View Full Version : "The Harvest of Grief" - WE vs BM (vintage batrep!)

29-01-2013, 23:15
While tidying up over the Xmas hols, I happened across some old files: Batreps from right back at the start of 6th edition, Ravening Hordes Era. These were first posted on the old GW forums themselves! I also found not one but two copies of the RH booklet itself. A long trip down memory lane ensued: The Golden Era of WHFB?

So, I thought I’d repost one of these old batreps for the real old timers to enjoy, and perhaps for you new bloods to have a glimpse into the “good old days.” If it goes down well, a selection may follow…

The Season of Blood

Part 1: The Harvest of Grief

‘THEY ARE COMING. From the East, from across the Grey Mountains, from the direst lairs of the dark forests, they are coming. A great challenge was fought beneath the shadow of a storm-wracked braystone, and the mighty beast that prevailed they call Zorgar. The Defiler. They gather in their roaring warherds, their numbers swelled by the warped Hounds of Chaos, by the winged Harpies, by the monstrous Minotaurs. And they are coming for Athel Loren, their snorting nostrils filled with the scent of blood.’

Keira folded her arms and studied the concerned expressions of the gathered elven lords. An icy gust disturbed the fallen leaves that blanketed the chosen Glade of Meeting.

‘You bring an ill song at an ill time, Treesinger,’ said Aeldre Swiftmane. ‘The leaves have fallen, deepest winter is soon upon us.’

‘You wish that I delay this message for your comfort, Swiftmane?’ said Keira. Aeldre tugged his wolf-fur mantle tighter about his taut frame and glared at the she-elf.

Amongst the nobles, Ythil of the Pine Crags watched this hostile exchange carefully. He caught himself staring at the svelte Keira and averted his eyes from her slender figure, accentuated by her tight doeskin slip, from the flowing curtains of raven-black hair with its indigo sheen, from the delicate eyes that smoldered with emerald fires.

‘So let them come,’ Aeldre retorted. ‘Let them fight each other for scraps as they pass the mountains, let them march beneath the boughs and meet us in our own realm; let them cower before the might of the ancient forest. Their invasion will falter ‘fore it ever reaches our halls!’

Murmurs of assent rippled around the circle of elves, but Ythil did not share them. He chanced another furtive glance at the woman. Her lips trembled with anger. Such decadent beauty.

‘You do not understand,’ she said. ‘They are not coming to merely destroy and torture. Not this time. Another one - a shaman - guides their purpose, whispers secrets in the ear of this Zorgar. A great tragedy will befall the forest if we let them enter. They are after something specific.’

‘You know this?’ Aeldre arched an eyebrow. ‘Then what do they desire?’

‘I…’ Keira sighed. ‘That knowledge is hidden from me, but I have sensed it in the flows of magic beneath the world. We must stop them.’

Aeldre tutted. ‘If you spent less time in the deepwoods pondering faraway portents, child of the forest, and more studying the reality on the ground, you would see the futility of what you ask. The forest favours us. We cannot fight them in the highlands and hope to prevail.’

Again, whispers of agreement filled the winter air.

‘Cannot, or will not?’ said Keira. ‘All of you; you have grown too comfortable in your halls. You must pay heed to events beyond the borders of Loren, and meet them before they coalesce into tragedy. Besides, when the beasts arrive, the sacred forest will be in full slumber. We cannot rely upon the tree spirits for aid then.’

‘So entreat your treekin now, Keira, not us,’ Aeldre waved a hand. ‘My kinsmen are not worth the gut feelings of a stripling mage. Not again.’

‘I admit that I have been wrong in the past, but you must believe me…’ Keira started.

‘This meeting is over,’ Aeldre snapped. ‘We will watch and wait and greet this threat as we do all others, with patience and cunning, not some wild jaunt beyond the forest.’

Elves turned and ghosted from the glade. Ythil hesitated, his heart twisting at the pain evident upon the young lady’s face.

‘Will none of you come?’ she said.

‘I will!’ Ythil took a step forward. Some of the lords paused and glanced at him, before turning and leaving with knowing smirks. His cheeks burned at their scorn. Keira looked in his direction and a smile tugged at one corner of her mouth, and his heart somersaulted.

‘I am Ythil son of Eithan, of the Hawkriders. My kin will ride with you,’ he brandished his garlanded lance and attempted a fierce scowl, his face reddening. ‘The mountains are no barrier to our wings.’

‘It will not be enough, not even with Scarloc’s scouts,’ Keira turned and sighed, and Ythil felt his excitement drop like an overripe fruit at the dismissal.

‘We will see,’ he said, his brow furrowing.

* * *

6th Ed (Ravening Hordes Era) 1.5k Batrep!

WE army:
Ythil (hero); longbow, light armour, lance, Hail of Doom, Shield of Ptolos, mounted on Great Eagle
Keira (mage); level 2, 2 x dispel scrolls
15 Archers; banner & champion
10 Archers
10 Archers
6 Glade Riders; shields, light armour, spears, full command
(* Note they are portrayed as Warhawk Riders for the sake of the narrative)
6 Dryads
6 Wardancers
1 Treeman

BM army:
Zorgar (chieftain); heavy armour, shield, Black Maul (+2S)
Kelecke (shaman); level 2, Shaman Staff
Garrock (chieftain); BSB, heavy armour
20 Gors; shields, light armour, full command
20 Gors; shields, light armour, full command
9 Ungor skirmishers; shields
10 Chaos Hounds
7 Harpies
18 Bestigors; full command, Beast Banner
4 Minotaurs; additional hand weapons

Terrain (working left to right looking from my end):
Hill; midtable, far left
Lake; far left, nearer to my end
Woods; leftish, midtable
Hill; centre, in my DZ
Crag; centre, in BM DZ
Woods; rightish, nearer to BM end
(A large flat plain dominated the central area!)

WE deployment (working left to right looking from my end):
Ythil on Eagle; far left
Dryads; left side
My centre from left to right was like this; 10 Archers / 6 Wardancers / 16 Archers / Treeman / 10 Archers
Glade Riders; right side

BM deployment (working left to right looking from my end):
Minotaurs; outside left (out of sight beyond woods and hill)
Harpies; inside left
His centre was like this; Gors / Bestigors / Gors – with Ungor skirmishing line stretched out in front
Hounds: outside right

* Turn 1 *

‘THEY ARE HERE!’ Ythil called, leaping from the back of his noble companion, Stratos the Great Eagle.

Winds howled through the mountain pass, the air thin and icy at the high altitude. Tall, stubborn grasses bent in the gale, bleached pale yellow by the late season.

Scarloc the master scout martialed his archers, splitting them into three kinbands and sending them to occupy the rising ground at the lip of the valley. Ythil sent his hawk-kin to the far right and a troupe of Wardancers led by Scarloc’s wild friend, Gläm, crept into position between the formations of cloaked archers.

Ythil reached Keira’s side. Her raven-black hair fluttered like a banner in the wind, lifting to reveal pale, slender shoulders.

‘They are many but the highlands are flat. Scarloc’s scouts will do their work this day!’ Ythil said.

She frowned at him then turned without a word. Ythil paused mid-stride, disquieted by her silence. Then he caught words on the wind. They were spectral, fey whispers, laced with magic, and he jolted as he realised Keira was singing to the woods. The moment was broken as the horde of monsters crested the far end of the valley and caught their first sight of the elven host that would dare to bar their advance.

Crude axes and clubs clashed against rough shields. Horned heads on thick necks with bulging, ropey sinews bellowed to the grey skies, and the feral cacophony was carried to the sylvan guardians by the wind. Ythil felt his heart skip a beat at the mighty roar. The first tendrils of doubt crept into his stomach.

‘Get to your mount, if you mean to take part in this fight!’ Scarloc shouted across to Ythil, gesturing with his longbow. Ythil nodded and prepared to jump once more upon the back of his loyal avian friend. Before he did so, he felt a touch upon his arm. Suddenly he was looking into Keira’s emerald eyes.

‘Take this. Use it wisely,’ she said, pressing a wand of twisted twigs into his palm. Ythil studied the gift.

‘An arrow? This will not fly true…’

‘Use your passion, not your hawk eyes, when you make your mark,’ she whispered.

Fresh roars rumbled across the highland plains as the warped barbarians commenced their charge, a carpet of sweating brown beasts flowing either side of a crude crag at the far end of the vale. Ythil placed the gnarled arrow into his quiver and dashed to Stratos. With a great flap of his magnificent wings, they were airbourne.

The great mass of shaggy-haired monsters loped across the grasses; thick, muscled torsos of men crowned with the heads of oxen, rams and wolfs. Stratos banked and Ythil studied the enemy through the buffeting winds. A line of slightly smaller beasts, with crude stumps of horns, spread out before the horde.

‘They drive their weaker kin before them. They fear our bows. Not so barbaric afterall,’ he commented, nodding. Stratos squawked an agreement. Then Ythil spotted herds of quicker-moving beasts surging forward at each end of the advancing horde.

To the south, great canine beasts bounded ahead, their bodies swollen by the mutating powers of Chaos into horned and scaled monstrosities bigger than warhorses: The Hounds of Chaos. And to the north, with leathery wings flapping, the brutal Harpies soared on the high winds towards the lines of elven archers.

Ythil hefted his lance into an attack grip, sensing his moment of truth had arrived.

* * *

THE HORN OF the Warhawk Riders bleated its cry across the windswept heavens. The elven counter-charge began. Swooping upon the wings of their hook-beaked mounts, tall elven warriors with bronze helmets and long spears fell upon the Chaos Hounds. His heart pounding, Ythil mirrored their charge, and Stratos dived amongst the screaming Harpies.

Beneath the airbourne warriors, swarms of arrows buzzed like hornets, cutting the wind and slamming into the lines of Ungor skirmishers. The hapless Beastmen fell with snorts of anger, scarlet blood leaking from their punctured chests to soak the loam beneath the grasses.

Though Ythil’s hawkish eyes were focused upon the wheeling Harpies rapidly closing, his elven ears distantly picked up the haunting tones of Keira, singing a spell across the highlands. A dense copse of stout firs responded with a barely perceptible shudder. Abruptly, darts of thorn spat at the southern flank of the Ungors, piercing eyes and throats. If any survived, they fled the highlands in wide-eyed panic.

The hail of missiles murdered Beastmen as they marched, but it occurred to Ythil that at this rampaging pace, the monsters would be upon Scarloc’s kinsmen well before they broke.

Pushing aside the doubt, he clutched his lance and aimed for the heart of one of the Harpies. Stratos arrested his swoop with a great beat of his wings as the point of Ythil’s weapon transfixed the flying beast upon its tip. It died in an instant, and Ythil withdrew the lance, before swinging it clublike to intercept another of the flapping creatures that surged at his flank. Battering two more of the foul things from the air, Ythil’s heart lifted to see the rest screech and then flee the battle in panic.

Glancing to the south, he witnessed the Warhawk Riders as they slew Chaos Hounds with palewood spears, and the grim warriors set about their task with merciless skill. In moments the warped canines turned and stampeded away with their barbed tails between their legs.

They were triumphant! The enemy were breaking ‘fore the assaults of the Hawk Riders!

* Turn 2 *

YTHIL’S ELATION WAS short lived when the nearest horde of Gors roared with guttural voices and stomped towards him. He gulped once, witnessing the powerful tendons moving like steel cables beneath their hirsute hides as the Beastmen loped straight for him. Stratos the Great Eagle required no order, and with a scream that pierced the grey skies, they were flying away.

Ythil spotted his hawk-kin similarly beset by the Gor warriors on the southern flank, and that they too had elected to flee rather than face the fury of the mutated behemoths. He realised their early triumphs against the Harpies and Hounds were of no consequence. Indeed, it was almost as if the beasts had wanted to tempt them forward and then counter-charge. The rapidly tiring Warhawks only managed feeble swoops but safely landed beyond the reach of the Gor axes.

He paused. What was that? The heavens growled, and fingers of sickly lightning crackled overhead. A new voice rumbled on the wind, chanting incantations in a forbidden and fell tongue. The Shaman! Ythil looked again at the mob of Gors chasing his kinsmen, and was blinded for a moment when a tongue of lightning touched the mutants. When he looked again he was not sure if his eyes were playing tricks on him, but the forms of the monsters momentarily changed, torsos elongating and falling into crouches, snouts lengthening with vicious canine teeth protruding. The vision receded as Ythil blinked, banishing the semi-blindness caused by the lightning, and then he gasped. The Gors were suddenly, magically, upon the fleeing Warhawk Riders!

In moments the savages hacked down the screeching birds of prey and their riders. What remained of Ythil’s own kinband were forced to flee the battlefield for their lives.

He had no time to call out to them, nor fly to their aid, when a fresh threat appeared over the crest of a butte at the northern end of the valley. There, titanic beasts twice as tall as even their Gor brethren strode across the grasses, great fans of horns spreading from their oxen heads. The Minotaurs bellowed their fury to the elves and then began their gallop down the hillside.

* * *

THE SKIES CHURNED, patches of ethereal green haze filtering from the west to challenge the foul amber streaks of lightning in the blanket of grey. Ythil realised Keira would be wrestling with the magical weight of the Beastman Shaman. He hailed Stratos and urged the Great Eagle to arrest his flight. This battle was not yet over.

Glancing northwards again, he saw that the advance of the Minotaurs had stirred something in the broken ground at the foot of the hill they were descending. Spiky bushes of thorn swayed in the winds, before sprouting and growing higher. Before the elf’s bewildered eyes, the spiky plantlife coalesced into humanoid figures. At one moment, limbs of gnarled bark creaked into movement, the next svelte green-skinned maidens screamed at the mutated giants with antediluvian voices laced with forest magic.

‘It is Keira’s tree-kin!’ Ythil exclaimed, recognizing the beautiful yet terrible Dryads.

Meanwhile, the Beastmen stampede rumbled across the yellowgrass plains with ominous pace. Sprays of elven arrows splintered necks and punctured chests, the focus of the volleys a particularly well armoured cohort of dark-furred beasts at the very middle of the herd. Ythil scowled, seeing the ragged battle-banner of the beasts fluttering at the centre of this horde, its edges crawling with coils of feral magic.

29-01-2013, 23:17
* Turn 3 *

SNORTING WITH RAGE, the Minotaurs stormed into the shrubbery of Dryads waiting at the bottom of the hill, axes heavy enough to cleave trees swiping the air in huge, deadly arcs.

At the same time, the bellowing herds of Beastmen stomped implacably onwards, coming into charge range of the nervous lines of cloaked elven archers. At their head, the cyclopean monster that could only be Zorgar himself screamed a challenge, ropes of drool looping down from his bovine mouth.

And the skies darkened further, bloated clouds of slate grey enveloping the heavens. More amber forks of unnatural lightning streaked the churning winds and Ythil braced, knowing another magical assault of Chaos magic was about to be unleashed.

Then, from amongst the ranks of the cowled elven archers, a lissome figurine stepped forwards. Brandishing her palewood staff, topped with a glowing wedge of jade crystal, Keira called upon the forces of Life magic to intercept the threat. Vortexes of ethereal wind swirled between the two sides, torturing the swaying grasses, buffeting the assembled warriors, but the power locked within Keira’s Jade staff won out, and the Shaman’s curse was thwarted.

Not only that, but in response to the stomping Minotaurs, the Dryads were filled with the magical energy of the forest, their whiplike limbs growing thick and gnarled, their torsos thickening to the form of hardy oak trunks. Minotaur axes bounced from the iron-hard skins, and the charge was stopped in its tracks.

* * *

THE VICIOUS SCRAP between the Minotaurs and the Dryads locked in stalemate, Ythil cast his gaze back to the thin lines of archers, and the deep hordes of Beastmen almost in their faces. Melee was inevitable, and as quick and skillful as the elves were, the massive numbers of the barbarians also made the result most assured.

‘What can I do?’ Ythil wondered out loud. His hand strayed to his quiver, and a misshapen arrow he had placed there earlier: Keira’s gift. ‘Take me behind them,’ he bent and whispered into Stratos’s ear.

Meanwhile, at a shrill horn-signal, the Wood Elf lines shifted. Cartwheeling between the kinbands of archers, tattooed elves with brightly-dyed spikes of hair somersaulted before the Beastmen. The half-naked elves brandished wickedly-sharp daggers and spears of etched silver blades, screeching feral war-shouts and gesticulating to the snorting monsters.

None except Keira spied the huge oak tree, with a wizened crown of dense branches, uproot itself and lumber, quietly, into position a little behind and to the side of the broken line of Gläm’s Wardancers.

Swooping to the rear of the stampeding horde, Ythil saw that the herd of Gors to the south were most advanced, and he scowled, remembering these were the beasts that had done for his hawk-kin. He was reaching for his quiver when Keira’s haunting voice drifted through the churning winds once more. His eyes widened to witness small springs of water rising up and spreading out beneath their hooves, soon to become gushing ponds of dampness. The winter-dry ground was quickly turned to a bog beneath the cloven feet of the Beastmen. Ythil raised an eyebrow. With the Dryads locking up the Minotaurs and the Wardancers arrayed before the Bestigors, Keira’s magical trick looked to complete the action of stopping the warherd in its tracks.

He needed to do his part now. He pulled the twisted arrow and fixed it to his longbow’s string, pulling taut the limbs of the weapon. One eye closed, he aimed for the darker mass of the Bestigors at the centre of the mutant herd. He paused. The arrow was crooked and its point a laughable splinter carved from the wood. Could this really pierce the thick armour the beasts had cannibalized from various sources into mismatched suits of plate? His concentration wavered and at the moment of release the arrow splintered across his bowstring, so that half of the entwined twigs fell away uselessly.

Ythil cursed, believing Keira had played some unfathomable trick upon him. But then he saw the remaining shards suddenly explode into shimmering darts of emerald magic. The hail of doom swirled like a miniature hurricane around the target unit, finding eyes and throats and drawing thick fountains of dark blood. Only several of the beasts fell when the storm eventually passed, and Ythil frowned, realising he had wasted the full power of the weapon.

He was only dully aware of the Minotaurs roaring as they continued to exchange blows with the Dryads. Now the forest spirits sprouted long, whiplike fingers like willow trees, which they used to thrash the mutated oxen-beasts and carve bloody wounds. The fight at the bottom of the northern hill cost both sides in casualties, but still remained locked in the balance.

* Turn 4 *

THUNDER BOOMED OVERHEAD, reverberating from the steep sides of the pass and rolling across the highland plains. The Beastmen roared their reply, and finally true battle was joined. The Bestigors, Zorgar at their fore, charged at the wild Wardancers.

Meanwhile the Gors to the south trudged angrily through the inexplicable marsh that clogged their furry legs, and the Gors to the north moved with awkward indiscipline to line themselves up before the smaller kinband of archers that faced them.

Lightning cracked, and Ythil spotted the Shaman, surrounded by his Gor brethren, pointing a twisted braystaff towards the defiant Keira. Magical energies fought for supremacy, mirroring the troubled skies, and Ythil saw that the Shaman meant to propel his mud-bound herd of Gors into yet another magical lunge at the archers to the south. But once again the maiden-elf’s Jade staff came to the rescue, dispelling the build-up of crude bestial magic into harmless trickles of amber light.

In the centre, Gläm’s Wardancers met the charge of the Bestigors with an abrupt flurry of movement. To any untrained eye, the painted bodies of the elves were strangely wreathed in coiling shadows as they leapt high and flitted through the air as spectres. The confused Beastmen were halted in their tracks.

To the north, the vicious struggle finally ended when the Minotaurs used their superior bulk and strength to batter their way through the resisting Dryads. The last of the tree spirits collapsed into sprays of pungent sap and splintered bark. The Minotaurs rooted about the piles of rotten leaves and twigs, but could find not one morsel of meat to slake their bloodgreed. Then bovine eyes stared at the nearby kinband of elves.

* * *

The key moment of the battle, the equinox, had arrived.

With a mighty bellow that quieted even the raucous Beastmen for a moment, the huge entity that all had previously taken to be an ancient oak tree suddenly... moved. Adanhu, Treeman and wise forest spirit, stormed into the flank of the Bestigors. And Scarloc’s regiment of archers watched, breaths held.

Keira attempted another spell, singing once more to the ancient spirits of life energy dormant beneath the plains, willing another spring of water to dampen the charge of the Beastmen. This time the power of the Shaman proved stronger and Keira gasped, realising her strength was failing, the Jade stone was spent, and his hairy claws were now flexing in anticipation of wringing her annoying neck!

The smaller kinbands of cloaked elves quickly fitted more arrows to bowstrings and released hissing missiles at herds of Gors that threatened to both the north and south.

All eyes turned to the conflict at the centre of the highland plain.

There, the fury of Adanhu was awesome to behold, great arms like the boughs of trees swinging and hurling broken bodies of Beastmen into the air. The Wardancers, too, counter-attacked, dancing to the rhythm of a whirling death. Silver blades flashed like serpent tongues, and more Beastmen died.

But the Bestigors were the mightiest of their kind, and Zorgar, the Defiler, led them. If any flickers of doubt crossed their animal minds, the presence of this mighty warrior and his jagged battle banner dispelled them. Zorgar swung a heavy maul that was so black it appeared to suck in the meager light around it, and broke unarmoured elven bodies with ease. The melee ended in a stalemate; the Bestigors held!

* Turn 5 *

‘WE ARE LOST!’ Ythil exclaimed, and Stratos squawked his alarm. Despite all their efforts and spoiling tactics and the Treeman’s clever flanking, the rampage of the mutants could no longer be held in check.

The Minotaurs galloped the final short distance through the long grass, smashing into the archers to the north, ignoring the puny arrows that the elves fired as a last gasp effort. Similarly, to the south, their shaggy hides drenched in drying mud, the mob of Gors found firm ground at last and loped towards the back of Adanhu, who was still concentrating upon breaking as many dirty Bestigors as he could. One cohort of Gors turned at the growled order of their chieftain, and heavy-browed, bestial eyes scowled at Ythil and Stratos, skulking at the rear of the battleline.

The raging thirst of the beasts was slaked with blood. To the north, the archers drew short swords as the Minotaurs closed, but were no match for the monsters. The first swings of the oxen-beasts’ axes scythed down almost half of the kinband before the others turned and fled. And elven blood flowed as the monsters crunched on bone and sinew of the fallen.

Meanwhile, Zorgar defied the flying blades of the Wardancers, and though dozens of wounds were scored across his grizzly hide, the Black Maul reaped a terrible toll in response, smashing down the half-naked elves into bloody piles.

The axes of the Gors at Adanhu’s rear chopped and gnawed wounds into the gnarled bark of the ancient Treeman. The mighty forest spirit teetered for a moment, as if about to collapse, and then was forced to retreat before the jeering Beastmen.

The Wood Elf line had collapsed. A horde of monsters intent on torture turned their malicious stares towards Keira.

* * *

‘NO YOU DON’T!’ Ythil shouted, driving his avian mount into a swooping charge at the rear of the recently victorious Bestigors. Reason temporarily deserted him as he made his effort to stay their attack on Keira.

To the south, elven archers peppered the flank of the Gors that had managed to break the iron-hard will of Adanhu, seeking revenge for the retreated Treeman.

Seeing the battle swinging against the Wood Elves, but also Ythil’s brave distraction of the Bestigors, Scarloc called to his men, still occupying the high ground before the Bestigors, and as a regimented unit they turned and presented a bristling forest of arrow-points towards the rampaging Minotaurs.

Keira stood alone in the middle of the wind-swept battlefield as chaos and slaughter erupted around her. She tried again to sing to the spirits of the wood, but again a fell voice chanted louder, the winds truly turning against the elven mage. Keira lowered her Jade staff, gasping for strength, and saw the Shaman facing her across the yellowgrass. Rheumatic eyes glared at her from beneath a jagged mask of stitched hides.

‘Who are you?’ she challenged. One word was hissed back. ‘Kelecke.”

Around the pair, arrows flew, shattering shields and finding their marks in tough hides, and though Beastmen fell with angry snarls, the horde was just too numerous for the missiles to make any difference.

Alone at the rear of the Beastman battleline, Ythil’s lance speared a Bestigor right in the chest, and Stratos ripped another to shreds in his razor claws, but the warped creatures at the rear of the warherd turned and fought back with resolute, if clumsy, swings with their heavy-bladed weapons. Stratos suffered a slash to his feathered chest, and Ythil took a blade-point in the shoulder. Strength and determination fled from his limbs, and realising there was no way he could win this fight, Ythil ordered Stratos to flee once more.

* Turn 6 *

INSANE WITH BLOODLUST, the Bestigors and Minotaurs rampaged into the last of the brave elven archer regiments, while the southern Gors turned to face those marksmen that had been harassing their flank with arrows.

A helpless tear rolled down Keira’s cheek as yet another fork of amber lightning touched the Gors, and in the blink of an eye, the shaggy barbarians were in amongst the cloaked elves, axes swinging.

The archers died quickly and brutally and after only token resistance, fled the battlefield at Scarloc’s shouted order.

Keira was left standing alone to face the wrath of the Beastmen, who quickly surrounded her. Zorgar and Kelecke the Shaman turned covetous eyes upon the she-elf, deciding how best to cook her, when Stratos and Ythil dived out of the tortured skies.

Ythil leaned over and scooped Keira up in one muscular arm as they flashed by. ‘I’ve got her! Go!’ he shouted. But as the noble Great Eagle carried them away to safety, Keira screamed, ‘No! No! No!’

* The Aftermath *

‘YOU WERE RIGHT,’ Scarloc returned to the lonely copse of pines where the elven survivors had gathered to tend to their wounds. Keira raised her head where she sat upon a low bough, revealing streaks down her cheeks where tears had run through the dust of battle.

‘They did not enter Athel Loren proper,’ said Scarloc. ‘They discovered a way into the Vaults of Winter, and they have truly reaped a grievous harvest.’

‘What did they want?’ said Ythil, joining the conversation. He avoided Keira’s icy stare. She alone had wanted to stay and fight the Beastmen, with her bare hands against the lot of them, had he left her.

‘They broke a sealed Chamber of Keeping,’ Scarloc reported. ‘I think it was Naieth’s. They ransacked it, then took one thing. I believe it was the Sceptre of Elynett. Naieth will come to tell us the truth of this.’

‘The Sceptre?’ said Keira. ‘It is but a tool of divining. What can they want with that?’

A cool gust of wind disturbed the gloomy glade, stinging already raw wounds and drawing groans from the elves. Keira shuddered.

‘Whatever it is, this is just the beginning of something bigger, more terrible than we thought,’ said Keira. ‘We have to go after them. We have to get it back.’

‘I thought you would say that,’ Scarloc nodded. They both looked at Ythil. He shrugged.

‘I cannot return to my kindred after this disgrace. I will fly with you.’

He glanced at Keira, hoping against hope for some sign of approval, but she merely harrumphed.

‘Find a proper reason apart from your own emotions, and I may let you,’ she said. She gazed out from the glade towards the Grey Mountains towering above them. Rising to her feet and pushing her curtains of raven-black hair over her pale shoulders once more, she said, ‘The Season of Blood is upon us...’

30-01-2013, 00:32
Great read, thanks for that.

05-02-2013, 05:43
Fanks woodster. :)

07-02-2013, 12:19
I don't recall this particular one, but I do clearly recall the series of reports you posted on the old GW forums. If I recall, I even got a cameo or two long long ago! Thanks for the post, it's a great read.

12-02-2013, 22:39
I don't recall this particular one, but I do clearly recall the series of reports you posted on the old GW forums. If I recall, I even got a cameo or two long long ago! Thanks for the post, it's a great read.

Yes Kylek! I remember you, and just went rifling through some old batreps: There you are, a champion of the glade riders! :)

That was a bit later than this batrep - the WE Update List era during the Storm of Chaos. Was it you that produced that excellent fan-art of Feolan? If so, I still have that pic proudly displayed on my very old Yoretul Forest website.

Great days. :)


EDIT: And with that reminder that some old timers are still out here, I guess I shall get ready to post part 2 of the Season of Blood. (Still a long way to go before Storm of Chaos, though, sorry!)

14-02-2013, 03:41
Yes Kylek! I remember you, and just went rifling through some old batreps: There you are, a champion of the glade riders! :)

That was a bit later than this batrep - the WE Update List era during the Storm of Chaos. Was it you that produced that excellent fan-art of Feolan? If so, I still have that pic proudly displayed on my very old Yoretul Forest website.

Great days. :)


EDIT: And with that reminder that some old timers are still out here, I guess I shall get ready to post part 2 of the Season of Blood. (Still a long way to go before Storm of Chaos, though, sorry!)

I had this batrep pegged for pre-Shadows over Albion campaign (or whatever it was called). You had the Lord of Boa I think as the heroin there. I thought I flunked out of leadership camp and ended up as a musician of those glade riders! I was definitely not the person who did any fan art of Feolan as my free hand is atrocious at best. Miniatures I'm pretty good at, but not anything on a 2D surface.

As to others hanging around, Eagletsi ghosts around these forums on occasion, but memory fades and I can't recall the other old timers. Who was it that used to post his Beastmen battle reports?

Funny, when I started reading your batreps, I'd broken a couple of toes and was about to start my first year at LSU. Now, I quit my job and enrolled in my first semester at UNO. Enrolling as a starving college student seems to bring the Wood Elves out of hiding! :p

Looking forward to more