Massacre at Dipswallow

Mike (Wood Elves) vs Tim (Dwarfs)

Morgrim gave a mighty battle cry and thrust his axe forward.

“Attack!”

The Dwarfs surged forward toward the Elven lines with Morgrim riding the great bear Thurvar, warriors running on muscular but stunted legs behind him. To the far right a Gyrocopter zoomed forward, the Dwarf behind its throttle, lining up his sights on the Elven Spellsinger he saw slipping between the buildings up ahead.

The place of battle was on the edge of the deserted village of Dipswallow, in a narrow valley in a fold of Hades Ridge. It wasn’t ideal for the Dwarfs – there was far too much foliage to make it perfect – but Morgrim didn’t care. The momentum of his previous victory carried him forward. There was nothing that could hobble his righteous fury now.

Dryads ran to meet them but Morgrim cared not; Glade Guard levelled their bows, but the Thunderers and Quarellers he had commanded into position let fly, gunning them down: Morgrim worried not. Even the gigantic Treeman crashing through the foliage towards him did not give him pause.

Then a terrible roar broke out across the battlefield and suddenly a sliver of doubt crackled on Morgrim’s brow. It was a sound he had never heard in all his days on that world, but still it made even he sense his own mortality.

It was the war cry of a Blood Wood Drake and even as Morgrim charged the Treeman, the Drake swept down on the Thunderers, tearing them apart. Their weapons were no good. Its armour was invincible. It ripped them in twain with teeth and claw as Arodor Naurven, the Scourge of Bloodroot Forest, leapt from its back to join the fray.

As the Dwarfen warriors charged through the forest, Warhawk Riders soared round their flank, heading for the missile troops, even as the ineffectual cannon exploded, taking its crew with it.

The Dwarfs cut down the Dryads, losing some of their own but easily defeating their enemies then overran into the Elven Noble and Spellsinger waiting behind the line and cut them down too. But Morgrim wasn’t faring so well and quickly he was realising that his overconfidence was to be his undoing. Bolstered by Elven magic, he simply did not have the capacity to damage the gargantuan Treeman quickly enough and its tree trunk arms were dealing more damage back to him than even his magically strengthened armour could endure.

Glade Riders closed on the Quarrellers as the Warhawk Riders attacked. That section of the Dwarfen line was almost obliterated, but the survivors fought on, hoping to trap their foes long enough for Morgrim’s secret plan to initiate.

And initiate it did.

As all seemed lost, a stout regiment of Dwarf Miners emerged from the ground right behind the Elven Glade Guard and before they could adequately respond, the Dwarfs charged into them, bringing them down with their pickaxes.  With the Glade Guard dead they looked round for other enemies and charged on but as another mighty blow came down on Morgrim, he could see that it was too late, and far too little. The oaken arms knocked him from Thurvar’s back and he landed in the thick undergrowth. From behind the dense foliage he could see the Blood Wood Drake take to the air once more and sail back toward the miners, even as the Treeman; believing him dead; stomped in the direction of the miners.

All was lost. Morgrim could see that. His rashness had cost them everything and might yet lose them the war.

There was nothing now but for him to flee in shame. He could not battle on alone, even if he had the strength for it. The Elven host and their Blood Wood Drake were, for now, undefeatable.

The entire Dwarfen host had been massacred!