The western reaches of Usola, south of Ebino, Autumn 2405
As soon as the fleeing elves met with Captain Ricci’s Reman force, Lord Veluthil declared it was time to make another stand, to face the enemy again. The Arrabbiati riders had already departed and the dwarves had died buying the elves time to escape (although the dwarves’ lack of fleetness had already spelled their doom). Veluthil’s army had not just evaded the enemy’s claws, it had also maintained good order throughout its flight, enabling it to form a line of battle beside the Remans within two hours of their meeting.
The Remans, having the largest regiments in the newly allied army, formed the centre.
A large body of pike stood in their midst …
… while one wing was formed by handgunners, joined by the priest of Morr, Father Uguccione Marra, and the other consisted of a regiment of men-at-arms, bearing greatswords and led by Captain Sirus Ricci himself.
Captain Tristano Tronolone, the army standard bearer, stood with the pikes, bearing the blessed Battle Flag of Morr, which lent courage to all those near it who fought for the lawful gods. Better still, there was many a man in the line who had fought against the ratman horde at Palomtrina. Those soldiers had a confidence gifted by their great victory in that previous battle, not only fueling their own courage, but assuring the rest that Remans were entirely capable of defeating the uomini ratto.
There were more Remans elsewhere in the line, including the great gun on the hill to the right of the massed rank and file …
… and a little company of brave pistoliers trotting elegantly down the road, looking almost as if they were upon a pleasant countryside excursion, albiet one which required armour and a brace of pistols.
High Lord Veluthil’s sylvan elves mainly formed the army’s right, except for the newly reformed Sharlian Riders, who had led the Remans here. These came up on the left of the Reman foot regiments, their harness clattering and their heavy bladed lances held aloft.
Fewer than half had been part of original company who had fought beside the Remans before, first in Reman service, then later in Pavonan service, being Lord Silvano’s bodyguard in several battles in which the Pavonans had been allied with the Remans.
The rest of the elves came up cautiously. Indeed, a large body of glade guard archers formed up behind the hill, as if afraid of ascending it, there to be spied by the enemy.
This choice of position elicited muttering among the Remans, who were forced to consider what kind of soldiers believed they could win a battle by hiding. It seemed especially odd, as the elves were renowned archers, with bows that could easily shoot as far as the very best longbow made by man. Why would they stand where their bows could not be employed from the off, thereby reducing the number of volleys they could loose? What the Remans did not know, was the ratmen’s proven ability to summon magical storm winds to play havoc with all such volleys. Lord Uluar had not wanted to dishearten the Remans with this knowledge, believing it were for the best that the men marched onto the field without such fearful concerns. But the elves themselves knew, and their own caution arose from that knowledge.
To the glade guard’s right, and further forwards, were the glade riders, the three wizards (Veluthil, Ascal and Ualair), Cioran Brightmoon and the deepwood scouts, as well as the warhawk riders and the bolt thrower that had been hastily (but expertly) rebuilt with surprising speed after its carriage in pieces during the flight.
Reinforcements, in the form of yet more glade guard commanded by captain Hedre Eedwillow, another bolt thrower and a small body of deadly, wild-riders …
… were on their way, ordered to move as quickly as possible to join the army, but cirumstances had forced Veluthil to engage the enemy before they arrived.
(Game Note: The ‘support move’ roll had revealed that they would enter the tabletip, from the flank,as per their starting hex position, on turn 4. The elven and Reman platers knew this, the ratman player did not!)
Lord Veluthil and Lord Ualair Greenstone rode close to each other, but not together.
The glade riders were ahead of them, still playing the part of bodyguards by screening their masters. Their banners fluttered sharply in the (premonitory) breeze as they strung their bows in preparation for the fight.
Behind the lordly wizards was the army’s baggage trayne, now mostly made of Reman wagons, carts and mules, what with much of the elven baggage necessarily having been discarded during their rapid retreat over the last weeks. A Shallyan sister, robed in white, walked with the baggage, no doubt wondering what terrible and bloody injuries she might soon be attending.
Ascal Arconvale’s approach was somewhat more bold than her master’s, for she was mounted upon a warhawk, and led the another five such riders from the front.
Once again, the ratmen very definitely had the advantage of numbers. During their long pursuit of the foe, they had reorganised their rank and files so that despite having lost seventy slaves as casualties in the previous battle, they could still field two large mobs of thirty six.
Out on the rats’ far left were two conpanies of jezzails …
… and a body of censer bearers, who had climbed the little hill upon that flank.
Beside them, skirting the hill’s upper slopes, came tortured men slaves …
… whipped on by their cruel masters, their minds addled by a form of frenzied desperation.
Next to them trundled a lightning cannon, and beyond that came a large regiment of clanrats.
These were dwarfed by the even larger body of plague monks to their right …
… in the front rank of which strode not only their priestly commander but also the army’s magical banner bearer (the source of so much grief for the elves in the last battle).
Then came the second body of slaves …
… and the purple clad Stormvermin.
These elite warriors formed grey seer, Lord Cralk’s bodyguard, quite the change from the slave warriors who had accompanied him at Bisavera.
This was the great press of warriors the Remans faced – clearly a threat despite the ratmen’s poor showing at Palomtrina.
The far right wing of the army …
… sported another lightning cannon and a large company of poisoned wind globadiers …
… with the furthermost body being a great mass of giant rats, driven down the road by a line of packmasters in the rear.
Behind this impressively swollen line was the rats’ baggage …
… including the mysterious chest that once again the elven wizards could sense, as its magical potency elicited eddies in the etheric winds across the entire field.
Even as the rats ordered their ranks and files, the horse and hawk riders moved up, the former finding shelter behind the copse of trees their wizards had conjured into being the previous night, while the latter took a bolder approach in the open.
Out on the far left flank the Reman pistoliers also came up, along the road, although there was an air of caution about their advance. (Game Note: Vanguard moves.)
Lords Veluthil and Uluar also moved a little forwards …
… although it seemed they were doing so simply so that they might remain concealed behind the advanced bodies.
Just as the elves had dreaded, but quite a surprise for the Remans, the magical power of the rats’ army standard was now awoken, and in that moment, before even one arrow was loosed, ethereally charged storm winds whipped violently across the full length of the field.
Nevertheless, the glade guard archers belatedly mounted the hill …
… while the pistoliers began to slow their already cautious pace. As Lord Veluthil conjured a magical blessing on Ascal and her war hawks, Lord Uluar threw a curse at the jezzails on the hill ahead, killing one.
The Reman cannon crew, upon the hill opposite, could see the enemy’s discomfort, which lifted their spirits a little.
This momentary optimism was soon quelled, as their gun-barrel shivered into pieces upon their first attempt to fire, killing all of them instantly.
The rest of the allies’ shooting was almost as disappointing, as a consequence of the winds wrenching at every archer upon the field. The glade riders felled one of the enemy’s far left flank jezzailers causing them to flee the field altogether, while the hawks (currently forced to the ground by the winds) killed another of those who had been cursed only moment’s before, causing the last to flee.
Elsewhere, nothing was achieved, as every arrow flew wildly off-target. Whether or not the enemy noticed was unclear, for they too had to contend with the noise and buffeting of the storm. Nevertheless, they now advanced boldly, clearly intent on closing in on elves and Remans as quickly as possible.
As the huge mass of giant rats moved along the road towards the little company of pistoliers …
… the entire centre of their battleline surged forwards.
Every step they took made both elves and men feel smaller, and further stirred the feeling of dread in the pits of their stomachs. The Reman handgunners were struggling to apply powder to their pans in the swirling winds, some even having to pat out burning patches on their clothes as sparks flew from their matchcords.
Unlike their fellows on the far flank, the fleeing jezzails came to a halt. Below the hill, the human slaves were being driven through the copse of trees towards the elven riders.
Lord Cralk was satisfied as he looked out from the front rank of his bodyguard, for the magical storm winds had yet to lessen one jot, and the enemy looked weak and strung out, even the elven riders on their barded steeds.
He was less satisfied with his first attempt at magic …
… failing to conjure lightning against those same riders, then only momentarily happy with the scorching curse he summoned to kill eleven of the enemy pikemen …
… because before he could revel in the harm he had caused, shards of the etheric heat he had summoned flickered around him, drawing blood from his own flesh and causing him to lose his hold on the last wisps of magical energies he was juggling.
As the storm raged on, the brave Reman pistoliers decided the enemy’s grenadiers were the real danger to their comrades’ flank …
… and so they charged them. losing two of their number before they reached, then another upon entering the melee.
The glade riders also took bold action, moving up the slopes ahead of them to mount the hill.
In the centre, the Reman foot soldiers stood their ground, intending to receive the enemy’s charge at pike point – to make their stand, howsoever desperate it might be.
Yet not all in the allied army were willing either to advance or merely make a stand. Much to the Remans’ surprise, several com[panies of elves now began to fall back!
The Sharlian Riders by the Reman left, simply turned, and neatly so, to begin trotting away, strangely calm as they did so.
Less gracefully, for they were still forced to the ground by the enchanted gale, the hawks also retreated, although still facing the foe, to the edge of the hill where the last of the smoke from the shivered gun swirled in the unnatural gale.
Lord Veluthil sought continued concealment behind the hawks’ large, feathered frames …
… while Lord Uluar rode to a spot behind the bolt thrower.
From their temporary refuges, the two wizards attempts at magic all failed, although the Morrite priest, Father Uguccione, standing with the handgunners …
… managed to kill five of the Stormvermin with a flurry of fireballs. The handgunners beside him muttered among themselves, for what with their continued struggles in the storm to load their pieces, they had rather hoped he might have targeted the mass of robed rats closing directly upon them.
Little did they know that the source of their magically-induced misery was being born at the fore of that same regiment.
Once again, very little was achieved by the elven archery. Even the impressive skill of Lord Veluthil himself failed to send an arrow flying true through the winds.
Now, just as the elves on both flanks quietly commenced their careful exit, the rats attempted to engage the foe to the front and to the left.
Cralk and his bodyguard, the rat-slaves, monks, clanrats, censer bearers and human slaves – all lurched onwards. But something stalled them, an infectious uncertainty causing each to doubt that the rest would go through with the charge, and every one of them failed to reach the enemy, instead stumbling to a momentary halt.
Nevertheless, as the men-slaves began pouring through the trees …
… and the censer bearers came a-swinging in their direction, the elven hawks flapped furiously to escape, struggling up the hill and past the ruined gun and blocking the line of sight of the elven archers.
The great central mass of rats might have failed in that moment, but none among the Remans standing in the midst of the field felt remotely confident about their chances. Most presumed the lurching motion had been a form of cruel taunt – that the enemy had feigned a charge just to witness the men flinch in fear, thereby further discomforting them before they truly struck! Not one Reman thought the rats would actually withhold their charge.
And when the rats did come on, after a moment or two to reorganise their ranks and to revel in the smell of fear from their foe, the Remans would find themselves outnumbered two, maybe three, to one! Worse still, even more ratmen were arriving upon the field, for in that same moment, another large regiment of clanrats marched up to the rear of the baggage train …
… then wheeled to face the elves on the hill, the better to prevent any attempt by the riders to interfere with the mysteriously precious contents of the chest.
These reinforcements had been attempting to catch up with Cralk’s main army for two weeks, thwarted daily by the fact that the army was in rapid pursuit of the foe. They were led by an engineer …
… who immediately conjured lightning from his bladed and wired staff to kill two of the enemy riders. The warriors with him agreed amongst themselves that he obviously meant business, and wondered whether he alone might deal with that particular foe, allowing them to rest rather than fight after their long and tiresome march.
Lord Cralk slew four more pike with magical fire, while the jezzails failed to find their mark against the elven riders and the crew of the leftmost lightning cannon struggled to ready gun to fire in the winds.
Not so the lightning cannon on the far side of the field, however, for this sent a flashing arc of deadly heat all the way to the hill top …
… killing no less than five of the riders!
This slaughter elicited a cheer from the newly arrived clanrats, for it seemed they would not be required to risk their lives at all this day! The last surviving elf, most likely plain stunned by the horror all about him, did not flee, but chose instead to spur his mount to launch a last, almost certainly fatal charge.
As the pistoliers continued their desperate combat against the globadiers …
… and the Reman foot regiments braced themselves for the inevitable, the elves contined their retreat from the field. The carts and wagons in their baggage were hauled away, while the Sharlian Riders continued their leisurely exit.
Cioran and his scouts moved back, as did both the archers and hawks, who made their way down the far slope of the hill.
Lord Veluthil, his heart sinking in like manner to the last battle, kept a watch upon the foe as his own army withdrew.
Once again he had decided that to continue the fight would lead to his army’s certain ruin. He was not willing to sacrifice so many of his people in a pointless act of fatal defiance, even if it meant the death of the Remans. He knew his reinforcements were on the way (Game Note: Not due until the next turn, which the player believed would be too late to save the day) so that even in flight his army would grow in strength rather than diminish. His only goal was to ensure the safety of Tettoverde forest and his own realm within, and neither would be achieved by his army’s annihiliation here.
If he could keep this army intact and join with the reinforcements, then he would still have a hand to play, whether that was by fighting once more somewhere here in the west, or by falling back to make a last stand at his sylvan home.
And so it was, as the storm continued to thwart almost every attempt to shoot, and the elves continued streaming away, their wizards’ spells all failing, the rats took a breath …
… and recommenced their charge.
This time they smashed almost as one into the Remans, with only the clanrats failing to keep up.
The Stormvermin found themselves fighting side by side with the slaves against the men-at-arms …
… and the monks joined the slaves on the other flank to take on the pikemen.
(Game Note: This gave the Reman player some hope, for this was one, big combat, which meant if he targeted all the attacks he could against the slaves, ensuring that any model with an option chose to fight the unarmoured slaves, that would gift him more combat resolution points. Had the handgunners not been slightly behind the other Remans, and had the clanrats successfully charged, it would be a different story. Not everything was going the Reman player’s way, though, for his army standard bearer, granting stubborn to all Remans within 12″, was in the fighting rank, and therefore vulnerable (a disadvantage was perhaps balanced by the fact that the skaven player had allowed Lord Cralk to join the fight too, and there was no skitterleap spell to save him!)
Lord Veluthil now fled when he realised the human slaves were pouring towards him …
… riding so fast that he outstripped both Cioran Brightmoon and the hawk riding Ascal, who glanced at him as he galloped between them.
Both understood, as did every elf on the field, that they were expected to leave the field as soon as possible. Even now, the magical storm still blew, despite the banner’s bearer being caught up in the melee, ensuring any attempt at archery would be pointless. Quite literally.
With more rats arriving on the field and the failure of the flanking reinforcements to arrive, there was no hope of victory for the elves. And no hope, it seemed, of survival for the Remans. Even the pistoliers, who had defeated and scattered the globadiers, now rode on as if accepting of their fate, never to be seen again.
Lord Urlak’s cruel mastery of magic enabled him to conjure a curse so potent it killed nine pikemen (Game Note: ‘Scorch’). The ratman priest drew forth a blessing to poison the monks’ blades, but he was so jostled by the melee that he lost control of the energies weaving about him and they burst out to kill two slaves, three plague monks and three more pikemen. Before Captain Ricci could issue a challenge, the army standard bearer Captain Tronolone stood forth (Game Note: The player thinking thereby to limit the number of attacks targeted at the magical standard bearer to whatever number of attacks the character accepted the challenge possessed). His fight was as brief as it was bloody, for he was cut down by the enraged priest, who had become all the more crazed by the stinging of his own magic. All across the chaotic, swirling melee there was great slaughter, but the sheer weight of numbers favoured the rats, and after a swathe of casualties, the surviving Remans, to a man, broke and turned to run.
Of those who escaped the enemy’s blades in that first moment of flight, very few were to live to the next day, as the rats poured on in glee to hack at their backs.
And so Lord Cralk had won his second great victory, yet still the elves had escaped, almost intact.
There would soon be grumbled complaints throughout Tilea concerning the elves’ way of fighting. Some questioned why they were not willing to risk harm to themselves in battle, while entirely happy to abandon men and dwarves to their doom. Others went much further, employing the words craven, spineless and traitorous in their angry opinions.
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