Piers B
Member
The long column of Dwarfs had been snaking the edge of the forest for the last two days. They had avoided entering the woods and the thin march column meandered between small copses and the low foothills of the Black Mountains. They trudged on, the only sound being of armour and weapons clanking and the dull thud of boots upon the ground.
For two days, the Goblins had watched them from the woods. A Dwarf force had not moved this far from the Mountains for years, and it's arrival had caused a ripple of excitement among them all. They lay low in the dark treeline, watching and waiting. Every few hours a wolf rider would head off and report the location of the Dwarven column to the local Orc Warlord, whose force grew in size every hour as he moved them towards the Dwarfs. As they drew closer and closer, a simple plan had been formed by the Warlord and his commanders.
Ahead of the Dwarf column was wide clearing bulging into the woods, opposite was a tall and steep hill. The plan was simple: wait in the woods and ambush the Dwarf column as it marched alongside the clearing. The clearing would allow the Warlord to form his troops up and advance en masse, the Goblins herded in front of his better Orcish units. on each flank, wolf riders would rush forward cutting off the column from advancing or retreating, and the Dwarfs would be scattered and crushed against the steep hill and the advancing Orcs. It was simple, yet cunning.
The Orc Warlord smiled tö himself as he watched the Dwarf column approach, his yellowed teeth jutting from the corners of his grin. As he watched, the old Orc shamen approached, and with a wizened croak, knelt beside him.
"Youse getting too old for this Shasbut, it if wasn't for ye magic, I'd have fed you to the trolls ages ago..."
The Shamen wheezed and a croaky cackle issued forth. The Shamen watched the column for a few minutes before speaking.
"We shud wait Grotfang, give it another day. Grishak hasn't return from rounding up the trolls. We may need them."
The Warlord snorted his derision. "They've probably eaten the fool by now. Grishak was always a bit too slow around those trolls..."
"We should wait one more day..."
"No!" the Warlord cut across the Shamen, "I have them right where I want them. We's gonna crush em. Boyz will be feasting on Dwarf flesh tonight!"
The Warlord stood up and strode back towards his Wyvern, the beast lying silent among the trees. The Shamen looked at the Dwarfs. The red and yellow of their clothing and shields meant something to him, but he couldn't remember what. That bothered him. The whole business bothered him. Gork was trying to tell him something but his God wasn't shouting loud enough.
"Catch them he says..." The Shamen muttered, "Crush them... When do you ever catch a stunty by surprise?" the Shamen said to no one in particular and then slowly rose from the ground to head back to his mount, still feeling like he was missing part of the puzzle...
For two days the Goblins had been shadowing the Dwarf column. For two days, the Dwarf Rangers in the woods had been watching them...
As the Dwarven column snaked along the edge of the clearing, the drums of the Orcs started and from the woods, hordes of greenskins spilled forth in a random tide. As they raced to get into their units, the champions pulling and beating the boyz into some semblance of ranks, the Dwarven column simply halted.
For a moment, the Greenskins stopped and stared as a lone Dwarven horn blew a series of high pitched commands. As they watched the Dwarven column seemed to move as one. The war machines suddenly began to climb the hill pulled by mules and pushed by the crews. The Dwarven infantry threw off their marching cloaks and unsung their shields and as one the units turned to face the clearing. Each unit perfectly ranked and aligned with those next to it. Dwarven crossbows raced up the hill and took position behind the Infantry, preparing their bolts, while Dwarven Thunderers ran into the clearing and formed two thin skirmish lines in front of the main body of infantry, finally in the centre a strange cart was rumbled forward and when the trapulins were pulled off, a Flame Cannon was revealed.
Grotfang, watching from his Wyvern barked at his nearby commanders and they raced to get the Orcs moving again. Grotfang, just for a moment wondered if the Shamen had been right. His hope for an ambush was not going to happen and his Orcish brain was telling him that it felt like his opponent had him right where he wanted him...
Then Greenskins began to advance, the huge catapult hurled a rock towards the Dwarven lines but it fell short, showering a regiment of Longbeards in clods of earth. As the rest of the army avanced, the elderly Shamen summoned up his powers and brought forth the wrath of his God. A strange giant disembodied green fist slammed into first one, then a second, then a third Dwarf unit, sending Dwarfs flying to the sides and slamming others into the ground, but each time they redressed their ranks and stood firm. The Shamen then lost control of the power he had brought forth and the strange green fist slammed down onto the Orcs crewing the catapult, killing them all. The Shamen shook his head... Gork was a fickle god, and this was not a good omen.
As the Orcs advanced, they were met by a fusilade of fire from the Dwarfs. Cannonballs smashed through ranks, giant bolts skewered lines of Goblins and the Flame Cannon belched forth fiery death. The Orcs pushed on and soon reached the lines of the Dwarven Thunderers, poised to charge, the Orc centre readied itself... The wolf riders were ready on each flank. Then two unfortunate incidents occurred. Then Thunderers didn't turn to retreat but instead let loose a devastating close range volley. The Orc unit under fire simply broke and fled, and in response so did most of the Orc centre. At the same time the Wolf Riders, instead of charging, started fighting amongst themselves. One Orc unit did make the Dwarven lines and fell upon the contingent of Miners, who promptly hacked down the Orcs. Grotfang now spent time reforming his men and once more the centre pushed forward. The Shamen readied himself to call forward the Waaagh and imbue the Orcs with bloodlust. Instead, the elderly Shamen wet himself and suddenly found he no longer remembered the spell... Accross the batlefield, the Dwarven Runesmith allowed himself a sly grin as he caressed the rune of spell destruction carved into his war axe.
But still the Orcs came on and finally the lines met. The carnage was huge, but the Dwarfs in their armour absorbed the blows and would not move an inch. The Orcs with their general nearby kept his troops fighting but losses mounted. Then Prince Harvald 'Harry' Bosch stepped into the fray. In a few short seconds, the Orc unit facing his was destroyed and cut to ribbons. For what seemed like hours the Dwarfs stood firm, hacking down Greenskins left and right. But as losses mounted the Orc lines wavered. Even the Black Orcs, locked in Combat with the Dwarven Ironbreakers watched their blows bounce from the Gromril armour of their foes.
Grotfang watched his army being slowly cut down like ripe corn. He could see Dwarf casualties but they were nothing like his own and the Dwarf units simply refused to budge. Then one unit of Goblins on the right flank gave way and others too began to run. Suddenly the Dwarven horns all started and one flank began to advance, cutting down fleeing Greenskins and threatening to envelop the rest of the army. With roar Grotfang sent his Wyvern skyward and screamed for his Orcs to retreat. Soon the battlefield was empty of Greenskins except for piles of bodies and a long line of stalwart Dwarves.
Harry Bosch and his brothers walked the field. Losses had been reasonable, though the Thunderers had suffered heavy loss. He would need reinforcements to replace them, but the first Orc Warlord had fallen into his trap.
"It worked brothers," he said, staring into the dark forest as the sun began to set. "We make camp. Congratulate your men. Double rations. But in the morning we head for Carak Angol..."
For two days, the Goblins had watched them from the woods. A Dwarf force had not moved this far from the Mountains for years, and it's arrival had caused a ripple of excitement among them all. They lay low in the dark treeline, watching and waiting. Every few hours a wolf rider would head off and report the location of the Dwarven column to the local Orc Warlord, whose force grew in size every hour as he moved them towards the Dwarfs. As they drew closer and closer, a simple plan had been formed by the Warlord and his commanders.
Ahead of the Dwarf column was wide clearing bulging into the woods, opposite was a tall and steep hill. The plan was simple: wait in the woods and ambush the Dwarf column as it marched alongside the clearing. The clearing would allow the Warlord to form his troops up and advance en masse, the Goblins herded in front of his better Orcish units. on each flank, wolf riders would rush forward cutting off the column from advancing or retreating, and the Dwarfs would be scattered and crushed against the steep hill and the advancing Orcs. It was simple, yet cunning.
The Orc Warlord smiled tö himself as he watched the Dwarf column approach, his yellowed teeth jutting from the corners of his grin. As he watched, the old Orc shamen approached, and with a wizened croak, knelt beside him.
"Youse getting too old for this Shasbut, it if wasn't for ye magic, I'd have fed you to the trolls ages ago..."
The Shamen wheezed and a croaky cackle issued forth. The Shamen watched the column for a few minutes before speaking.
"We shud wait Grotfang, give it another day. Grishak hasn't return from rounding up the trolls. We may need them."
The Warlord snorted his derision. "They've probably eaten the fool by now. Grishak was always a bit too slow around those trolls..."
"We should wait one more day..."
"No!" the Warlord cut across the Shamen, "I have them right where I want them. We's gonna crush em. Boyz will be feasting on Dwarf flesh tonight!"
The Warlord stood up and strode back towards his Wyvern, the beast lying silent among the trees. The Shamen looked at the Dwarfs. The red and yellow of their clothing and shields meant something to him, but he couldn't remember what. That bothered him. The whole business bothered him. Gork was trying to tell him something but his God wasn't shouting loud enough.
"Catch them he says..." The Shamen muttered, "Crush them... When do you ever catch a stunty by surprise?" the Shamen said to no one in particular and then slowly rose from the ground to head back to his mount, still feeling like he was missing part of the puzzle...
For two days the Goblins had been shadowing the Dwarf column. For two days, the Dwarf Rangers in the woods had been watching them...
As the Dwarven column snaked along the edge of the clearing, the drums of the Orcs started and from the woods, hordes of greenskins spilled forth in a random tide. As they raced to get into their units, the champions pulling and beating the boyz into some semblance of ranks, the Dwarven column simply halted.
For a moment, the Greenskins stopped and stared as a lone Dwarven horn blew a series of high pitched commands. As they watched the Dwarven column seemed to move as one. The war machines suddenly began to climb the hill pulled by mules and pushed by the crews. The Dwarven infantry threw off their marching cloaks and unsung their shields and as one the units turned to face the clearing. Each unit perfectly ranked and aligned with those next to it. Dwarven crossbows raced up the hill and took position behind the Infantry, preparing their bolts, while Dwarven Thunderers ran into the clearing and formed two thin skirmish lines in front of the main body of infantry, finally in the centre a strange cart was rumbled forward and when the trapulins were pulled off, a Flame Cannon was revealed.
Grotfang, watching from his Wyvern barked at his nearby commanders and they raced to get the Orcs moving again. Grotfang, just for a moment wondered if the Shamen had been right. His hope for an ambush was not going to happen and his Orcish brain was telling him that it felt like his opponent had him right where he wanted him...
Then Greenskins began to advance, the huge catapult hurled a rock towards the Dwarven lines but it fell short, showering a regiment of Longbeards in clods of earth. As the rest of the army avanced, the elderly Shamen summoned up his powers and brought forth the wrath of his God. A strange giant disembodied green fist slammed into first one, then a second, then a third Dwarf unit, sending Dwarfs flying to the sides and slamming others into the ground, but each time they redressed their ranks and stood firm. The Shamen then lost control of the power he had brought forth and the strange green fist slammed down onto the Orcs crewing the catapult, killing them all. The Shamen shook his head... Gork was a fickle god, and this was not a good omen.
As the Orcs advanced, they were met by a fusilade of fire from the Dwarfs. Cannonballs smashed through ranks, giant bolts skewered lines of Goblins and the Flame Cannon belched forth fiery death. The Orcs pushed on and soon reached the lines of the Dwarven Thunderers, poised to charge, the Orc centre readied itself... The wolf riders were ready on each flank. Then two unfortunate incidents occurred. Then Thunderers didn't turn to retreat but instead let loose a devastating close range volley. The Orc unit under fire simply broke and fled, and in response so did most of the Orc centre. At the same time the Wolf Riders, instead of charging, started fighting amongst themselves. One Orc unit did make the Dwarven lines and fell upon the contingent of Miners, who promptly hacked down the Orcs. Grotfang now spent time reforming his men and once more the centre pushed forward. The Shamen readied himself to call forward the Waaagh and imbue the Orcs with bloodlust. Instead, the elderly Shamen wet himself and suddenly found he no longer remembered the spell... Accross the batlefield, the Dwarven Runesmith allowed himself a sly grin as he caressed the rune of spell destruction carved into his war axe.
But still the Orcs came on and finally the lines met. The carnage was huge, but the Dwarfs in their armour absorbed the blows and would not move an inch. The Orcs with their general nearby kept his troops fighting but losses mounted. Then Prince Harvald 'Harry' Bosch stepped into the fray. In a few short seconds, the Orc unit facing his was destroyed and cut to ribbons. For what seemed like hours the Dwarfs stood firm, hacking down Greenskins left and right. But as losses mounted the Orc lines wavered. Even the Black Orcs, locked in Combat with the Dwarven Ironbreakers watched their blows bounce from the Gromril armour of their foes.
Grotfang watched his army being slowly cut down like ripe corn. He could see Dwarf casualties but they were nothing like his own and the Dwarf units simply refused to budge. Then one unit of Goblins on the right flank gave way and others too began to run. Suddenly the Dwarven horns all started and one flank began to advance, cutting down fleeing Greenskins and threatening to envelop the rest of the army. With roar Grotfang sent his Wyvern skyward and screamed for his Orcs to retreat. Soon the battlefield was empty of Greenskins except for piles of bodies and a long line of stalwart Dwarves.
Harry Bosch and his brothers walked the field. Losses had been reasonable, though the Thunderers had suffered heavy loss. He would need reinforcements to replace them, but the first Orc Warlord had fallen into his trap.
"It worked brothers," he said, staring into the dark forest as the sun began to set. "We make camp. Congratulate your men. Double rations. But in the morning we head for Carak Angol..."
