing,” Zagrod muttered.
“Less face it,” Morgrazz sneered, “if anyone ‘ere should be boss, its me.”
“Wot’s this about bein’ boss?” a familiar voice snarled behind them.
Both shamans whirled around and saw Ruzgob towering behind them. The Big Boss was covered in multiple bruises and cuts, and his armour was in tatters, but despite this, he was alive and quite angry.
Without wasting any time, Zagrod pointed to Morgrazz. “’E wanted to be boss, Boss,” he said.
With an angry roar, Ruzgob raised his axe and brought down on the squealing Morgrazz, cleaving him in two with a single blow. As the bloody halves of Morgrazz fell to the ground, Ruzgob turned his glare to Zagrod.
“Tell the boyz to stop foolin’ around,” he said. “We’ze got more stuff ta smash an’ more ‘umies ta kill.”
Nodding nervously, Zagrod ran off to carry out his boss’s orders.
