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Home » Great Library at Hoeth » Book of Warfare » Battle Reports » High Elves vs Skaven: 2000 pts; Battle for Dawson's Vale
| High Elves vs Skaven: 2000 pts; Battle for Dawson's Vale |
| By Mykelle |
The pale azure sky was absolutely clear. Despite the early hour, the sun was shining brightly. The air was crisp, a frost carpeting the picturesque valley in a chill white, with thin wisps of fog still clinging to the ground in places the morning sun had yet to reach.
Admiral Amras emerged from the command tent, his breath forming a mist in front of him, and scanned the horizon looking for the enemy he knew that was out there. The two opponents had been warily tracking each other for the past four days, not quite sure who was the hunter and who was the prey. On the dawn of the fifth day, finally, reports had come in from his scouts. The evil horde of rat men had emerged from their underground hole. They looked ready to commit to battle. This valley was as good a place to fight. Amras gave the order to break camp, make ready for battle.
By mid morning the chill had given way to a fresh and invigorating day. The Elven host stood bravely, armour glinting fiercely in the sun, ready to face the evil Skaven horde. The bright points of the “Elithian Highland Guard” spears were held high on the far right flank. Protecting their left, the mystical swordmasters of the “Ladygaard”. Proudly bearing the standard of the Lady Kayt, they covered the ground until it rose. High on the hill, overlooking this formidable Elven battle line, were the two units of Elithian bowmen levies. Amras knew, although he couldn’t see them, the four bolt throwers from his ship “Light of the southern skies” were positioned on the other side of the hill, central to the battlefield, holding his left flank.
On the opposite side of the valley he could just make out the chittering horde of foul rats. Surely this despicable rabble of unwashed vermin would be unable to stand against the might of Ulthuan. As the enemy slowly made its way into clear view, Amras quickly identified weak points in their ranks. His greatest concern was the Skaven left flank directly opposite his spearmen. This could trouble him later in the battle.
A putrescent fog emanated from within the ranks of the Skaven army, giving it a yellow aura. It oozed out around the rats, spreading its blight across the valley’s walls. Looking further into the miasma, Amras could just make out the silhouette of half a dozen vile creatures within. Walking next to them, seemingly unaffected by the noxious cloud was a slavering horde of pestilent worshippers. They had clothed themselves in whatever filth encrusted robes they could find. Amras was distracted from their derelict garments by what they carried between them. A blasphemous totem, hideously deformed, was being hauled by the crazed worshippers. The admiral shuddered to think what sickening deity this totem was dedicated to. The mere sight of the vile statue was enough to make the Lady Kayt turn quite pale.
Following from this was the largest collection of miscreants the Skaven horde could muster. Each member of the unit looked more sickened and depraved than the last. Obviously the dregs of Skaven society, most only had rudimentary weapons. Amras allowed his mouth to curve. No match for the finely crafted Asur weapons, he thought. Behind these vacuous dregs, the “Stormvermin”, as Amras knew them, a band of elite black furred bullies. At the very front of this host, was a scattered band of giant rats. They were adding to the pretence of chaos, all chittering and scampering around.
On the far side of the valley was a scattered group. From their high vantage point, they were setting up long barrelled, black powder weapons, perfectly overlooking the middle of the valley. On the far side of the hill a huge, loathsome rat creature was bullying, threatening and otherwise using his tremendous bulk to intimidate a band of rat men into position. Marking him out for special consideration Amras continued his appraisal of the enemy. Last on the rat battle line were three lumbering monstrosities that looked like a cross between a mutated rat and an ogre. Turning to his command he gave the last of his orders of battle and took up a position that offered him the best vantage to view the up coming battle.
As the two armies moved into position ready to fight a lone figure nonchalantly swaggered to the fore. Standing out in front of Elven war host Prince Mykelle yelled a challenge to the Skaven army. Then turning to his comrades spoke rousing words of courage. His voice carrying across the army so that each man heard what was said.
“History is written by the courageous, stalwart and victorious. Each man here toady do what it takes to make sure that there is a chapter set aside for you!”
A huge roar erupted at his words as each man made that commitment to each other. Among the din clarion calls rang out as the Elven army commenced battle. Prince Mykelle raced forward eager to engage the enemy as fast as he could. The council of mages unleashed a magical torrent, crackling energies arcing across the valley.
On the wings of magic prince Mykelle leapt high into the air covering the vast distance between the two armies in a mere heart beat, slamming down on the ground he landed on one knee, head down, a small cloud of dust rose as his feet hit the floor. A slight ringing in the air as his blade, tip pointing to the ground, vibrated with anticipation. Rising quickly sweeping his sword left then right carved a swathe of destruction through the ranks of the vermin. Realising they had no hope of beating this swirling mass of death the rats dropped their long barrelled guns and ran, sweeping the warlock up with them as they ran, prince Mykelle chasing them off the battlefield, they would take no further part in the coming battle. Meanwhile on the Elven left flank the bowmen with the help of the bolt throwers took aim and let fly at the mass of clanrats that were marching up the middle of the field. A score of the foul rats fell where they stood but barely making a dent in the mass of furry filth.
Realising that they were going to get blasted if they remained where they were and losing their long range support the Skaven warlord urged his swarm forward. With minimal effort the Elven mages easily rendered the Skaven magics ineffectual. Issuing a massive bellow and to the sound of cracking whips the massive Rat Ogres lumbered into a rocky ruin, obviously looking for some cover from the massed ballistics that lined in front of them, this at first seemed the smart thing to do but would later prove disastrous.
Sensing the vile contagion of the plague monks and their vile censor bearer henchmen closing on their right flank the Elven mages chanted a few words of power. There was a momentary flash then a huge crack erupted, sounding like a monstrous whip, and a searing flame of righteous power erupted from the mages fingers. A shockwave radiated out hitting the nearby spearmen with blast of hot air, buffeting them and threatening to knock more than a few over. Arrowing towards the censer bearers the cleansing flame incinerated them where they stood leaving nothing but a scorched patch of dirt and the smell of burnt fur in the air.
After dispatching the jezzails, Prince Mykelle, scanned the battle for his next target. His eyes locked onto a vile warp fire thrower trailing along side a large unit of Stormvermin. Knowing how devastating those contraptions could be Mykelle knew he must destroy it. The Prince bravely charged the war machine, closing the distance with blistering speed. The warp fire team saw him coming and opened fire hoping to destroy this troublesome lord. As the fire engulfed him, Prince Mykelle’s magical armour glowed as it bore the brunt of the unholy fire. Emerging from the conflagration badly burnt but still alive the enraged elf swung his mighty blade and felled the despicable machine.
On the Elven right flank, guided by mystical powers, the Levy bowmen and the Bolt throwers let fly with a withering hail of fire. The sky darkened with their arrows. When it was all over the Warlord was the only one to stand back up, the missile fire had completely destroyed the large unit of Clanrats where they stood. Leaving the lonely warlord with nothing but an arrow protruding from his shoulder and a ratling gun team wondering where the hell their unit went. They soon fled but the panic didn’t spread. The rat ogres hiding in the ruins now found their progress slowed hampered further by the band of shadow warriors who had now moved into position to harry the huge monstrosities.
The Giant Rat swarm closed in on the Elven battle line with the stormvermin close behind. The plague monks minus their assistants also pressed closer in an attempt to get to grips with the enemy. One of the Skaven mages tried unsuccessfully to eliminate the lord who was running rampant behind the Skaven battleline; the other warplock engineer spectacularly blew himself in the air. When he hit the ground with a thump it clearly knocked the wind out of him but otherwise left him unharmed.
But the early confidence of the elves was going to be tested as it looked like that despite a destructive combination of magic, ballistic fire and the rampaging lord Mykelle a large number of Skaven warriors were still going to make it into combat and maybe overwhelm the Elven line. After moving into position and once again being guided by mystical forces the Elven bowmen unleased a second withering hail of missile fire onto the very large unit of Skaven slaves who promptly turned tail and ran. The bolt throwers opened up on the rat ogres, who had emerged from the ruins and were desperately trying to close the distance, destroying all, including the pack masters, but one foul rat ogre, who thought better of standing his ground.
By now his breath was coming to him in deep gulps, a small trickle of sweat ran down his face and he momentarily dropped down to one knee. His body was wracked with pain as the burns he’d had received started to tell. Catching movement in his peripheral vision Mykelle turned his head to the right. His keen eyes observed his opposite number, the hulking brute from the start of the battle, knowing that Admiral Amras had identified him as the enemy general he realised that if he could defeat this foul individual maybe end the carnage right here and now. Steeling himself up for one last act of courage Mykelle stood up and bellowed a challenge to the enemy commander. The huge rat was turning ready to command the army again preferring to hurl abuse, insults and intimidate his troops to actually leading them. The Skaven warlord desperately tried to hold off the brave elf prince but was no match for the highly skilled warrior and was ruthlessly cut down. With the Skaven mages otherwise occupied the Elven mages had free reign to unleash on the plague monks which they did greatly reducing their numbers.
By now the Skaven army was in disarray. Either they were running away, picking themselves up off the ground or arriving at the Elven battleline piecemeal. The plague monks in a slavering frenzy charged the spearmen determined to gain the upper hand and the rat swarms engage the swordmasters making sure that they would not be able to out flank their pestilent allies. Frothing at the mouth the plague monks crashed into the ranks of the spearmen, oblivious to pain their crazed bloodshot eyes showing their hatred for all living things. Determined to stand and never yield an inch to these abominations the spearmen resolutely pushed into the teeming mass of frenzied fur. Absolute fury against steely determination, the greater discipline of the Elven warriors inexorably routed the depraved rat men. The Skaven warlocks desperately tried to fire their despicable magics but where unable to do so.
The last chance for some small victory was all that was left for the Skaven army. The vast majority of the army was dead including the warlord himself and one of his cabal of warlocks. All that was left of the Skaven horde was the Stormvermin who were now in a position to charge the swordmasters thereby support his rat swarms, who despite being cut down where still holding out against the Swordmasters, and his plaguemonks who had rallied and were about to charge back at the spearelves who had defeated them earlier. The Swordmasters were sorely pushed and looked like they may be over whelmed. Though they were sorely outnumbered they bravely held out against the vermin. After seeing their plague ridden allies flee once again from combat the commander of the Stormvermin unit made the only decision he could and retired from the field.
The sun was setting, a blood red haze hung over the horizon as the smoke from the funeral pyres slowly drifted away. The cleansing flames cast an orange glow over the assembled host. Prince Mykelle emerged from the gloom still showing the wounds of battle looking at Admiral Amras.
“Les’anan, Mykelle”
“Les’ananra, Amras”
“You are hurt.”
“Nothing the priests can’t heal.”
“A surprisingly easy victory.”
“It was never in doubt, the vile rats couldn’t hope to prevail against the might of Ulthuan.”
“There are more out there.”
“And we shall treat them the same as we treated those today. With the disdain they deserve. What was our final count?”
“Four dead, three wounded from the Highland Guard and three Swordmasters wounded. The rest were minor wounds and will be fit for battle tomorrow.”
“Indeed Kaela Mensha Khaine graced us today”
“Indeed…Tell the men to rest and you get to the priest, tomorrow we move on” |
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