THE NEMESIS CROWNHIGH ELVES VS CHAOS HORDES
LEGACY OF DRAKES
The High Elves of Tor Karandell have recently arrived in the Old World, drawn by the brewing conflicts surrounding the Nemesis Crown. Prince Elreth, eager to take advantage of the Empire's distraction, has marched inland towards the Draken Downs. Here, deep in an ancient dragon cave is rumoured to be a clutch of monstrous eggs, waiting for the life-giving heat that will hatch their contents. If this should occur, the Great Forest would once more be haunted by the most vicious and dangerous of all predators, beginning a new age of Dragons.
SCENARIO STATISTICS
Points:
2000
Participants:
High Elves
(Pat Quinnell)
Chaos Hordes
(Stuart Nichols)
Scenario:
Pitched Battle
Location:
The Draken Downs, Ancient Dragon's Cave
Timeline: 2525 (Empire Calendar)
THE ARMIES
High Elves:
Warhost of Tor Karandell
General:
Prince Elreth
Chaos Hordes:
The Brotherhood of the Silver Falcon
General:
Garathor
THE STORY SO FAR…
The elven warhost of Tor Karandell has crossed the Great Ocean, drawn by the growing storm of war in the Old World. Rumours have spread like wildfire of the ancient dwarven artefact, the Nemesis Crown. Whoever claims the creation of Alaric the Mad will be powerful indeed, although the wearer may lose their very soul in the process. For the crown draws out every shred of evil, transforming the wearer into the vilest of monsters. Taking advantage of the greedy humans, orcs and others searching for the tainted relic, Prince Elreth has decided that there would be no greater chance to investigate the ancient dragon cave in the Draken Downs region. If they can find the last dragon eggs, and revitalise them, the High Elves would have a new batch of Dragons to aid them. However, a great evil has descended from the northern Middle Mountains, one that has been plotting conquest ever since the failure of the Storm of Chaos. This evil, this servant of Tzeentch, has a name. Garathor…
TURN 1
The skies turned dark with massive thunderheads as the High Elf army approached the rocky mountain beneath which lay the ancient caves. The cave mouth yawned, a vast black maw in the hillside. Prince Elreth frowned. Within the hour the weather had transformed from reasonably warm with a light breeze to all-encompassing grey cloud cover with the imminent threat of heavy rain, possibly thunder. Something was amiss. He could feel it. There was a deep rumble as his draconic mount, Lightwing, seemed to echo his thoughts.
The ground shook as the dragon strode imperiously forwards, the elaborate harness creaking upon his back. The infantry and Silver Helm cavalry parted before his might, making way for the most majestic of creatures. It was Lightwing's kind that the elves had come to seek in the earth, the resting place of his long-gone brethren. As Elreth narrowed his eyes, scanning the cave mouth, something emerged over the top of the mountain. A shadowy figure, with vast, leathery wings, raised its shining sword to the heavens. Immediately a bestial howl tore itself from the creature's throat. The horses panicked, forcing the Silver Helms to apply a touch of the spurs. At the daemon's call, a host of warriors climbed up from beyond the ridge to stand by their master. Commander Cerandar turned to look up at his general.
'My prince, this is not good. The beast is clearly a daemon! What are your orders?'
Lightwing raised his head and roared. His serpentine tail lashed from side to side, his wings unfurled and he prepared to take off. Elreth knew he could not restrain his mount. The dragon's hatred for Chaos knew no bounds: dragons were its ancient enemies.
'They could be here to take the eggs for themselves. If we descend into the caves first they could block our way out. We have little choice but to destroy them. Prepare to engage the enemy!'
As the vast host of armoured warriors descended the mountainside, Elreth and his dragon took to the skies. He could see the extent of the enemy army: amongst the warriors were bestial trolls, heavy chariots and deadly knights. But most terrifying of all was the daemon, and his minions. Like manta rays they swept through the air as if it were water, accompanied by a flock of harpy-like she-daemons. The furies were heading for a gnarled tree, no doubt seeking protection from the elven missile fire that had begun to fall amongst the ranks of the foe. Issuing a warcry, he turned Lightwing's head to intercept them.
The disciplined ranks of the elves marched across the plain to engage their hated enemies. The High Elves had a long-standing grudge against the forces of chaos. Now would simply be another chance to take bloody vengeance.
Garathor, loyal servant of the God of Sorcery, opened his arms wide as the heavens split and a bolt of lightning crashed down before him. Bathing in the power of the gods, he gathered it in, feeling the warmth and tingling energy as it rushed through his daemonic veins. Folding his arms and then opening them again, he unleashed the green fire upon the advancing spearelves. A bolt of emerald power engulfed them. In an instant they broke formation and began to battle amongst themselves. The daemon prince laughed as the clash of ithilmar split the air until two soldiers fell to their fellows. It was first blood for Chaos. Garathor smiled, and gave thanks to his god. Today was going to be a good day for bloodshed. Taking the power into him again, his gleaming eyes flashed red and a ball of crimson fire flew towards the enemy war machines. One of the bolt throwers went up in flames, its crew incinerated amidst the dancing tongues of Tzeentch's touch. As if that wasn't enough, he closed his eyes and sent a command jolting into one of his standards. A thunderbolt zipped from the banner of wrath. It slammed into another regiment of spearelves, felling one of them as electricity surged through him. Yes, Garathor thought, bellowing his praise of Tzeentch.
'Fire!' Five red-fletched bolts from the surviving Eagle's Claw were hurled at a chariot. The bolts clattered harmlessly against the dark metal, leaving the engine of death unscathed. The archers followed suit and unleashed their steel-fanged missiles. Fortunately, they had better luck and one of the screamers went down, its wings pierced by a dozen arrows. There was a chilling, unearthly cry as the daemon vanished in a spray of bluish ichor.
TURN 2
In response to this banishment the flying manta daemons undulated into the elven cavalry. The furies supported them. In a ripple of slicing blades, slashing talons, flapping wings and hellish shrieks, four proud elves were knocked from their saddles. The horses, spooked immensely by the unnatural entities forced the silver helms to retreat. As the panicking steeds fled, taking their dismayed riders with them, both screamers and furies gave chase.
The first chaos chariot rumbled across the field as the other smashed into the spearelves. With scythed wheels flashing and armoured riders bellowing their battle cries they cut down two of the elves with impunity. But the stalwart elves were not to be broken. Their hatred of chaos shone in their eyes as their foot-long spear blades stabbed back at their attackers, felling one of the crew with a simple thrust. With the death of the driver, the chariot churned its way around and retreated, followed by the victorious elves.
Garathor watched as the rest of his army advanced. Summoning up his power, he gritted his teeth as too much power coursed through him. Unleashing a howl of agony, he cursed the elves and the fickle winds. Still, the banner of wrath flickered out, slaying another elf.
'We go through the woods. This way we can outmanoeuvre them,' the elf captain shouted to his soldiers over the rumble of thunder as the storm truly began. The first drops of rain tinkled against their armour as they guided their elven steeds through the trees.
Prince Elreth and Lightwing soared through the darkening skies. The battle was unfolding below them. He could see that one unit of silver helms had fled, but the rest of the army was advancing resolutely. He had lost one of the Eagle's Claws, but his archers held firm and had been doing well. They were talented troops, his archers.
'Fire!' Came the cry as the remaining Eagle's Claw unleashed its volley of bolts. Again the projectiles clattered uselessly, deflected this time from the sneering Chaos Knights. But their glee was short lived as a dark cloud of arrows descended upon them. No less than four of the mightily armoured warriors fell from their saddles, their breastplates and gorgets pierced by the elven sky-fangs.
TURN 3
'Kill the weaklings!' The first chariot's warrior bellowed as the chaos steeds thundered into the spearelves. Three elves were sliced down by the furious assault and the chariot in return was damaged. Locked in battle, the two sides hacked and slashed murderously as they each tried to turn the tide of battle in their favour.
Alongside the chariot the brutish trolls, huge hulks of muscle, crashed into their foes, hacking left and right with their primitive weapons. It was bloody. Six elves were slain, their corpses thrown through the air. It was too much for the elves and they turned to flee, pursued through the boggy ground by the mutated beasts of Chaos.
The Chaos Warriors also charged into battle, the arcane runes glinting on their armour and faint blue light emanating from inhuman visors. Their axes and swords cut down two spears for a loss of only one of their own but the elves stood firm, determined not to retreat.
At the same time the furies screeched their own war cries and descended on the bolt thrower. It was completely one-sided as the winged daemons slashed their talons into the mostly unarmoured elves who didn't stand a chance. Within minutes the machine was left without a crew.
Howling their alien cries, the screamers surged into the archers. Two elves fell, their torsos cleaved by daemonic spikes and they couldn't hurt their hellish foes. But they also stood firm, their resolve unwavering in the face of such utter evil.
Garathor, enraged and filled with the power of his god, roared his anger and stretched his wings. With a burst of blue sparks he charged up through the rain-lashed skies towards the dragon rider. The beast and its rider would prove a worthy target of his fell blade.
Elreth pulled the dragon's reins back as he tried to calm his mount. This battle would be fought best cool-headed and intelligently, not with hot-blooded rage. As the blue-skinned daemon prince rushed towards them, its vast bat-wings spreading out to intimidate his foe, he tightened his jaw and unsheathed his sword. This would be a duel to remember.
'Die, you puny mortal!' Garathor roared as he closed with his opponent.
'Not before you, beast of chaos!'
The two generals smashed into one another with an explosion of azure sparks. There was an almighty crash as flaming, daemonic blade met elf-forged steel. High above the battlefield, surrounded by flashing lightning and the drenching rain as its bucketed down, they duelled like fighting sky gods. Elreth was fast, but Garathor was faster. Their blades clashed, the daemon prince and the dragon twisting around each other and dodging blows as they slashed and ripped with deadly claws. Roars both elven and bestial tore through the air accompanied by the ear-numbing voices of their weapons. Sparks both blue and gold danced like fireflies.
On the ground the elves locked in battle ignored their leader, too busy fighting for their lives against the horrors of Chaos. Only Cerandar, Commander of the army, was unengaged. Squinting up against the illuminated sky, he watched as his friend and superior clashed with the unholy evil that was Garathor. Sending up a prayer to Khaine, he hoped that the daemon prince would be banished. Only then could they descend into the ancient dragon's cave safely.
And then the daemonic sword struck Elreth across the breastplate. The blow rang loudly, and the daemon prince wrenched the elf prince from the saddle. The daemon and the dragon disappeared rapidly above him as he plummeted. He gritted his teeth in pain, blood dripping from his wound. The elf prince fell freely towards the ground, hundreds of feet below and he thought about his possible end. If this is how it ended, then so be it, he mused bitterly. At least he had gone down fighting the vile daemon Garathor.
Lightwing bellowed in rage and slashed out at the laughing daemon. Against a backdrop of thunderbolts and rainstorm they wrestled in the air, like titans at the end of the world. Finally the dragon managed to open a gash in Garathor's side. Bright droplets of ichor spilled from the hideous wound, but before the daemon prince could retaliate, Lightwing swept away, following the path of his fallen master.
Just when he thought he'd hit the ground and become nothing more than a crimson smear on the earth, Elreth felt a gigantic force rise beneath him. So, the dragon had returned for him. He should've known; a dragon's loyalty was immense. Lightwing wasted no time in bearing the wounded prince away into the storm, even as the daemon Garathor streaked down through the slate-grey skies, searching for his prey.
'This is for Prince Elreth!' Cerandar yelled as he charged headlong into the screamers. He could see the archers could use his blade, and having witnessed the fall of his lord he had much hatred to repay the vile minions of chaos. He snarled as he whirled his greatsword over his head in a vicious arc. The sword slashed downwards, slicing straight through one of the nightmarish beasts. Ichor vomited from the severed head, staining the ground with yellowish liquid. Within seconds the screamer vanished, a shrill cry echoing on the winds. The archers, their morale boosted by their leader's efforts, swamped the daemons on all sides, hoping to cut off any retreat. The only way out for the screamers would be death.
'Hold your ground! The trolls must die!' With a rallying call the spearelves formed up in front of the lumbering trolls. Elsewhere the second unit of Silver Helms continued flanking, galloping through the loamy woodlands, their captain urging them onwards.
The battle was in full rage now. Three armoured warriors went down, a good exchange for the single spearelf killed in return. The regiments were locked in an exhaustive contest, neither willing to back down. As the ring of steel sounded alongside the death cries of the slain, elven spears hamstrung a chaos steed but the forces of chaos would not break that easily.
TURN 4
Having outrun the pursuing spearelves, the unengaged chaos chariot turned to face the emerging Silver Helms.
'Die, draconian filth,' the Chaos Knight leader growled as Garathor wrestled the dragon to the ground, the earth shaking slightly under the weight of the monstrous beings in combat. The last of the knights rushed into the battle and began hacking at their foe's scaly hide. Sparks flew as their weapons were deflected, Lightwing's skin too tough for them to penetrate. Garathor snarled his hatred, striking a blow across the dragon's head. Lightwing was thrown to the ground. Before he could rise the daemon prince was upon him, striking out with his blue-fire sword. Opening great wounds in the beast's hide, he roared his praises to the god of sorcery as blood pumped from Lightwing's body. With a savage roar, the dragon threw Garathor aside. Flapping his wings weakly, he battered the knights from his path and fled, a trail of blood staining the ground behind him.
The battle continued to rage between the spearelves and their chaos warrior foes. Neither side would give in as the fighting became tense.
In the tightly packed combat with the chariot there was little room for swordplay and elves died as hooves crushed bodies and wicked blades hacked and slashed. But the ranks of spears pushing forwards finally forced the chariot to retreat. As the chaos horses wrenched the machine away, the driver lashing out with his whip in an effort to control the beasts, the spearelves gave chase, fanning outwards.
'Engage. Charge!' The silver helm captain lowered his sword to point forwards at the second chariot. The knights burst from the treeline and thundered into the chaos machine. But their lances scraped off the chariot body, knocking off grisly trophies but leaving the warrior unharmed. Bellowing in rage, he raised his halberd and hacked down one of the silver helms with a spray of blood and another combat ensued.
The spearelves rushed into battle with the monstrous trolls, spears stabbing and slicing. The beasts were wounded, but some of their injuries healed over almost immediately, closing up seconds after they'd been cleaved. Huge clubs swept through the elven ranks, and four warriors were killed, their breastplates crushed by the powerful blows. Again the elves were dismayed by this show of strength and retreated in good order.
TURN 5
The Chaos Knights wheeled around to face the enemy army. Garathor raised his head to the skies, laughing insanely as the power of Tzeentch flooded into him. He had defeated his foe, vanquished the enemy general and he was favoured by his god. Nothing would stop him from conquering this puny empire and doing what the weak fool Archaon could not! Opening his wings, he flew up into the rain, bathing in the blasts of white lightning and torrents of water.
The leadership of the Chaos forces was not to be underestimated. Chariot one pulled about, ceasing their retreat. The trolls bellowed and stopped their useless pursuit of the running elves. But as the daemon prince stretched out his clawed fist and cast the green fires upon the archers, a strange force intervened. With a bright flash the magic was dissipated.
'What?'
Still the battle raged as silver helms and chariot rider struck out at one another. It was fruitless combat, nothing but harsh war cries and the clamour of clashing weapons, the ground turned to mud beneath churning hooves. Likewise the spears against the warriors smashed each other, slaying again and again but neither side willing to give up the fight.
'For Ulthuan, destroy them!' The spearelves who had driven away the chariot rushed into their fellow spearelves' adversaries, the deadly chaos warriors, joining the battle. With increased elves they might be able to turn the tide in the High Elves favour.
'You will die, in the name of Khaine, god of war!' The silver helm captain twirled his sword and struck out at the chariot rider. The chaos warrior's head leapt from his shoulders with gout of blood. With the death of its last warrior, the chaos steeds were butchered and trampled. Finally the chariot was destroyed in a wave of hacking and chopping.
Cerandar scythed his greatsword into the furies, cutting one down in a slop of ichor. Another died as he reversed the blow, taking off its head. Alongside him the archers hacked down another two daemons, their courage rising with their commander's bravery.
'I'm done…with nightmares,' the commander snarled. With a cloud of bluish sparks, he slashed through the last fury's torso, sending it back to the Realm of Chaos.
TURN 6
The Tzeentchian Knights and the last chariot rumbled into the silver helms, carving a bloody path through their enemies. Three elven knights fell beneath their vengeful blades. A single chaos knight was thrown from his saddle. The battle became fierce: all knew the end was near. The elven prince had been taken out of action, yet the elves continued to fight on defiantly. At last, the warriors were wiped out; the final warrior surrounded and cut down by bloody spears.
'And now, you die!' Garathor, witnessing the destruction of his daemonic minions, charged brutally into the archers. Three elves were sliced down by the arc of the prince's sword. He strode among them, hacking out viciously in all directions. The elves would pay for their insolence. Silently, Cerandar came up behind the daemon prince. Now was his moment of vengeance. As the archers stabbed upwards with their swords, wounding the bleeding Garathor, he raised his greatsword and prepared to strike.
'Sinners need no mercy…or sympathy. Time to die, you cur!' The double-handed sword came around and struck deep into the daemon's hide. A fountain of ichor burst from Garathor's body, and he howled in agony as the runes on the blade began to glow. As the daemon prince began to crumble, his material form decaying, the archers stepped up their attacks, slashing and hewing at the fallen enemy general. A chilling death cry issued from Garathor's throat as he finally faded away in an explosion of azure fires.
NEITHER ELF NOR DAEMON CLAIMS THE LEGACY OF DRAKES
Commander Cerandar ordered the tactical withdrawal. As the High Elf army of Tor Karandell retreated, the remaining warriors of the Brotherhood also departed. Their general had been banished and it would be some time before he fought his way back to the mortal realm. Neither side really gained victory; neither had enough troops left to establish a proper base around the dragon cave. The eggs would remain in the clutches of their long-dead parent, undisturbed, for now…
http://nemesis.au.