Dun-Khan, Lord of the Storm, drew back his cracked lips to reveal a grin of yellow teeth and foul fangs. His eyes glittered with malice as he stood tall on a crumbling tell, surrounded by thousands of Tjubgob warriors on foot from his Storm horde. Below the tell swarmed an entire Orc tribe, daubed in ochre and roaring its savage battlecries while stomping toward the high ground occupied by the treacherous Tjubgobs. The Orcish foe's attention was completely fixed upon the rowdy ranks of Tjubgob infantry on top of the ruin hill, drawn there by feints and taunts by outriders. That was well.

Dun-Khan smirked as he mused for himself. His cunning plan had worked to perfection, after all. He could see the mirror reflexes blinking from the dry ridge on the other side of the narrow field. The artillery train had moved into position following an entire night of hauling it around the Orc camp in a wide arc. They had gone undetected up until now, thanks in no small part to his outrider's noisy and harassing distraction of the Orcish scum throughout the night. It was time, then.

"Signal for the ridge to deploy on crest. Fire at will!" barked the Lord of the Storm.

Nearby, a gaggle of standard bearers began waving their tattered rags in the patterns of the pre-determined flag signal. Drummers began to hammer their goatskin drums, their loud music signals carrying over the din of the Orcs below. In response, tiny figures appeared at the top of the ridge on the other side of the field, dragging dozens upon dozens of bolt throwers, Storm Dancer cannons and humongous curved Thunderhorns. The giant horns blew, as distant Tjubgobs heaved with all the force of their wretched lungs at the instruments. A titanic blare drowned out all other sound, startling the advancing Orcs. Their surge up the tell slowed down, as bewildered savages looked around. Their confusion only grew as lead balls and spear-sized bolts shot into the closely packed tribe, skewering and felling up toward a hundred Orcs with each salvo.

The artillery crew would work frenetically to deliver all fire they could muster. Their lives depended on slaughtering the Orcish enemy as fast as they could reload, although the lives of the Storm Dancer crew was forfeit due to that weapon's crushing recoil anyway. Storm Demon take them! After all, Dun-Khan had sent with the artillery only a small token guard force of backstabbers, to encourage diligence and fear of their overlord. No matter, he had victory in his grasp. The warlord waved his ensorcelled Stormbringer mace and yelled at his infantry between the blasts of Thunderhorns.

"Storm! Attack! Storm! Kill them all!"

A gleeful high-pitched warcry erupted from the horde on the tell. The tjubgobs surged forward, feet pumping against a slope of eroding mud bricks, all eager for an unfair fight. Their enemy was trapped and perplexed. This was the moment to strike. This was the moment to slay them wholesale.

Chaos ensued, as the dusty field ran red with Orcish blood.

New 15mm miniatures are out now! Sculped by Tobias "Tjub" Torstensson.