Fool's Mate, a warhammer fanfic

"Fool's Mate"

Prologue

Sixty four squares, equal in size, perfectly arranged to allow forward, backward, left, right, and diagonal motion, the Chess board. It is said, that when the creator came to sell this marvellous invention, he did not ask for money, but rather he asked for one grain of rice on the first square of the board, to be doubled each time for every subsequent square until each one was covered. For a man who hates parting with money, this seems like an excellent and cheap alternative, but of course, he failed to take into account how quickly things increase. 1 became 2, which became 4, which became 8, which became 16, until the final figure became 18,446,744,073,709,551,616. An amount of rice so huge, and impossible to achieve, that the foolish buyer, who thought so early on that he had struck a great deal, was forced to beg the inventor to reconsider his offer in order to prevent himself from becoming infinitely indebted to him; amazing proof that the game of Chess itself is not a game for the weak willed or foolish.

Chess itself was not originally a game. It was a war simulation tool. The pieces served as army ranks, and the board itself was the battle ground. Generals would use the Chess set to attempt to work out how their enemies might react to their plans. They also used to it to test out various strategies as well.

When Chess was retired as a tool, and renamed as a game, it was still used it almost exactly the same way, and the thought processes remained the same. Defend your ranks and capture the enemy's King. However, things aren't always what they seem, and merely pushing pieces of carved wood around on a varnished board isn't enough. Making your opponent believe what you want him to believe is all part and parcel of the Chess experience. Sometimes though, you might have to force your opponent to work with you, before you can turn the tables and finish him off!

Gagreet, the Skaven Chieftain, was a hulking, hunched figure of a Rat. Dressed in a dark blue, heavy cloak, his bare feet plodded along the uneven forest floor as he made his way towards the meeting place. This was not something he was relishing. Truth be told, he would rather be anywhere but here. He was on his way to meet with an Elf Mage, a High Elf Mage, one by the name of Tyriones. Both were well known to each other. As natural enemies, Skaven and High Elves were not known for their patriotism. Unfortunately, a situation had arisen that could possibly only be resolved by their coming together and devising a solution. First of all though, they had to avoid killing each other!

Both were masters of their craft; fearless leaders who knew how to fight, and how to give orders. Two Generals who refused to back down in the face of death, and would rather die than concede defeat. This is why, in this instance, every step towards the clearing that had been mutually chosen for this event, left a vile, sour taste in the mouth!

The Chieftain gave a sneer of pride when he remembered the battle at the Gates of Calith. High Elves slaughtered in their beds. The sound of newly orphaned children crying, and the matching wails of bereaved parents as his army cut their way through! He had watched from the outpost, his perfect command of the skilful Skaven force almost poetic, beautiful in its execution, yet deadly in its work. The sneer vanished as soon as the memory faded however, since the closer he came to that meeting place, the sicker he felt!

Tyriones marched slowly through the forest, flanked by his two guards. One of them took a sharp intake of breath. The Mage drew his dagger, and with perfect precision, pressed it against the throat of the now stock still Elf,
"Do not say it again, or I will kill you where you stand. You may be one of my best officers, but frankly, hearing you complain again and again that we are meeting Skaven is beginning to tire me just a little bit too much. Do you understand?"
His voice was calm and light, no harshness or anger to it, but the words themselves carried more weight and power than any battle cry could! Tyriones prided himself on that skill. His voice almost never rose above that level, yet he could command entire armies with nothing more than a stern nod, a wave of a hand, or an order given in that soft tone. It was a gift that few possessed, but many respected.

The offending Elf nodded gently, desperate to avoid impaling himself on that dagger. The Mage tucked the blade back into its scabbard and continued on,
"Excellent!" One word was needed, and one word was given.
Tyriones was always a natural leader. He dreamed of being a General, in command of others. He knew, however, that respect is not just given, it must be earned, and he encompassed that in everything he did. Many other young High Elves looked to the Mage Leader for inspiration for their own lives, and although his spirit was infectious, few others could match his skill, patience and presence on the battlefield. But like the Skaven Chieftain he was trudging through the forest to meet, he too was not savouring the experience. His mother had been in her bedroom during a battle with them. She had been found by his father, who confided in him later, that she had been brutally raped, and would never have any more children. Therefore, Tyriones was an only child, any siblings he might've had, stolen from him by a coward Skaven.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Gagreet pulled a small torch from his backpack. He plunged the base into the earth and knelt down, pulling a small flint and tinder as well. The chipping sound of the stone against metal, and the roar of the flame as the torch ignited echoed through the forest. He yanked the torch from the ground and held it aloft, surveying his current position while the wavering flames cast dancing shadows on the many trees. He growled, continuing on his way through the dense wood. Many fear the dark, and the evil shapes caused by the flickering fire would give even steady individuals a slight pang of trepidation. Gagreet, though, was fearless. He despised the emotion and sought to drive it from the minds of all those whom he commanded. The sound of his large rat feet crunching through the undergrowth was the only sound around as the night slowly drew in, the moon rising and the stars were shining brightly in the inky blackness. Slowly, the clearing appeared in the distance, the area devoid of trees, and so lit up by the light of the full moon.

The clearing was a large, circular area, with a circle of logs serving as a seating area. In the centre, scorch marks indicated where the fire was usually lit. For now, Gagreet jammed his torch into the dirt, sitting down on one of the logs and surveying the area. Due to the lack of trees for quite a distance, it would be difficult for an enemy to try and sneak up on someone else, and frankly, rather stupid to even attempt it! The Chieftain began to feel the wind blowing across the clearing. Safety in the open might be comforting, but the lack of foliage to stem the cold wasn't. Looking around, he spied a pile of smaller logs at the edge of the clearing. Piling them up around the base of the torch, he created a tower of wood, and took a strip of damp cloth from his backpack. Tossing this onto the pile, the fabric hissed and burst into green flame, licking down the logs and creating a good blaze. The Skaven's muzzle twisted into a wry smile. Magic was all well and good, but frankly, a rag dipped in ether was simple and effective! He took a look around again, surveying his location before he sat back down on the log once more, the flames casting a shadow of his monstrous hulk against the eerie backdrop of the clearing. There was no sound, apart from the crackle of the fire and the wind blowing hauntingly through the trees. Gagreet knew this would be a long night, and dealing with a High Elf was still giving him a nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach. He gave a loud belch, strings of saliva flinging from his muzzle and hanging down like threads of cotton. Wiping them away, he caught sight of movement from his left hand side. Jumping to his feet and pulling two barbed blades from his belt, he stared into the darkness, his yellow eyes trying to find any sign of whatever caused him to leap to his feet. As he was beginning to consider his own mind playing tricks, three armoured Elves stepped quietly and slowly from the trees. Gagreet recognised the first Elf straight away. He snarled and felt his stomach knot up once more, another spit slinging belch erupting from him. The two rearmost Elves grimaced in disgust, but Tyriones' expression remained fixed. He moved around the other side of the fire, seating himself down opposite the Skaven, flanked by his two guards. The Chieftain sat down once more, both leaders staring at each other, but neither speaking. Eventually, Tyriones stood up, Gagreet mimicking the motion,

"Well, we both know why we are here, Rat!" He said, emphasising the word Rat. In fact, it was one of the few times his voice ever changed from its usual calm demeanour. Gagreet snarled, keeping his paws tightly wrapped around the hilts of his blades,
"Indeed we do, Pixie!" He retorted, his lips drawn back revealing black and yellow stained teeth in a show of intimidation. The Mage stared into the flames,
"Leave us. This is to be between the Skaven and myself." Slowly, the Elves rose to their feet, looking nervously at each other. They saluted and walked off into the trees, leaving both Generals separated but nothing more than a crackling fire. The game had begun.

"So," Gagreet growled, sitting back down on his log, hunched over like a rotting beggar, "What do you plan to offer me in exchange for my help?"
Tyriones merely raised an eyebrow, his calm demeanour not betraying him in the face of, what he considered, massive disrespect.
"You think I need your help? My dear Rat, I was led to believe it was yourself who had come here to beg for my assistance."
Gagreet roared in anger and jumped to his feet, drawing his blades in a show of defiance,
"You pointy eared freak! How DARE you? Skaven would never beg from Elves! We would rather die than show such humanistic frailty!"
Tyriones smirked and waved his hand as if to shoo away a fly,
"Then by all means, do so. We both know that without a combined effort, that which is coming for us will surely destroy our clans."
The Chieftain leaned forward, his eyes burning, much the same as the flames which separated his body from the Elf, the dancing fire serving somewhat as a divine mediator.
"Then you will die too! Frankly, I would give my own life to gladly see the back of yours!"
Tyriones stood up and nodded,
"Then the matter is settled, this is the last we shall see of each other. Good day, Gagreet!" He turned and began to walk away slowly, heading towards the trees.
"Wait!"
The Elf smiled to himself, and then turned around, his face now devoid of emotion,
"Have you come to your senses then?"
Once more the Chieftain's muzzle twisted into an angry snarl, but this time he held off from raising his voice,
"You do not wish to die either. I know High Elves, and they would not give up so easily. Your men would see you as a coward and a traitor if you did not at least attempt to survive. Your life would end in disgrace, and although I would like to see nothing more than you being driven out by your own army to suffer your last days in torment, frankly, I am somewhat attached to my life. Stop being so childish and sit down!" Gagreet hacked and spat into the fire, a loud hiss coming from the flames. Tyriones returned to the fire and sat back down on the log, facing the Skaven Chieftain once more,
"Alright, let's talk, Rat!"

"The Gambit" is an opening move in Chess that can be extremely favourable, or extremely dangerous, depending on who is playing it, and who is it being played against. The move is notable because it involves the sacrifice of a pawn, one of the front line pieces. Although this does leave the Gambit Player at a slight disadvantage, being a man down, as it were, if used when playing against a novice or a fool-hardy player, it can pay dividends. The idea of using the Gambit is to create the false air of domination. One cannot deny that taking an opponent's piece does give some satisfaction, and this is what the Gambit move plays upon. Giving the opponent an air of smug delight as he becomes the first to create a casualty of war, he may let his guard down slightly as he revels in the fact that he, a lower player, has managed to usurp a better player in the first few minutes of the game!
This, of course, then allows the better player to 'get him exactly where he wants him', in such that, now that his opponent is thinking more about how he believes he is winning, he can relax a little. This is when the Gambit opener really comes into its own. The lower player is looking for ways to take more of his opponent's pieces, to rekindle the fires of that first feeling of superiority, rather than concentrate on where his pieces are in relation to his rival's. Just as a gambler might win the Jackpot on a slot machine, the feeling of that win doesn't last for long, and the foolish gambler will keep playing, just to feel that rush once more, and so it goes with the Chess player. Losing sight of the big picture, and focusing solely on that original feeling of domination, the lower player is doomed, and will soon realise, all too late, that his powerful pieces are being surrounded and conquered, while he merely has that lone pawn, sitting alongside his half of the board.

Unfortunately, the Gambit is not without its flaws. Playing the move against another seasoned player, may be taken as an insult, since no Chess player worth his salt would deliberately overlook the sacrificial play, or fail to spot it. So the loss of a pawn at the beginning of the game with no chance to recoup that loss, or use it to his advantage, means the Gambit player may find that he has placed himself in rather a daunting position, and so the situation was mirrored in the conversation between the Skaven and the High Elf. Would either of them dare try to play the Gambit and risk the dangers involved, lest the other counter it and cause untold damage to the delicate nature of the game?

Gagreet spat into the fire again. The Elf tutted his disapproval,
"Must you do that?" he asked, his voice still in that calm, refined tone, but with an air of disgust hinted at it.
"Frankly, just the sight of you makes my stomach turn, so you'll forgive me if I remove the foul taste in my mouth! Just be glad I'm not spitting on your boots, Imp!"
Tyriones dipped his head, not wanting the Chieftain to see the anger building in his face. Elves despised the word Imp. It was a grave insult, to be referred to as a lesser forest creature. Gagreet was used to being referred to as a Rat, since Skaven bore an uncanny resemblance to the rodents, although not as easy on the eye. Rats had smooth fur and whiskers. Skaven on the other hand, were hard skinned, bony, and had long, crooked muzzles, filled with sharp, pointed teeth. Their eyes were also yellow and unwelcoming. Hardly something that could be considered pleasant to look at.

The Elf calmed himself and looked up,
"Maybe if you took a bit more pride in your personal hygiene, you wouldn't have a permanent need for that vile habit. My people could teach you some manners, and then maybe you'd be able to climb your way up the social ladder, maybe even get to the bottom rung."
A smile crossed his lips, a wry one at that, but it was there. This time, it was Gagreet's turn to hide his rage, although he did it by hacking loudly and spitting a large gob of green mucus into the blaze. The flames protested loudly, and the burning goo gave off a sickening stench. Tyriones covered his face with his arm and turned away, causing a throaty cackle to erupt from his enemy,
"Maybe you need to spend a bit more time in the company of some real men, rather than those androgynous humanoids you consider friends. Someone who cares more about how they look in the morning than how well they'll fare in battle has definitely got his priorities wrong! Trust me, Tyriones; those Chaos Daemons will have you for breakfast unless you accept my help!"
Once more, the Elf stood up and began walking away. Once a safe distance from the fire, and the putrid smell of burning Skaven spit, he turned to face him once more.
"You still don't get it do you, Rat?" His calm exterior was beginning to waver, "These….beings don't give a damn about anything! They're just going to run through this land like a plague of locusts, destroying everything in their path. Whatever, and whoever, they come across; the Chaos Horde will destroy it. They won't stop to ask questions or take hostages. There will be no bargaining with them, no seeing eye to eye with them, no negotiating. All we can do is fight, and frankly, from what I've heard from you today, you're more interested in your personal gain, rather than your life! In which case, you're welcome to fight them alone, because I'm not going to waste what valuable time I have left trading insults with you, when I could be preparing my men for the fight of their lives!" He sighed and rubbed his head again, "I sat with you, and I talked with you, in the vain hope that maybe there was a glimmer of a possibility that we might reach an agreement that could save us both, but I guess I was wrong." He looked up, "Tell me one thing, Skaven. Why did you come here?"
Gagreet stood up, and pulled some utensils from his backpack. He unpacked a small trivet, a steel cooking pot, a few wooden spoons, two wooden bowls, and two wooden mugs.
"To eat with you, and break bread. It is one of the oldest traditions in history. Now sit your arse back down and stop being such a baby. You know, for a High Elf, you're a real asshole!" He grabbed the empty backpack, and began shuffling off into the trees.
"Where are you going?" Tyriones called after him.
"To find some food, all this discussion has made me hungry, and good battle plans are not drawn up on an empty stomach. Now sit down, and shut up! You're worse than my daughter!"

Gagreet returned with an armful of logs and a very full pack. Tyriones watched silently as the Skaven threw more wood onto the dying fire. He prodded at it with a branch and blew noisily into the hole at the base of the flames. The embers glowed, and sparks flew into the darkness of the night as he tried to restart the fire, but his efforts failed, as the last of the red glow vanished.
"Damn it!" Gagreet pounded on the earth with his fist, poking with the branch to try and force the blaze into life again. The Elf knelt down in front of the fresh logs.
"Sit down, Gagreet; you'll give yourself a hernia!" He said. Closing his eyes, he pressed his fingertips together, and aimed them at the smoking, dead fire. "Plaato, Viraata, Nichtuu!" A yellow spark flew from his hands, and with a loud roar, the fire, like a phoenix, rose once again from the ashes. The Skaven Chief hauled himself to his feet and stared at the Elf as he smiled and took his seat once again,
"You might've told me you were going to do that! You could've burned my face off!"
Tyriones rolled his eyes,
"That was a simple fire spell. It only works on wood or coal or oil. If it had hit you, nothing would've happened. Stop fretting!"
Gagreet growled and began unpacking his knapsack, pulling all sorts of berries, leaves, seeds and pulses from it. He heaved and pulled out a large chunk of meat as well.
"My word, I'm impressed Skaven. I didn't think you had the nerve to go hunting. I always thought you were lowly scavengers."
"Yes, well. You learn something new every day, Elf! You don't get to be a Chieftain by just any means you know. " Gagreet began hacking away at the large hunk of flesh with his blade, cutting it into rough pieces. He grinned to himself. He was a lowly scavenger, but Tyriones didn't need to know that. The boar he had found was already dead, and it seemed a shame to let such a succulent cut of meat go to waste.

The sound of crackling logs was mixed with the sound of bubbling liquid. Tyriones was stirring a pot of thick soup on the fire, while Gagreet was drawing symbols in the earth with a small stick.
"What exactly are you doing?" The Elf asked with genuine curiosity.
"Thinking,"
"What about?"
"How we plan to work together to defeat this Chaos Horde."
Tyriones looked up,
"So now you want to join me? You've changed your tune all of a sudden!"
Gagreet sighed and stared at the floor,
"I don't want to join you, I have to join you!" He rubbed his stomach, "How's the food coming along anyway, I hate thinking when I'm hungry!"
The Mage gave the concoction a final few stirs, and wrapped a few tree leaves around the handle of the pot. He hauled it off the trivet, setting it down on the earth nearby.
"It's done." Dipping the spoon into the mixture, he filled up one of the wooden bowls and sat down. Gagreet filled his own bowl from the pot, and sat down opposite the Elf once more. The two ate in silence, occasionally looking at the other through the flames of the fire. Cogs turned in the machine of the mind, ideas formed, evil thoughts bubbled into life, and speculations grew bigger. Each leader trying to come up with something to say before the other could, in order to appear the more dominant player.

Chess is not just a game of domination; it is a game of wits. When a player is choosing which piece to move, he is not just studying his pieces, he is studying his opponent. Very rarely will a Chess player look straight down at his side of the board for more than a few seconds. As with many other mind games, subtle hints can be picked up from the posture, fidgets, eye movements, and even breathing from the opposite side of the board! A player might move his hand to a piece to see if his adversary will pick up on this. If he does, he could give away his entire strategy with an inhale of breath, or a sudden posture change. Obviously war itself is a lot more difficult to amalgamate to this analogy, but the same principle could be applied to an allied general moving one faction of his troops to a high hill top to see if this sparks any reaction from the opposing side. Any giveaway, no matter how small, could be the difference between defeat and victory.

Order: The arrangement or disposition of people or things in relation to each other according to a particular sequence, pattern, or method.
When order is established, everything is fine. There are no problems, there are no dangers, and nothing will go wrong. The phrase "Everything is in order", is something that people like to hear. It conveys that satisfactory measures are in place to ensure that what should happen, will happen. Like a well-oiled machine, it can be relied upon to be whatever it needs to do, with little action taken. Order makes people happy, and people like being happy.

Chaos: Complete disorder and confusion.
Total and utter chaos is something no one likes to hear! Chaos is bad, really bad! When something in is chaos, it's horrifying! Chaos implies that things are broken, control has been lost and little, if anything, can be done to solve the problem.
The Chaos horde implies this. An army comprised of soldiers that seek to do nothing but destroy. No pillaging, no stealing, no kidnapping, no ransoming, no treason, just complete carnage and destruction. This was the reality that Gagreet and Tyriones were facing. Making their way across the world was an Army of creatures that had no compassion, no love, no emotion, and no empathy. They existed simply to roll across the land and suck the life out of whatever stood in its way, simply because it could. Gagreet might've been an ugly, foul-mouthed, bad-tempered and fetid little shit, but at least he knew what order was. He could command his troops to stop and evaluate, and possibly call off an invasion if he wanted to. Skaven were rats by basic definition, but they could think, and make decisions, and possibly change if they ever pulled their crooked mouths from the gutters of society. They weren't going to, but they could. Tyriones was similar. True, he was primmer, proper and rather distinguished looking, but he was still up his own arse about everything, and regarded everybody else with the same distain he might regard something he stepped on in the forest. Again though, he has the capacity to change, but as with Skaven, he wasn't going to, but this showed their hatred for the Chaos army. No amount of begging, pleading, or bribing would stop the Chaos horde, just sheer brute force. This is why the Skaven and High Elves were the best shot they had. The Rats were fast, and there were masses of them. Safety in numbers was a high priority, and even a huge foe could be brought down with enough of them. High Elves were proficient in magic and distance combat. Bows and arrows were a favourite, and many a skilled bowman could pick off an enemy at a great distance. Closer combat relied on magic, as Tyriones did. After all, the general didn't fight if he could avoid it. His brain was his skill, and he needed it to remain safely inside his head!

Gagreet put down his bowl and belched loudly. Tyriones made a face and tried to finish the rest of his own bowl before his appetite deserted him. The Skaven stood up and stepped over to the edge of the clearing, turning away from the Elf and moving his paws to his belt. The sound of urine spattering onto the ground forced the last of the Mage's hunger to vanish quickly. He let the bowl clatter onto the ground, not caring any more.
"Do you have any manners at all?" he complained.
Gagreet grinned over his shoulder,
"You'd prefer me to not answer nature's call? I can hardly think straight while I'm holding back a full bladder now, can I?" He bounced on his feet a few times, and the clanking of metal as he refastened his belt signified he was relieved of his burden. He ignored the Elf's sour face when he turned back around, and picked up his stick once more, and began drawing symbols into the dirt. At first Tyriones ignored him, preferring to contemplate that simply killing the Chieftain might be a fair option. He would have to face the Chaos horde on his own, and he might lose quite a few good men in the process, but would be so bad? He'd lost men before, and he'd recovered from it. True, they were sort of forced into being militia, but no one had choices these days, at least not really. Blacksmiths were needed to forge swords and daggers, and bows had to be made, armour had to be crafted, but there were only a select number that a village needed, and going overboard on craftsmanship meant that although weapons were plentiful, no one would be around to use them. His thoughts were interrupted, and he was snapped back into the grim depths of reality but Gagreet shouting at him,
"Oi! Pixie! Wake up!"
Tyriones groaned and relented, he was bored of arguing with the Skaven now, and it was getting on his nerves as much as the Ratman's terrible social skills were as well.
"What?" he said, flatly. The lack of interest in his voice was prominent.
"Bored are you? Is having nothing to kill getting you uptight, eh? Pay attention and we might both live through this!" He pointed down at some crude drawings in the earth, the shallow stick marks given further depth by the dancing flames. The simple picture showed mountains and valleys, with a compass in the top right corner, with arrows pointing to certain areas.
"The horde is moving this way", he continued, gesturing to the far west portion of the 'map'. "They'll have to traverse through this valley here, where the mountains form a basin on all sides. This is probably the only point where we'll have an advantage. No matter how strong they are, moving uphill is always going to be a dis advantage."
Tyriones stood and watched, the map was simple and very badly drawn, but the basic gist was solid. He nodded,
"Very well, I can see your point there." He paused and stared at the ground, pondering ideas in his head, "I'd suggest that my forces move here". He gestured with his foot to the top western mountain, "When they're in the deepest portion of the basin, we can have them trapped like rats!" He smirked, "No offence, you understand?"
Gagreet growled lightly under his breath,
"None…taken….."
"After we've drawn their attention, we can unleash a torrent of arrows to begin slowing them down. As they traverse up the mountain, we can use magic to force them back down. However, this will enrage them rather more." He turned to Gagreet, "Your turn, I think."
Gagreet raised a hairy eyebrow and licked his gums with a deep russet, knobbly tongue,
"Very well. My men will attack from the rear. We can hide behind the north and south mountain ranges until you're ready to begin the assault. I'll use my full force, and we should be able to make a good dent in that army!"
Tyriones nodded,
"Then you'll have my support. I trust I'll have yours?"
Gagreet returned the gesture, and held out a gnarled paw,
"Indeed!"
The two shook hands, Tyriones only remembering the Skaven had recently relieved himself after he had let go,
"Ugh!" He grimaced, and turned his palm down, ashamed to look at his own hand. Gagreet began to gather his belongings together, using his foot to scrub out the crude drawings in the earth.
"The horde will arrive at the basin in three days. We will strike at that point."
Tyriones chanted an incantation, and the fire dwindled until it became no more than a faint glimmer, which then caught on the breeze and was snuffed out. He replied through the darkness,
"Very well."

The two generals returned to their armies and recounted the events that had transpired. Of course, each changed the details somewhat to be more favourable to themselves, but the basic idea was conveyed. Gagreet briefed his generals on the plan.
"The Elves will be setting up on the west mountain top, waiting for the horde to enter the valley's basin. Once they do that, they'll begin an assault with arrows and magic. At that point, they will expect us to then attack from the rear."
"But we're not going to?" offered one of his lieutenants,
"Of course not! Do you think I'm an idiot? If we attack from the rear, they'll just leave us to get mangled by the Chaos army. After we're finished off, they can take out the weakened horde by themselves! Don't you think I worked that out?"
"So….what do we do instead?" the lieutenant asked again,
"What we do," Gagreet continued, grinning widely, "Is we remain hidden behind the mountains. Once the horde has overwhelmed the Elves, we'll finish them off ourselves! They'll never see it coming!" Gagreet's snickering was echoed by his peers, "In three days we'll finally be rid of those High Elves!

The horde advanced into the basin, a huge, lumbering, black swarm, filling the valley. Gagreet's men sat hunched behind the mountains, as he lay prone, peering over the top to stare with his beady little eyes at the events that were about to unfold. Just as they had discussed, Tyriones' army emerged from the top of the west mountain, beginning their assault on the trapped Chaos demons. Gagreet snickered as the horde clambered its way slowly up the steep slope, the arrows and magic of the Elves doing severe damage, but not enough to keep the creatures at bay. The Chieftain had not banked on one thing though, a double bluff by the Elf Mage. A powerful fire bolt rocketed into the air, and split in two, dropping simultaneously behind the north and south mountains. Gagreet stared in horror as the foliage behind himself and his men began to burn, and the fire slowly advanced towards them. His army began scrambling towards his location,
"No!" he screamed, "Get back! Get back! You'll push me over the edge!"
His men didn't listen. They kept going until they spilled over the crest of the mountaintop, tumbling down the hill like rag dolls, barrelling into the massive clutch of Chaos creatures. The horde dropped its attention from the Elves and turned to what was smashing into it from the mountains. Gagreet had managed to hang onto the edge of the hill, his claws dug deep into the earth, but he was heavily battered and bruised from being trampled by his own men. The fire was still advancing, and he could feel the heat on his paws. He tried to cling on, but eventually he was overcome by the searing pain and released his grip, sliding down the mountainside after his colleagues. He smashed into the body of one of his corporals, who had already been beheaded by one of the horde. He could hear the screams of terror and pain as his squad was massacred.
"YOU TRAITOR!" he yelled up at Tyriones, who was watching from atop the western mountain. The Elf gave him a mock salute and strode away out of sight as his men continued taking out the demons that were attempting to climb up the hill.
"GET BACK HERE YOU FUC-" His cries were silenced as a huge axe hilt was brought down onto his skull.

The Queen is, by far, the most powerful piece in the game of Chess. Able to move any number of squares in any direction, she is a force to be reckoned with, and as such, her power can be misleading. By placing the Queen in jeopardy at the beginning of the game, the player can lull his opponent into a false sense of security. Minus the Queen, a player will have a very difficult time winning the game, and as such, this play forces the opponent to adopt this mind-set. Concentrating solely on taking the most powerful piece away from his rival is something novice and weak players will strive to do. It stirs something in the senses, releases a feeling of bravado and triumph to be able to knock it off the board! This is exactly what the player wants. His opponent, blinded by the desire to destroy the Queen, will focus solely on it, rather than the other pieces slowly crowding around his forces. When the rival eventually notices what is going on, he will have lost many smaller pieces. Meanwhile, the Queen stands tall, remaining proud and smug in her deception, while the only thing the King can do is topple and crash to the ground; defeated by "Fool's Mate"!

Gagreet lay sprawled on his back, a sword through his gut. He tried to sit up, but the wrenching pain of the blade impaling him to the ground was too much for even him to bear. He coughed, retching as blood seeped from his open mouth. He roared and forced himself to pull the sword from his stomach. He weakly tossed it aside and struggled to his knees, holding his gut as his thumping heart forced blood out of the opening. He looked around in horror, seeing the mauled carcases of both the horde and his army gutted and bloodied, piled up crudely like cuts of meat. Glancing up to the rim of the basin, he saw the face of Tyriones staring down at him.
"Need a hand there, Rat?" he called down, laughing.
"You bastard!" Gagreet yelled, "I'll see you in hell for this!" He tried to scramble up the side of the mountain to reach the Elf, but his effort was in vain. His burnt claws dug into the earth but he too weak to maintain any grip at all. He whimpered and succumbed to the pain, sliding back down into the valley. Tyriones grinned, his eyes like fire.
"Sorry Skaven, but rodents are vermin, and are meant to be culled. They spread disease, and your…..race" He seemed to struggle for a word, "are a disease of their own making. It's time you realised that, and accepted your fate."
Gagreet smiled, ironic in his current situation,
"Remember Calith?" he asked.
"What about it?" The Elf answered.
Gagreet grinned up at Tyriones, his paw reaching stealthily around to unsheathe his dagger, keeping it hidden behind his back,
"There was a female Elf there, nice looking. She was probably around twenty five years old. I remember she wore these pretty night clothes. Lacy, I think." He sniggered as he saw the realisation of the Elf's face, which slowly became astonishment, then anger. Gagreet sniggered as he saw that he had finally broken the Mage's famously calm exterior.

"What did you do to her, you walking hunk of shit?" He bellowed. He was leaning over the lip of the basin now, not noticing he was almost balanced precariously on the edge.
The Skaven Chieftain smirked. His lips curled back over his teeth as he began to laugh. Soon his body was shaking in a fit of evil laughter, all the while his eyes fixed on the Elf's face, which was now burning with hatred.
"Let's just say," Gagreet said between gasps, "That if she gave birth to something, it definitely didn't look like her!" He guffawed loudly, howling in pain at the same time as his gut continued to spurt blood. Tyriones raised his hands above his head, crying out in rage, but before he could cast anything, he lost his footing and tumbled down the side of the valley. Gagreet had been waiting for this moment, and held his own dagger out in front of himself. The Elf smashed into him, and impaled himself on the Skaven's knife, knocking him off his feet. The two foes tumbled in a sea of limbs before Gagreet was finally able to climb atop Tyriones' body, slashing and hacking at him with the blunt claws. He yanked his dagger from the Elf's stomach, a loud scream of pain echoing around the basin as Tyriones writhed in pain. Gagreet grabbed him round the throat with his large paws. He hissed as he brutally choked the life out of the Elf. Tyriones gasped and flailed desperately to try and find some way to free himself. His hand grabbed the sword that the Skaven had previously pulled from his own gut, and he swung it in a wild arc, out of sheer will to live. The hilt caught a glancing blow on Gagreet's head, and he briefly let go of the Elf's neck. Giving a huge gasp and staggering to his feet, swaying as his head began to clear, Tyriones looked around for the rat. A loud roar and a stabbing pain in his leg caused him to collapse to the ground. He turned his head to see Gagreet with fresh blood dripping from his teeth, climbing up his body.
"Say goodnight, sweet prince!" he spat, flecks of blood spraying in the Elf's face as he raised the dagger once more, plunging it into Tyriones' chest! The Elf swung his right arm once again, and this time, the sword was pointing the right way, and sliced through the Skaven's throat. Gagreet clutched at his neck with both paws, crimson blood pouring from between his fingers as he stared down at his enemy. Tyriones snarled at him,
"You wanna see me in hell? Then you're gonna come with me!" He coughed, blood flying from his mouth as the Skaven leader toppled over, collapsing onto the valley floor as the Mage's breathing became rattled and harsh, his vision going darker and darker, before finally closing into total blackness.

Epilogue

Tyriones opened his eyes once more, and blinked in the light. He glanced around slowly, trying to work out where he was. Eventually, his vision accustomed to the brightness of the room, and he realised he was in the house of his royal physician. The apothecary came over and gently pushed the Elf down by his shoulders onto the bed as he saw his attempt to sit up.
"Whoa there." He said gently, "You're not back in good shape yet, Sire. You'll need a few days of bed rest before you'll be up and about; I can assure you of that!"
Tyriones looked down to see most of his upper body covered in white bandages.
"I….I remember the battle. We beat the Skaven; at their own game. They tried to bluff us, and we bluffed them back!" He groaned in pain as he attempted to sit up once more. The physician strode over for a second time.
"I'm serious, Sire! You're very badly injured! In fact, your men nearly lost you down in that valley. You do remember what happened, don't you?"
Tyriones tried to recall the events that transpired before he blacked out. He was fighting the Chieftain in the basin, his memory retained that image, but not much else was there; a few hazy ideas and sounds, but nothing definite.
"How did I survive?" he asked, genuinely curious.
"Sheer dumb luck, and a very sharp blade", said the doctor, holding up a Skaven dagger. "That rodent stabbed you almost right through the heart. You'd better thank your Maker that you have a healthy pulse, since that's what saved you."
Tyriones frowned,
"I don't understand."
"Your heart was in the middle of a beat when this blade went through your chest. It missed killing you by a whisker! You blacked out because the blade was preventing your heart from beating. It was acting like a barricade. The fact the knife was razor sharp helped since it made the entry wound very clean and precise."
Tyriones blinked once more, trying to work it out in his mind,
"But….But I had a knife through my chest!"
The physician nodded again,
"Yes, and once your men took the chance, and removed it, your heart regained full control and your strong pulse alerted them to your survival. It's thanks to them that you're here talking to me now!"
"What about the Rat? Did he survive?"
The doctor shook his head,
"No."
Tyriones stared up at the wooden ceiling and closed his eyes once more,
"Good!"

CHECKMATE