The Second Massacre at River's Crook

Beastmen (Tim) vs Tempestrians (Gill)


Lord Ruin stood motionless and silent in the trees, his tough grey hide barely visible in the shadows, surveying the approaching Tempestrian force beyond the river. It was a sizeable army, easily powerful enough to rout the defensive troops he had lying in weight in a straight battle on open ground.

But they had the river to cross. And this was a place they had known devastating defeat already at the hands of Ruin's allies, the Dwarfs of Gorak Duraz.

It was in response to that conflict that he had come himself to the front line with his entourage of roaring Beastmen.

Lord Ruin knew well the Knights of Tempest Falls. Why wouldn't he? He used to be one of them.

Shatana, the Fay Enchantress of the Border Princes, led her archers forward to the edge of the river and bade them take up position, edging forward. The northeast border of Tempestria was imperilled here and a stand had to be made against the foul creatures of the Drak Heart. Complacency and fear could play no part. The dirty beasts had to be routed out and exterminated.

But across the river, the bushes parted and dozens of baying and stamping Gors emerged, clattering their swords against their shields, taunting this invasion force, daring them to cross the river.

They got their wish.

The Knights of Tempest Falls hurdled forward, driving their horses into the shallows at the bend in the river, while the archers shot volley after volley into the air in arcing fire down toward their unclean foes. 

At Lord Ruin's command, the Beastmen remained still but the Bray Shaman behind their ranks whispered foul and forbidden words of power, summoning something dark and terrible from the woods behind the lines of the Tempestrians, something with every ability of the unnatural Jabberslythe but cast into an even more grisly form. The great beast leaped forward on its mighty legs, tearing the crew of of a Trebuchet apart in seconds, even as the Bray Shaman fell to his knees from the power-draining exertion.

The Knights clattered up the opposite banks and charged full on into a pair of Giants, immediately impaling one and bringing it down. Its partner roared in rage, swinging its gargantuan weapons into the horses, slicing heads from bodies despite the magical protection provided by Shatana, the Fay Enchantress.

The remaining giant hacked most of the remaining knights apart then chased down the rest as they tried to flee.

The Tempestrian archers had cleared all attacking forces before them and were approaching the river ready to make the crossing, but they hadn't reckoned on the filthy bloated monster rampaging through their rear.

The beast leaped into their ranks from the flank, devouring some men and simply bisecting others until all were running in terror before its vicious assault. No force could stop this creature. They were doomed!

And as this happened, Lord Ruin himself was tearing apart the other strike force of knights, driving them back into the water and pursuing them there, dragging them down beneath the surface to drown of be crushed.

He surged up onto the opposite bank, right in front of Shatana and there she stood her ground.

Only one unit remained to her now of archers and as these were hacked apart by a speeding chariot and the remaining giant, she took Lord Ruin to battle herself.

It was an impossible fight.

Despite her unrivalled magical prowess, there was no way she could hold her own against the holder of the Dark Heart. Lord Ruin drove her to the ground and it was only her magic that spirited her away before the death blow was struck.

Lord Ruin had led his forces to victory again. Surely the Tempestrians had to have learned their lesson.

There was no route through here!

Massacre at the Gates of Barak Varr

And there came a time when the mighty fortress of Barak Varr was once more laid under siege.

The Tomb Kings had wrested it from the Dwarves, slaughtering all inside, and now they themselves were under assault as thousands of malignant spiders swept down from the hills goaded and led by the cackling Spider Goblins.

Never before had so much evil been amassed in one place: both attackers and defenders.

And behind the lines, bundles of web filled with acid-mawed spiders were hurled, up and over the battlements into the waiting skeletons within.

The fusillade of arrows from the skeletons manning the walls was insufficient to more than slow the waves of arachnids and the spiders reached the walls with minimal losses.

To the west a siege tower infested with crawling horror clumped against the walls, disgorging hundreds of gigantic scuttling killers.

Already the defenders were flagging and the battle had barely opened.

Atop the back of his gigantic eight legged beast, the Spider King had already wiped out all resistance on the section of wall he had climbed. He turned the beast and immediately attacked the eastern tower.

In matters it was his as well.

And now the Goblin King himself reached the gates, hurling up a grappling hook with a cry of triumph as his spider horde scuttled up the wall around his climbing form.

The Goblin King dispatched the defenders rapidly, barely slowing, such was his hatred and thirst for conquest.

But from the north came reinforcements, galloping undead steeds and chariots, hurtling to defend their fastness.

But it was far too little and far too late.

Barak Varr belonged to the Goblin King now and their time of military superiority was at an end!

Massacre in the Narrows

Tim (Daemons) vs Gill (Space Marines) 

The Men of Stone had forged south before into the Narrows and been repulsed.by the Daemons of the Pernicious Gate but they knew no fear. Lead by their brave lord, Felix Wulf, they pushed south immediately following their withdrawal.

Their determination to break through to the Pernicious Gate was without compromise.

But again they were caught in the hemmed-in defiles of the Narrows. And immediately the force of Daemons that came to meet them withdrew on the left flank, redeploying their faster elements elsewhere and leaving the mighty warriors and their fire sticks with no targets.

Prospertine crashed through the foliage, a towering Exalted Bloodthirster, and ripped apart the greater knights of Ebon Scar with his huge halberd.

Ploughing through them he struck the second line of warriors and ripped them apart as well, barely breaking stride.

The monstrous beasts that the Men of Stone held in thrall lumbered forward, goaded by the strange magics of the dark and silent warriors as Raptor Riders swept up alongside them, but Bloodletters bounded forward and hacked the Raptor Riders down.

And a Soulgrinder used its lethal claws to tear chunks from the mammoth that led the counter attack.

One of the Triceranoughts smashed into the Bloodletters, impaling several daemons on its horns, but the rest brought it down, Skulltaker himself hacking the gigantic head from its shoulders.

The Bloodletters pushed forward, attacking the second Triceranought but what they had done to one they could do to the next. It fell too as Prospertine led the daemons that had devastated the right flank and centre towards the last remaining knight.

The last knight fell, fighting valiantly, but he could not stand against such powerful adversaries on their home ground.

The daemons had used the terrain to their advantage and now, once again, they had thrown the Men of Stone back from the Narrows.

This time however their army was scattered, all elements of it thrown to the winds.

This land belonged to the Daemons!

Massacre in the Wailing Woods

Daemons (Gill) vs Empire (Tim) 

Like silent gliding death, the Screamers of Tzeentch glided through the underbrush, tusks glistening, tails flicking lazily from right to left.

And near at hand, as the last rays of sun dropped under the Black Mountains, the daemons of the Pernicious Host ran forward, jaws gnashing, swords and claws hacking the air in anticipation.

All around the spirits of the woods wailed their lamentation of doom. All around the taint of chaos cut into the noble hearts of the Men of New Sylvania.

But they stood proud and stalwart. In rigid gun lines the soldiers of Malko to the south steadied horses or cocked handguns, awaiting the command of their superiors.

When the call came they let fly with bullet and arrow. The wizards called forth and hurled forward fire and ash. The Daemons were cut down as they advanced but did not balk in their assault. They came and they came and they came, uncaring as their comrades fell to the putrid earth in their passing.

The knights charged forward, slamming into the approaching Bloodletters to the flank but Skulltaker, fiend of a thousand worlds, called out their captain. Refusing the refuse the challenge the captain stepped up to battle but Skulltaker had never been defeated in single combat. The captains head vanished in a flicker of unearthly steel and the rest of his knights were cut down with him.

Bearing strange trophies of men whose clothes had ne'er been seen in this land, the Bloodletters surged forward and with them came a cantering fiend of Slaanesh, its tongue flicking obscenely.

A gigantic clanking and steaming Soul Grinder scuttled up to the battle line, filling the gap formed as the last of the Screamers were incinerated in magical fire.

The Men of New Sylvania had deployed cleverly, drawing the Daemons into a bottleneck, but there were simply too many of the unholy fiends.

The ugly naked devil of Slaanesh snipped the cannon crew in twain, even as they tried vainly to target the Daemon lord. The humans were running all too swiftly out of time.

They're entire plan had revolved around a swift assault to follow a blinding fusillade...

But the fusillade had not been enough.

The Daemons closed on the battle line and literally tore the limbs off ever single man. Swordsmen fell. Handgunners fell. The Wizards and Warrior Priests leading them fell.

Soon all that was left of the invading men of the Empire were the stubborn Greatswords. But soon their flashing swords could barely be seen beyond the closely surrounding Daemons.

And then they could be seen no more.

Massacre on Sunrise Plateau

Gill (Tempestrians) vs Tim (Ogres) 

And so it was that as dawn broke over the Sunrise Plateau in the Black Mountains, the full arrayed might of Tempestria assembled to make battle against the Ogres of the Kingdom of the Great Maw.

But standing against them were a multitude of monstrous creatures, towering Ogres and Yhetees and even a great sabre-toothed predator from the high peaks, trained to attack by one of their Hunters.

The Knights of Tempest Falls thundered into the Ogre assault, foiling their own explosive charges, their lances skewering fur and muscle even as they were hacked from their horse backs themselves. The Blessing of the Lady shone strong, protecting them but these towering leviathans seemed to feel no pain as they fought on.

The arrows of the Tempestrian archers filled the sky and the Ogres, with no armour to speak of, fell beneath the pointed rain. But still they bellowed and fought on, the Tyrant swinging his lackeys into position to eliminate his colourful enemies.

The Ogres routed or slew formation after formation of the valiant knights but Methuselah, "virtuous" leader of the Tempestrian forces were indefatigable. Every ogre who tried his blade was slain with no blood spilled from the powerful warrior.

The sabre tooth ignored the arrows slicing the air at it and devoured half a dozen archers, sending the rest to rout.

But from the tangled forest materialised the Golden Knight, ghostly defender of the dons of Bretonnia, no matter how distant, and, unable to harm him, the great beast fell to his sword.

All across the battlefield, the Ogres who had seemed at one point to be winning, were hacked apart by the remaining and most powerful warriors of Tempestria, but they were not yet finished.

From behind the Tempestrians own lines loped a massive howling Gorger, swinging the trunk of a tree. He pummelled the crew of a catapult and charged at the archers waiting behind.

But the Golden Knight was his undoing as well. Unable to hurt the enchanted warrior, the Gorger flailed impotently.

Of all the Ogre army he was the last to fall.

But fall he did.

Massacre at the Ruins of Kalkor

Mike (Dwarfs) vs Tim (Orcs & Goblins)

And finally the day came when the eyes of evil looked upon the Ruins of Kalkor with growing lust for power; filthy greenskins whose bodies had once been the bodies of men: the Orcs of Gaping Jaw.

But the defenders of the Kalkor; the brave Dwarfs of Karak Hirn, were waiting as they always waited, standing in stout defence as they always had; waiting only for this day.

The Orcs were not the builders of Kalkor but they were almost as deadly, and if this fell place became theirs then they might use it to put cracks in the earth deep enough to swallow the realm of the Dwarfs.

Gunna Gorrasson, Runelord of Karak Hirn prepared the anvil of doom to let fly its cataclysmic power against the animalistic attackers, knowing that the raw power at this dangerous site could only add to its devastating effects.

But all around the ruins, the raging forces of the Orcs closed in, surrounding the ancient edifice, their shaman's tuning into the throbbing energy rising from the earth.

Before they could clamber into the ruins themselves though, Dwarfen warriors uncovered hidden Flame Cannons and hurled burning incendiaries at the howling greenskins, driving them back to the water nearby.

And as they fell back the lightning of the Anvil of Doom incinerated the filthy wretches, turning them to screaming dust as Thunderers let fly their handgun fire.

The attack of the Orcs faltered, and no matter the sudden flood of sorcerous power their Shaman's had, the Orcs had little practise in such might. They were as nothing before the stubborn preparations of the grim garrison. 

At the waterline, the warboss rallied his troops, bellowing for them to charge on, back toward the ruins.

But awaiting them now were the finest warriors of the Dwarfs, a concentration of skill and strength seldom seen, lead from atop his shield bearers by the Dwarf king, Durak Grund himself!

The Orcs had little chance, floundering to remanoeuvre as the lightning of the Anvil of Doom shattered their ranks.

Nothing would allow their filthy claws to close on this most precvious and powerful place. Nothing would stop the Dwarfs defending it.

The Orcs were scattered and fled or they were slaughtered and Gunna Gorrasson struck the anvil once more, not in attack this time, but in triumph.

The Ruins of Kalkor were safe for now but the Orcs would come again.

And someday something far far worse.