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 River's Crook

Chaos Dwarfs & Beastmen (Tim) vs Tempestrians (Gill)

Of evil Dwarfs and deadly Beasts this tale tells,
Of a place where the river bends and trees crowd close,

Of valiant men of Tempestria, ranks of archers and noble knights,

Mighty steeds on falcons wing,

Mighty machines of terror and war gushed smoke,

Stunted legs of sinister warriors strode remorselessly,

Howling man-beasts readied to charge,

Hell Hounds bayed as a ord of darkness surveryed his legions,

The great winged bull beneath him breathing steam and flame,

Towering behemoths of steel and heat swung massive hammers,

Striding through the river undeterred,

And as the forces clashed they fought,

Knight's bane man slayers and their victims all,

Dying men, failing virtue, tainted water,

Death and death and only death,

Only of death does this tale tell.

Massacre on the Bridge of Hel Snatch

Orcs & Goblins (Tim) vs Warriors of Chaos (Mike) 

The forces of the Orcs were on the march, a cloud of smoke and vapour proceeding behind them as they charged down from their fortress of Gaping Maw.

The forces of Chaos had taken the mighty bridge of Hel Snatch over the river Trebleca, scant miles from the Orc fortress. If they didn't act now then their next visitors would be most unwelcome.

On the bridge, the forces of Dunkel Schloss waited, calling out jeers of challenge, carefully ranked up awaiting their enemies.

The Orcs formed themselves into two waves, a fast, hard hitting forward wave and a slower but denser follow up to mop up the survivors.

Little need be said of the battle that commenced. 

The first wave of the Orcs annihilated the War Wounds sent forward to meet them, overrunning into the waiting warriors beyond.

With so much destruction, the Warriors quivered momentarily in panic, but held firm, the will of chaos driving them on.

They were powerful warriors and battered down the opposition of the first wave. The sorcerer who led the Chaos force unleashed virulent plagues from his magics again and again, bringing down the Giants and chipping away at the onrushing Orcs and Goblins. He laughed maniacally as his power reached out, devastating all around him.


But would it be enough?

An Orc Warboss swept over the river onto the bridge from the bank, coasting over the streams of arrows and magical fire from the Arrer Boyz, and ripped into the Hellcannon and its crew. The monstrous war engine tore chunks from the wyvern's flanks but it wasn't sufficient to bring it down before the Hellcannon and its crew were ripped to shreds. The warboss fell but there was now a very angry wyvern amidst the ranks of Chaos.

The surviving warriors and knights charged but Bull Rogue, mighty troll leader of the Orc army swung his mighty axe, destroying them without resistance. He led the charge on the sorcerer and his guard and crushed him under the gargantuan blade. More and more warriors fell, and though they smote goblins by the dozen, it was a war of attrition and they simply did not have the numbers to sustain it.

It had seemed a close battle but it was over within minutes.

Bull Rogue and his Orcs had won. The mighty bridge of Hel Snatch was theirs once more and, for now, Gaping Jaw was safe.

Return to the Fields of Contagion

Lord Thorgrantis Kul surveyed the riverbanks of the Trebleca at the Fields of Contagion, the dread pox-ridden wasteland where one hundred years before, the plague dead of the doomed city of Fell Glen were buried until the undertakers could walk no more themselves. 

Beyond the river, the remnants of the Orc host yet fled that had been battled backward by the legions of undeath. He smiled grimly. With the undead hordes weakened from battle, even in victory, they would be able to offer little resistance. It was the perfect time to strike.

The perfect time to take this land as his own and add it to the realms of Dunkel Schloss.

He gave the order, and the army of Dunkel Schloss charged forward.

Up the rise, nestled between the river and one of the ancient chapels, the dark king Gorper hesitated, understanding the danger to his realm. With the Chittering Horde pressing hard against his capital of Barak Varr, a loss here could crumple the entire western arm of his realm. And as Lord Kul had surmised: his warriors were weary and battle worn, the magics animating them grown wan and dim.

Still, retreat wasn’t an option; nor surrender. In ancient times, while life and heat clung to his bones as flesh, as one of the greatest warriors of Nehekhara, he had fought himself and his men free from situations more fell than this. And more laden with doom.

He lifted his great curving blade; paused long enough for all empty sockets on the field to see it, the cleft it through the air toward their enemies.

The clash began immediately, as heavily armoured Warriors of Chaos marched silent and dreadful into combat, unhurried but lethal in every twist of their mighty sword arms, ignoring even the dread vortex summoned by the Liche Priests to drown them in smoke. They were outmanned by the wide sweep of skeletons but not outmatched, and their fiendish god-spawned power cracked skull from shoulder and hand from arm.

Through the shallow waters of the river there, skeleton horsemen ran down the mighty Hellcannon with its Chaos Dwarf crew, but the hammer blow they had hoped to deliver never fell. The daemonic war machine was far more powerful than expected and soon, dread horseman and dread horse alike were only scattered bones.

But from the chapel, concealed within, the casket of souls hurled forth the screaming dead, dragging the spirits of the warriors of Dunkel Schloss from their empty bodies. And in the midst of the battle line, Gorpor thrust and slashed with his mighty blade.

The skeletons fell and the warriors fell with them, the tide of battle turning first one way, then another. But as both Gorpor and Lord Kul were driven from the battlefield, it became clear, though barely, that the Tomb Kings had won the day. Such was their strength in battle that even after their defeat of the Orcs, they still possessed the strength of magic, bone and will to combat and defeat their enemies.

Lord Kul commanded the retreat but not before a wind captured his attention and turned it downriver. His routed men fled around him, but he paused long enough to gaze down the length of the Trebleca where, far off, distantly, the aging spires of the pestilential city of Fell Glen stood visible in the evening mists.

And a name came to his mind; a name from history; one who had wronged him as he had wronged that man. And though his heart was as stone and felt little in terms of fear; still, Kul experienced a twinge of what might be described as presentiment.

He knew not, why the name might spring to his mind now, but as he turned and spurred his fell steed on, away to his lands, he wished that he had not recalled it. For it unsettled him.

And the name was Simian Crease.

Crossing at Still Water

Vampire Counts (Tim) vs Skaven (Mike)

The townsfolk of Still Water were subdued, eyeing the horizon cautiously and looking up leaded windows in the high tower of the market hall for some sign that the spotter had seen enemies approach. This had gone on for days. They new danger was approaching – they could feel it – but when it was going to arrive they had no clue.

Then the call went out from the southern spotter. The Skaven were coming: a gigantic chittering horde of them. The townspeople gathered up the children. They fled for their secret hideouts. Then the call went out from the northern spotter. It was worse than they’d imagined. The zombies were coming: a vast shambling army of unliving dead-eyed corpses. They were caught between the hordes and there was nothing they could do but hide and wait.

The Skaven reached the village first. The forces of the vampire counts had one objective: to break through to Fortress malefic and take back their stronghold. Still Water was their best crossing point and it was the best chance the Skaven had to stop their advance. Hoping to force the undead legion to have to fight in the river the Skaven deployed as close to the water’s edge as they could, their forces covering all the ground from the watchtower on the village boundary right up to the village itself.

Within their hidden cover holes the village folk watched fearfully. The zombies were coming closer. Parents held sweating hands over their children’s mouths. Any sound at this point would expose them all. The Skaven had to believe the outpost was deserted. And then there was no more need for quiet. The undead arrived!

It was immediately clear that the Skaven had made an error in judgment. Their forces were too focused on the western end of town. There was a gap in their blockade near to the graveyard and the undead exploited it. Utilising preternatural cunning, Spheric, the vampire general, the ordered his largest unit of zombies to take a holding position in the centre of the village at the river crossing while the rest of his forces crashed into the water and scrambled through the shallows. He and his vampires summoned more zombies from the recent dead and through them into battle against the ratmen, holding them in place to give his shambling forces time to cross.

The Skaven were far faster than he anticipated however. They rapidly redeployed, crossing the river and racing into position, and charging up the lane into town hoping to cut the undead off. Clanrats led by Frostclaw, the Skaven general, ripped into the zombies that had been placed to prevent their overrunning attack, outflanking them and cutting them down rapidly.

But Spheric had all but banked on this. There was no end to the dead, no running out of zombie soldiers. There were there only to die. It mattered not at all how many were killed. What seemed like an overwhelming Skaven counterattack was just too little and too late. While the ratmen wasted their time on the zombies and struggled to circle round in time, the bulk of the undead army got across the river and shambled onward.

The Skaven blockade had failed. The undead were through. And there was only one thing on their minds: they were going to take back Fortress Malefic and then they would devour the corpses of every rat that they found there!

Pawing their way back across the fields towards the fortress, desperate to protect their prize, the Skaven left the village of Still Water empty. Allowing more time than was necessary to be sure, the villagers waited and then slowly emerged, looking after both withdrawing armies.

They had survived and their village had survived with them but how long would it be before their enemies returned?

As for the victory of the Vampire Counts. It was a victory also to them. The Skaven were far more dangerous to their existence. They hoped as the vampires did that the undead would take Fortress Malefic and drive the rat men out.

Only time now would tell if this would come to pass.

Still Water

In the far south east of the Border Princes, perilously close to Fortress Malefic, lies the sleepy little town of Still Water. It is only a small cluster of buildings centred round a market hall but it is an old settlement and one that the villagers have long been proud of.

Still Water lies on the bank of Blood River and is named for the way the river slows there, the plain almost perfectly flat around it. The village is the last human settlement in the southeast before the Badlands are reached and the lane that leads to it is a dead end. Following the lane west along the riverbank it meanders alongside the water toward the other scattered villages in the south and west. Travel to the north is greatly impeded by Blood River and no bridges wide enough for troop movement can be found until the south road is reached far far to the west. There is no ford at Still Water and this would normally mean that the town would hold little strategic value, being only small and fairly poor. Sadly this is not the case.

As the river runs so slowly here, although it is deep in parts, Still Water is still the best crossing point east of the Blood River Bogs. With Fortress Malefic to its south and beyond that the Badlands and the Land of the Dead, Still Water has had to weather a bitter and difficult time as the forces of the vampire counts have used it as a crossing point again and again.

Still Water’s most significant landmark is its majestic market hall. This huge building follows a design fairly common in the Border Princes but here in Still Water perhaps more use is made of it than elsewhere. For much of the year the market hall is used for storage of produce, the lower open floor utilised as a place of sale and bartering to the southern villages. Sales here are made of cattle and grain and of vegetables, fruit and milk. On festival days, the upper hall is used for celebrations, hosting dances that run on into the small hours and attract hunters and shepherds from many leagues around. For the rest of the year it is a focus of the community, providing a meeting place for the village council and general village hall for other purposes. It can be made to be very warm in winter and the roof shutters keep it cool in the summer. Its high tower gives a good view across the plain and enables the spotter always stationed there to alert the village folk of impending threats.

The Last Chance War has not been kind to the villagers of Still Water but paradoxically has allowed them to continue something of a sparse existence due to the nature of their closest neighbours. When the cry of the spotter alerts the villagers of approaching enemies, the folk flee from their houses and hide themselves in shallow underground chambers near to the graveyard covered in foliage. Enemies are not fought off but are avoided and given free reign to move through and past the river. In this way the villagers have stayed alive. Because their town lies so close to the heart of the realm controlled for so many months by the vampire counts, they have actually been able to avoid most threats. The zombies and skeletons have no need of looting their provisions after all.

Now however, the Skaven have taken up residence in Fortress Malefic, vicious scavengers all, and suddenly the existence of Still Water and its citizens is very much under threat. Survival in these times is a privilege, not a right, and the villagers look fearfully both north and south, wondering from which direction their doom will come. The vampires and the ratmen are soon to clash, the undead racing south to reclaim their fortress, the Skaven pushing north to see them off. With Still Water in such a critical position, it is more than likely to be the site of their inevitable clash. And woe betide the villagers then!

Winter’s Bitter Grip

Tim (Goblins) vs Gill (Barrow Kings)

As the war continued in the north and east, the relentless advance of the Barrow Kings in the southwest continued almost uncontested. Few of their forces had been brought to arms and now the Barrow Kings were beginning to enact their most diabolical plan.

Of all the forces involved in the Last Chance War, the Barrow Kings were in perhaps the most secure position. Their western and southern flanks were completely unassailed. To their north, the Orcs were caught up in warfare with the Dwarfs. To the northeast lay the weak and largely defenceless realm of New Sylvania; and to the east, they and the Vampire Counts had the Skaven in a closing fist.

If the Barrow Kings could eliminate all opposition south of the Old Silk Road, creating an unbroken link with their undead allies, there would be nothing to stop them sweeping north. To achieve this, the New Sylvanians and Skaven needed to be wiped out but before that could achieved, the Skaven’s allies, a colony of filthy goblins lurking in the south woodlands, needed to be eradicated.

Autumn had come to a close and winter was now here, and with it, the first snows! In a sudden blizzard, the flatlands south of the Sleeping Woods were covered in an unbroken blanket of white. But this didn’t stop the Barrow Kings. They had no sense for the cold and strode purposefully through it. Up ahead the Goblins massed, waiting on either side of the fast flowing Blood River. And there was things in the midst of the Goblin army that had never been seen before: giant spiders! There were hordes of spiders the size of dogs and more the size of horses, forest goblins from the Sleeping Woods on their back. And in the centre of the waiting ranks was the Spider King, a diminutive but powerful Forest Goblin on the back of a gigantic spider!

The battle lines approached one another but before they could come into contact a series of explosions sounded as huge chaos=spawned meteorites from the dark moon of Morslieb crashed into the snow-packed earth.

Unheeding of the danger the forces came into conflict but it was immediately clear that the river was their biggest adversary. Come up on either side of its banks, both armies had their forces split and both were split unevenly. On each side of the river either the goblins overran their skeletal foes or the undead wiped out the greenskins. It was all going to come down to which side of the river fell first but even though the barrow Kings managed to destroy the forces on one side of the river, by the time they had forded the fast moving current, many of their force had been swept away.

The magic of Phallicbone, the Great Orc Shaman accompanying the Goblins pulverised his enemies and then, at the pivotal moment, reached out and crushed the Liche High Priest who controlled the undead horde.

After that the battle was lost for the Barrow Kings. The Goblins closed on their ranks but their skeletal bodies were already clattering lifeless into the ever-deepening snows.

The Barrow King’s gambit had failed. The fate of the southern Border Princes, and with it the entire Old World, remained undecided.

The Battle at Twin Fords

Tim (Vampire Counts) vs Gill (Tempestrians)

On the border of the kingdom of Tempest Falls lies the great Thunder River, a slow flowing leviathan of water pouring down from the Black Mountains to where it joins the blood river. South of the Old Silk Road bridge, in the shadow of the forest, lay a tiny village named Twin Fords. The village was a desolate place, haunted by ghastly spirits and ravening ghouls. Much of the land south of the Old Silk Road was controlled by the forces of the Vampire Counts and this dismal place was no different.

But the Tempestrian Knights had already won a great victory against the undead and their army surged onwards, eager for greater glory. Confident that another victory could be won by eliminating the vampire lord the knights charged into town. The undead host gathered its strength from the other side of the river as the Tempestrian archers took up positions in the abandoned houses.

There were two shallow fords next to the village. On one side of the river stood the knights, their steeds stamping at the ground, at the other, rank upon rank of zombies and skeletons. Both sides knew that to act first would put them at a disadvantage as the water dragged down on their lags, slowing their charge, but the tension rose until finally the knights galloped forward, joining battle.

There were almost limitless numbers of zombies and more being risen from the dead every second by the powerful vampire sorceresses. The knights found themselves in a quagmire of reaching lifeless limbs but they fought on. With a wry smile, Methuselah, the Tempestrian lord, charged into the ranks of ghouls on his hippogriff. But he had grievously underestimated the cunning of his opponent.

As soon as the lord was locked in combat, his evil counterpart sent unit after unit into the battle, tying him into place for as long as possible. The vampire baroness leading the ghouls sent her pack forward, refusing any attempt Methuselah made to challenge her to single combat and every blow they struck against him was at the hippogriff, not the lord himself. With every ghoul cut down under his indomitable blade, the vampire baroness stepped forward and thrust her dagger up into the battle-scarred underbelly of the hippogriff. Methuselah fell flat on his face into the muddy bank of the river, the wry smile fully wiped from his face. He scrambled up and dispatched the vampire baroness with a single blow but as his enemies crowded round he realised the purpose of the strategy.

As the battle raged around him he found himself swamped. He managed to slaughter all the enemies in the immediate vicinity but as he ran along the river bank towards the vampire lord, hoping to kill her and cause her army to crumble, he was attacked again and again by further stalling units. The vampires were laughing at him and his pitiful attempts to regain the battlefield.

The archers stationed in the village buildings shot hundreds of arrows into the zombie hordes but there was no way they could prevent the mass of zombies from holding the horde. The battle was as good as lost and the Knights of Tempest Falls were forced to withdraw. What could have shattered the hold of the undead on the central eastern lands had become a hopeless waste of good men.