Battle Report: It's fun to slay at the Wyemm Seeyay - Post Mortem

So, now that the dust has settled and the dwarves have laid claim to the Wyemm Seeyay, it falls to us to conclude the paperwork, as it were.

If you got here expecting to see an epilogue, you'll need to go here, to the actual epilogue. Because this is a double post, both this post and the epilogue went up today.

Of course, whilst we here at Warhammer For Adults are ...well, adults, and therefore do not succumb to the base cravings of tournament play where points describe the outcome, we still thought it would help for readers who are still struggling to make that transition to include points. Dreamfish and I did set out some points and victory conditions... because ...er... probably because old habits die hard. But we're working on that.

Suffice to say, the elves lost.

Well, anyway, here are the scores. If you need that sort of thing.


Wood Elves Dwarfs
Captured Zones 0 2 * 50
Killed General's 0 50
Lost Units 328 877
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Total 328 1027

The Dwarves

The Dwarf Survivors

By paperwork, I mean the post-mortem of the battle, from the perspective of the players. This is what Dreamfish had to say:


It has been a while since the Dwarfs fought their last battle. Back in the 80's they used to fight the Orc's of my brother, losing every single battle. It left me with shelves full of Books of Grudges. How wonderful is it then to finally be able remove one.

Looking back I'm pretty happy with the result of the battle. I was able to perform all tactical decisions uninterrupted. With the Earthquaker smashing through the Elven ranks it prepared the way for the Firehammers and their retinue. The gyrocopter was a blast to fly with, a welcome diversion for a Dwarf player. By surviving the multiple assassination attempts it was able to bring the needed air support just there were the Dwarfs needed it the most. The Arrowheads at the defense performed their task brilliantly by raining down a hail of arrows onto the Elven chariot. As if expecting the outcome the Steelaxes stood ready with shields in place to welcome the out of control chariot and the somewhat diminished Wardancers. The Ironaxes at the offence took the beating while the Firehammers where able to sneak up close enough to finish the job by hand.

Some items like the Grenade, Magic Weapon and Spell Shield I equipped Borri with were not used. While making the army list I expected a great deal more of the wizard. I also didn't expect the Spectre would attack the Stone Thrower. Hell yes it did some damage but point wise it would have been better off attacking the Steelaxes. Some tweaking could have been done on the armour of the Ironaxes. I gave them Light Armour but they would have been better off with shields, allowing them to use some of the those special manoeuvres like the Tortoise.

The whole remote gaming experiment has been a blast. While there are obvious shortcomings while playing remotely I do think it has its charms. Time wise for example one can play whenever he's able to. It's takes roughly 30 minutes to process a phase. This includes taking the pictures and editing them. Having this time we were able to write this extensive battle report. Something that wouldn't be possible if we would play everything in one day. I really enjoyed having the time to think things over and carefully explore all possibilities within the rules. I hate it when playing a game of Warhammer just to discover at the end you missed out a couple of them. This happens a lot to me when playing everything in one go, especially when playing 3rd ed.

In the end I can say the experiment has been a success. While writing this we're already planning our next battle which will include some unseen miniatures (eerie music playing). This battle will be fought between our mystery guest from the USA and Gaj. I'll act as the host and GM of the game.

Finally, I would like to give thanks to everyone for the positive feedback and the encouragement. I’m glad to read that we inspire people. Hopefully you-all keep on reading and don’t forget to stay tuned for our upcoming engagement.

The Elves

The Elf Survivors

As you can see, the elves ... well, had some survivors. That's good, right?

From my point of view, the entire game was built around the scenario. By that I mean that I could have elected to have a much more tactically advantageous deployment than I did, but because I was playing the role of Gaymar, I really got into the reckless and arrogant thinking. I'm not for a second blaming my decisions on that, but it is something that competitive players might struggle to digest. I had the choice to bring both the wizard and the spectre on in turn 1 and I had the choice to deploy my troops in a much better way. I chose not to, because it fitted the scenario and immediately presented me with the challenge of arranging a force on the march to face a prepared and dug in foe. 

One of the things that I didn't factor in, though, was just how much of Warhammer 3 I had forgotten. Somehow, in my mind, I had convinced myself that chariots were way tougher than what they are - I had basically forgotten that they need a lot of protection to be effective. I was really surprised when the horses bolted and ran off into the distance...

Dreamish refers to the use of points to calculate the value of having the spectre attack the stone thrower. Let's put that aside and consider my investment into a level 10 wizard, with only 5 magic points available, who arrived on turn 2 and only cast one spell in the entire game. I made a massive mistake here.: in Warhammer 3rd Edition, there are five levels of character (5, 10, 15, 20 and 25), but only four levels of magic (1, 2, 3 and 4). I kept on thinking that a level 10 wizard was on magic level 2, therefore having more magic points, which would have allowed me to bind the spectre for longer. In actual fact, both level 5 and level 10 wizards are at magic level 1 (and therefore only 10 magic points), meaning I could have spent less money on the wizard for exactly the same outcome and, I dunno, buy something useful somewhere else. When Dreamfish pointed out the error of my ways, I realised that I had just added another tactical challenge to my game. 

My plan with the spectre was actually to hit the crossbowmen. The chariot was supposed to have survived and hit the Steelaxes, together with the Wardancers, who would then roll the dwarf line and press into the warmachine. That all fell apart when the chariot failed to hit. I thought I would redirect the spectre into the machine, because it was just absolutely annihilating my lines, and I thought that if I kept the elves alive for longer, they could just shoot the approaching dwarves down. But...I knew that wouldn't be very interesting, so when the fire proved to be ineffective, I decided to close and try a little close combat. In all fairness, I think the elves nearly pulled it off. Bear in mind they won their first combat rounds, but they had just failed to rout the dwarves. 

Finally, regarding the dwarf warmachines - they were just devastating. Warhammer 8 players will look at the damage and shrug - I'm sure they wish warmachines were as soft and gentle as the ones on display here...but for WFB3? Devastating. Stone throwers don't misfire in 3rd edition, so the trick is to close on them or get out of their arc of fire. Or rely on them to miss, which they should have done more often. 

This game has been a great entry into WFB3 and has really refreshed the ruleset in my mind. It was interesting for me to realise how many WFB6, 7 and 8 behaviours crept into my thinking. Both Dreamfish and I agree that this is a fantastic way to actually create a battle report - there is plenty of time in between rounds to do the images and write up the story. It was also great that we ourselves also experienced the tension that readers (hopefully) experienced - I also found myself on the edge of my seat during the Gaymar/Morgrim fight while I waited for results to come back from Dreamfish's side. 

Our Heartfelt Thanks!

So, with that, we sadly draw to a conclusion the Battle for the Wyemm Seeyay. Both Dreamfish and I express our absolute heartfelt gratitude to all of you who tracked the project, posted supporting comments on the site and on forums, and generally encouraged us to continue. As we've alluded to already, we are busy with another one, hopefully a little bigger in size and possibly featuring different players.

Our Shameless Plug!

If, by any chance, reading this has compelled you to investigate Warhammer 3rd Edition, and you find yourself looking to find out more, I refer you to this link, where you can get in touch with me (and...if you're in The Netherlands, let me know anyway and you might be able to hook up with Dreamfish). You don't need old classic figures to play (or even GW figures - some great stuff in other ranges...), so don't let that hold you back.

Regards
Gaj

***

Battle Navigation

Prologue

Army Presentation

Turn 1

Turn 2

Turn 3

Turn 4

Turn 5

Turn 6

Turn 7

Epilogue

Conclusion & Comments

Battle Report: It's fun to slay at the Wyemm Seeyay - Epilogue

***

"Yep - that's the DeLorien, alright," Emmer Ribord called down to the elves at the base of the tree. "It's looking a little worse for wear... and it's missing a horse, too! Looks like Gaymar's alright, though."

The little watch party looked at each other. After a brief discussion, one of the elves broke away and melted into the forest. 

***

"Roughed up, but looking okay, you say?" Lord Vass Saleen didn't look up. "What about Gaymar?"

"Er...I meant Gaymar, your Lordship," Barthe Solte said. 

"Oh. I thought you were talking about the chariot. That's good, I suppose. How far away is he?"

"I would suggest about fifteen minutes at his current pace."

"FIFTEEN MINUTES? Bloody hell, man! What am I paying you lot to do out there all day? I would have expected a day's warning at least!"

"He wasn't a days journey away, your Lordship." Barthe sighed. He hated explaining things like this to Vass. "Besides, we knew you were... busy." Barthe nodded towards the elf on his knees next to Vass.  

Vass Saleen clipped the kneeling elf on the side of the head. "You heard him. Only fifteen minutes now. And you've still got the other hand to do. Get on with it! Manicures don't do themselves, you know!"

Barthe offered a salute and turned to go. 

"Hey, you - security guy!" Vass called out. 

Barthe sighed and turned around. "Barthe Solte, m'lord," he replied in a strained voice.

"Get a band or something down there. Maybe trumpets. I like trumpets."

"A band, m'lord? At such short notice, I suspect we could at best find one or two horns?"

"Sure. Yeah. Okay. You go ahead and get that organised. And get me my cloak. The lilac one. No, make that the fuchsia one. Chop chop, now!" Vass clapped his hands, much to the annoyance of the manicurist. 

Barthe turned and walked out. That little shit had better have killed a hundred dwarves...

***

The lone trumpet blasted three notes of a jolly welcome before quietly dying away. It didn't take long for everyone assembled to ponder what the state of the dwarves must be, if this is what the elves looked like. Wardancers limped in, supporting each other. The Household Guard had fashioned some makeshift stretchers which were carried by those well enough to walk. 

At the head of this pitiful procession rumbled the once pristine DeLorien. It was being led by Filli Paymassah, the only one of the chariot crew that could still limp in a straight line. The gathering elves stared as the procession rumbled forward, silent and dutiful. 

Standing alone in the chariot, both hands on the rail, was Gaymar the Foccer. He stared grimly ahead, turning his head to look at his father only when the chariot creaked to a halt before him. 

Lord Vass Saleen smiled at his son. Having taken in the scene, he thought he'd start in the most optimistic frame of mind and give his son the benefit of the doubt. 

"Morning, chap! How's things?"

Gaymar nodded slowly, the pain causing him to scowl as he did so. "Peachy. Just peachy"

Vass walked up to the side of the chariot. Gaymar hadn't moved. Vass looked at Gaymar's hands and then peaked over the side of the chariot at his feet. 

"Did they nail you to the chariot?"

Gaymar sighed. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice. Yes, actually, they did. Good chaps, the dwarves. Think of everything. This way, I wasn't in danger of falling out or anything, you know. Always embarrassing, falling out of chariots"

Filli shuffled his feet nervously. 

"And they've shaved your head," Vass said in a matter-of-fact tone. 

Gaymar nodded again. "Like I said, they think of everything, the little miniature wonders that they are. Couldn't get my hair stuck in a tree or anything, you know."

Vass nodded. "Yes. That would be awful. Pull at the nails, that would." 

"Exactly. Don't want to pull at the nails. That would just be a uncomfortable."

"No, no. Quite right." Vass pursed his lips. "Very uncomfortable."

He looked closely at his son's face. "Is that a dent in your forehead?"

"A dent? That's a strong term. A dent. More of an impression, really. The briefest of inclinations. One of the dwarves was good enough to show me some of his jewellery, that's all. Just a bit of fun." Gaymar offered a wan smile and forced a light laugh through his cracked lips. 

Vass raised an eyebrow. "Anyway, did you, uh, want us to take the nails out? Seeing as how you've safely arrived?"

Gaymar smiled brightly. "That'd be super if you could. I shan't be needing them anymore."

***

Ellendee knew they had initially thought she was dead by the way they had dwarf-handled her into their camp. She couldn't quite remember what had led to her being carried in like that and she had no idea what happened next. But the second time she awoke, she was just lumped in a corner against a barrel. It was night time, the only light provided by a camp fire a short distance away. 

She felt groggy and slow. She blinked and blinked, trying to force her eyelids to open enough to see. She was just so tired. Eventually, she managed to lift her eyelids enough to allow the blurriness to clear. Without moving her head, she swivelled her eyes to the right, where she took in the shape of a dwarf, spread-eagled on the floor. 

At this point, her strength failed her and her head lolled forward. Again, from the new position of her head, she forced her eyes open and rolled her eyes up and to the right to look at the dwarf. It hurt looking at him, but she forced her way through the pain. At first, she thought he was dead, but having stared at him for what seemed like a lifetime, she realised that the awful thing was breathing. Long, deep peaceful breaths - the horrid creature was sleeping. 

Drawing her deepest breath yet, she rolled her eyes over to the left. Nothing. Her right eye was okay, but the left had nothing. She blinked again, raising her eyebrows as high as she could to force the eye to open, but still nothing. That was odd. 

Ellendee the focussed her attention on the fire, dead ahead of her. There, sitting on a barrel - was that an elf? She couldn't make out his face from here, but it was definitely an elf. He was facing her, but his head was hung, exposing his bald pallet. She could make out cuts and scabs across the head, as well as a few tufts of hair. 

She recognised the form, but surely it wasn't - 

But it was. 

Gaymar. So they had lost, then. They had been captured and they had shaved his head. She had heard of this before with the dwarves. It suggested that they weren't going to kill them, but the shaving of the head was a grave insult. 

Well. They're not getting my hair. 

She took in the rest of the scene: Gaymar was perched on the barrel, more or less in the centre of a group of dwarves, all lying about in various states of drunken stupor. She could barely make out the back of a dwarf who appeared to be standing at the very edge of the camp site. He appeared to be urinating. She watched as he slowly keeled over backwards, creating a majestic fountain in the firelight before he hit the ground. His helmet rolled round and round on the floor like a coin, before shuddering to a stop somewhere out of sight. 

It was at about this time that the pain started cutting through her daze. Her whole body was just one dull ache. Her eyes were scratchy, especially the left one. She was glad to be so far away from the fire - even from here she could feel the heat, which was extremely uncomfortable, especially on her exposed skin. 

Ultimately, this discomfort, combined with her concern about her hair, caused her to start moving. With muscles straining, she managed to force herself to sit upright. All she could hear was the crackle of the fire and the gentle breathing of an army of drunken dwarves. 

Ellendee realised that her hands were chained. She followed the chain with her eyes, locating the end of the chain in the hand of the first dwarf she saw. Despite the pain, she raised an eyebrow. 

***

The pain in Ellendee's back had subsided enough now that she could walk more or less upright. She had crawled for most of the night and had managed to start limping just before the sun rose. Although she knew the forest well, pain had cancelled out any form of concentration she had, so she had just doggedly crawled and limped onwards. Away from those damned dwarves. 

Unfortunately, not all of them had been asleep. She would have killed them all if that was the case. Some of them still had the discipline to keep a watch of sorts, keeping an eye on the surviving elves. It occurred to her that the only reason she hadn't been watched like the other elves was because they thought she was dead. 

It would only be later in her life that she would learn that the dwarves always chained wizards, even if they were dead. Apparently, they could never be too careful. 

But the dwarf with the chain hadn't been too careful. He'd been drunk. And now, he was dead. Until that night, killing had never brought her any pleasure. But that dwarf - she grinned from the moment she wrapped the chain around his neck until the moment he gargled the last blood-flecked dribble of saliva from his twitching body. It had been reckless, but worth it. No one had seen her. 

A quick search revealed the freedom she needed from the chains. 

After that, she had marshalled the remainder of her strength and simply crawled into the forest. If she could get far enough, she would be able to get help and possibly still save the remaining elves. 

***

When next she awoke, she found her head resting uncomfortably against what turned out to be a stone pillar, overgrown with vines and bushes. The last of the afternoon sun was disappearing over the forest canopy. Her good eye revealed that she had obviously made her way into this small clearing, the centre of which contained the pillar she now rested against. 

Slowly, Ellendee sat up and rested her back against the pillar - 

"Wakey, wakey! Wide-awakey!" a glee filled voice squeaked above her. 

Ellendee squealed in fright, the sound escaping before she could clap her filthy hands over her mouth.  Shivering and wide-eyed, she looked up. 

Sat atop the stone pillar, looking down at her between his oversized feet, sat a vile, yellow goblin. His eyes almost glowed red in the fading light, but there was no malice in his expression or countenance. She noted with interest his thick moustache and side burns - she had never seen such a goblin before. 

"Hee hee," he giggled, amused by her shock. "Wakey elfy! Elfy wakey!" he sang, rocking backwards and forwards on the pillar. 

Malice or no, she wasn't taking any chances. Fireball was ingrained in her, now. The words came naturally, and as she started chanting and gesturing, she could feel the power rising within her. The pain left her as she drew on the unseen forces disguised in the natural order of things. It felt so easy! As she chanted, she rose in the air and spread her arms out. Why hadn't she thought of this before? She knew she could fly and she knew that casting made her feel fantastic.

The goblin watched in awe, jumping to his feet on top of the pillar as she rose to the same height as him. "Yes, yes!" he cackled, dancing and spinning on the pillar. "Hee hee! Hee hee!"

Overwhelmed with the power of magic, she had to launch the fireball - there was no doubt about that. She was, however, a little hesitant to shoot the goblin - he seemed to be the only one there and he could have killed her while she slept. She hurled the fireball at the base of the pillar, pleased with the shape and intensity of the explosion. All of the brush and overgrowth was set alight. 

Despite the force of the blast, the little goblin had retained his footing. He bounced up and down, delirious with joy, cackling and whooping. 

"What do you want?" she barked.

"Ha ha! Hoo hoo!" was the ugly thing's only response. 

She tried again. "What do you want?"

"Read! Lookey look!" The goblin pointed at the pillar. "Read the stone! Stone the read!"

She saw that as the undergrowth around the pillar burned, strange symbols had started appearing on the sides. She recognised them. This was the language in which her spell book had been written in - before it had been eviscerated in that accident with her idiot cousin. 

Her eyes stretched wide as she read the runes, easily taking in their intent and meaning. It purported to be a spell of vengeance. From this, she could wield unholy wrath against her hated foes and the stone would do the rest. This was why it was so easy to draw power - the whole area was drenched in the latent magical power of the stone. 

She flexed her fingers, and without so much as a word, caused the goblin also to raise into the air. The creature whooped in delight, spreading his arms out wide, as if to embrace the very air. 

Together, they flew around the pillar - the goblin for the sheer joy of it, Ellendee slowly rotating around it to read everything it had. What an incredible find! All of her pain and discomfort had evaporated in the sheer joy of magic.

***

The pillar had turned out to be only the tip of the iceberg. Like an iceberg, most of it was hidden below the ground. She commanded it to rise out of the ground and display it's full glory and all of it's hidden secrets. And there were many. 

Through it, she learned about the power of emotions and feeling. She learned how she could channel feelings to strengthen herself. Not just through magic, but in her every activity. Anger was a rich platform from which to raise the deepest levels of magic or to just slice a fruit. She could use disgust to detect illness or reject poison. Love could be used to rule kingdoms, or damn the weak to oblivion. And it felt like she had always known this. Surely this was why she found it so easy to understand? How could this bastion of knowledge have lain here undetected like this? It must have been passed a thousand times, but with no-one having the aptitude to reveal its secrets. 

Now they were her secrets. 

The feeling she revelled in most right now was hatred. She loved hatred! As the sky darkened and gave way to stars, she lay on her back and fantasised about that dwarf and his warmachine. Even now, that little runt was no doubt making his way home, patting himself on the back for slaying an elven sorceress. As the night deepened, she concocted a thousand ways to find him and remind him of her and who she was. There was no fatigue and she became more and more excited as each thought became more real and tangible to her. The funny thing was, even as much as she revelled in the hatred, she was in no hurry to find him. 

Her thoughts switched to her cousin. As for that idiot. Her hatred died away. She didn't hate him...no, it was more like sorrow. She felt sorry for him. She could afford to be arrogant - her new found power filled her with the confidence of a thousand wizards - but Gaymar? That poor sod had no substance at all. Thinking about it caused her to weep. 

Great sobs wracked her body as she explored her sorrow. She loved sorrow! The more she cried, the more she laughed, until could no longer lay still. Joy gave way to shame, as she thought of all those failed fireballs and her own stupidity had nearly cost her her life and had certainly cost her her eye. She traced her hands over her burned skin, her fingers softly running over the scarred and melted surface. She explored her left eye, feeling the melded eyelid. The touch was painful, but each little sensation thrilled her in a way she couldn't even begin to describe. She loved pain!

The little goblin copied her wherever he could - when she laughed, he laughed. As she danced in the evening light, so did he, his exaggerated movements easily complimented by her own sensuous movement. Together, they danced and sang and laughed and cried, thrilled in each others company and the comforting presence of the great pillar. 

***

***

Revelation upon revelation had come to her as she had danced that night. She knew that she was being called to devote herself to whatever god the pillar had been erected to. She cast augurs and divinations, exploring her own future and that of the forest. In doing so she learned that there was a companion for her hidden beneath the stone monolith. 

Using hew new found powers, she summoned creatures from another place to help her. It seemed to her that they mimicked her appearance - each bizarre creature a woman similar in shape to Ellendee, yet wholly different. They each kept their left eye shut, in deference to her. Their legs were bestial, yet beautiful. Each woman had beautifully patterned claws, seemingly ideal for the magical dance they now weaved. In the shadows, they whispered more secrets to her and together, they again danced around the stone, casting a great spell of force, toppling the great stone obelisk. 

As the stone crashed to the ground, a great bolt of lightning struck the site where it's base once was, deep in the hole where it was hidden. As one, the summoned women snaked past Ellendee, each leaning forward to kiss her on her cheek. As they sailed by, they urged her to get into the hole and claim her eye.  The heavens opened and a blanket of water rained down, heavy enough to sting. Soon they could hear nothing else but the thunderous roar of the rain on the ground and the forest canopy. She loved the rain!

Down she climbed, the little goblin scarpering after her, still babbling and gibbering like a madman. 

"Hooray!" he cried, bounding into the hole. "Moody Mud! Muddy Mood!"

She dropped into the knee deep mud, the goblin smacking face first into the muck shortly after. 

Without seeing, she knew to put her hand into the mud, where she grasped the hilt of a sword. A surge of excitement and joy unlike anything she had ever experienced jolted through her body, causing her to cry out in excitement. The goblin jumped up and down in the mud, giggling maniacally. 

"Splishy Splashy! Splashy Splishy! Hee Hee!"

Ellendee wrenched the blade from it's hiding place, thrusting it high into the air. It cried out to her in hunger. Give me the goblin! it cried, deep within her head. 

But Ellendee was not so weak. "I am not your tool!" she shouted. "You are mine! And so is the goblin!" She didn't know how, but she injected her will into the blade. "Remember that!"

***

When she surfaced from the hole, Ellendee again held the sword above her head. Gathering all of her emotion, her experience, her feelings, her awareness, she channelled it all into an unearthly howl, the likes of which had never been heard in the forest. All around her, she could sense the flight of the beasts of the forest, fleeing her might and wrath. Where she got the breath, she did not know, but the forest experienced that howl for nearly an hour. 

***

Ellendee's final act of madness was to cut her own eye out. 

The forest erupted in a second howl, as she thrived on the pain of the blade sinking into her eye. Without waiting, she clawed at the fallen monolith, breaking off a piece of the ancient stone. Using her new found strength, she crushed the stone in her hand, leaving a piece of stone roughly the size of her eyeball. She unceremoniously pushed the stone into the eye socket, muttering words of magic as she did so. She wouldn't be able to see perfectly with the cursed stone. 

Later, she would realise that the makeshift magical eye would only see at night, but for now, it would do.  

***

The goblin prostrated himself before her. 

"What is your name, my glorious master?" he hissed, making sense for the first time. "How will I announce you?"

After everything that happened, she was taken aback by the question. What should she call herself? Thinking about it, she could be almost anything now. 

"Er...Ellendee Generis?" she blurted. 

"Ellenn Degenerate!" the yellow goblin hissed. "Dellen Egenerate! Hee hee!"

"Um...no, let's just use Ellendee-"

"Ellenn Degenerate! Hee hee!"

"Fine," she sighed, raising her hands in surrender. "Ellen Degenerate."

***

Battle Navigation

Prologue

Army Presentation

Turn 1

Turn 2

Turn 3

Turn 4

Turn 5

Turn 6

Turn 7

Epilogue

Conclusion & Comments

Battle Report: It's fun to slay at the Wyemm Seeyay - Final Turn

It is the end. Victory has been claimed.

This was the situation at the end of Turn 6:

Given that almost all of the forces on the table were engaged, there wasn't much movement. Torin charges Ellendee with the gyrocopter:

The combat phase we've all been waiting for. Interestingly, none of the regular combat troops managed to wound each other. It was all down to the combat between Ellendee and Torin and the ongoing challenge between Gaymar and Morgrim:

***

Danak could feel his muscles burning. And if his muscles hurt, he knew the chaps in the unit would also be taking strain - exhaustion showed in their faces and in their fighting. The dwarves were tired too, and it seemed to Danak that both sides realised that the end was near. He certainly wanted to survive the day, and, it seemed, so did the dwarves. Both sides still struck at each other, but by some unofficial agreement, both sides simply decided to make lots of noise by striking each others weapons. 

Gotta look busy, the glances of understanding foes said to each other. No one has to die, just gotta look busy. After all, it's all about them anyway. 

***

Gaymar was oblivious to the pretenses of the other fighters. His legs ached where the dwarf had struck him and tears streamed freely down his cheeks to mix with the drying blood of his burning, broken nose. Whereas before he felt the excitement of battle, now he felt the desperation.

What was the most frustrating was that the dwarf didn't appear to be flagging under his wound. It was all Gaymar could do to stay out of reach of the dwarf's blade, but the blasted dwarf didn't appear to have broken a sweat. 

***

Morgrim knew he would be sore tomorrow. The elf had been lucky, and Morgrim would be paying the price for weeks to come. It never crossed his mind that he could die today - even as he parried and dodged, he simply assumed that he would struggle to pick up his nephews or play baze ball for a while. Besides, it was evident that the elf couldn't see straight, judging by some of his wild swings. But, he had to admit, he was having trouble hitting the bloody twit back. He watched in frustration as the little shit bounced this way and that, constantly avoiding the ministrations of Mogrim's great sword. 

It felt to Morgrim that he might have to think outside the box a little here. Clearly the elf wasn't prepared to stand still and fight like a dwarf, so he'd need to pin the irritating little runt down. He took a lazy swing at the elf, designed more to clear some personal space than to actually do any damage. The elf dived to the left and rolled over, stopping just next to an old tree stump, barely sticking out of the ground.

***

Gaymar came to his feet quickly. He knew he couldn't stay down at all - the great sword the dwarf was casually throwing about would easily split him in two. He was just in time too - the dwarf was coming at him in a reckless charge, with his sword high above his head. Time slowed to a standstill for Gaymar as he watched as the blade came down, knowing even as it sliced through the air, that he would easily side step the blow. It was times like this when he realised why the dwarves were so jealous of the elves - they were just so ... clumsy. 

Intent on showing off, Gaymar didn't even move his feet first. As the blade came down, he first twisted his shoulder out of the way, then arced his back, forcing his hips to follow. It was like watching a ripple pass through his body, as his body almost curved around the descending sword. His thighs and then his knees swayed sensuously, neatly avoiding the gleaming metal. In his final display of elegance, Gaymar flicked his feet out of the way, spun in the air, and promptly tripped over the tree stump.

***

Mogrim had never hit anything quite so hard as he hit that tree stump. His wrists, elbows, shoulders and jowls shook with the massive shock of a mighty swing stopped by what felt like a block of granite. Even his teeth ached as they rattled with the vibration of the impact. With an impact like that, he either cut the bloody elf clean in two, or he'd completely missed the sod. Realising that his eyes were clenched shut, he blinked rapidly as he shook his head. 

Damn. 

He'd missed completely. But, the elf was on the floor, so this was his chance. He tried to heft the sword up high.

Double-damn. 

The thing was stuck in the wood. He looked desperately at the elf, who still seemed a little dazed. 

Come. On. You. Bastard! 

Mogrim swore at the sword, but it would not budge. 

"Screw it," he said. 

***

Gaymar lay on his back, looking up at the sky. He had no idea how he had avoided dying just then, but he had, so that was okay. He wanted to give up. Just lie on the grass and call it a day. But he knew, as he lay there, that the psychotic dwarf was mere feet away, just outside his peripheral vision, probably even now swinging that sword down at him. 

The thought of having his head split in two galvanized him into action. He rolled over onto his belly, away from the damned tree stump and crawled onto his hands and knees. He had no idea where his sword was. 

He located the dwarf. Seemingly, the stupid creature had managed to get his sword stuck firmly in the tree stump he had just tripped over. 

So it screwed both of us, he thought. That's better than nothing. Where the hell is my sword?

Just then, he heard the dwarf exclaim violently. Gaymar was stunned to see the dwarf running straight at him, having abandoned the sword to the tree. 

Shit! He's unarmed! Where's my blasted - Gaymar's eyes found his sword. Aha! There it is!

***

Morgrim watched as the elf lunged for the sword.  He grinned and shook his head. 

"Amateur..."

***

Danak watched as Gaymar hurled himself at his sword. It surprised him that the dwarven commander hadn't even bothered with the sword, and just kept moving towards Gaymar. 

In all fairness, Danak hadn't expected the dwarf to just grab Gaymar as he did. On reflection, Danak realised that the dwarf knew he didn't need the sword. No, it appeared the dwarf had no intention of using a blade to do his dirty work. 


Both the dwarves and the elves watched as Morgrim jogged calmly over to where Gaymar was heading, reached out both his hands and grabbed the elf. 

For the second time that day, the elves watched as their commander was dragged to his knees by his ears. 

The spectating dwarves and elves collectively winced and gasped as they watched Morgrim move his head back, and with all his might, drove the eighty eight carat sapphire adorning his helmet deep into the already broken bridge of Gaymar's nose. 

The crunch was sickening. 

Watching the dwarven commander drop Gaymar's limp body, the Household Guard held their hands up in surrender. 

***

So, in the end, Morgrim won through. Gaymar just didn't have dice rolls he needed to punch through - failing to wound Morgrim at the last hurdle. Morgrim only scored one hit in return, but it was enough.

***

Ellendee wasn't sure how she survived the steam attack. She new she had been badly burned, and seemed to have trouble seeing from one eye. But, as the boiling steam had burned her physically, so it had ignited her hatred for the dwarf and his machine. 

Far from the confusion she had experienced trying to cast the fireball, she easily recited the words and made her arcane gestures with elegance and aplomb. 

Ellendee watched with satisfaction as her fireball engulfed the dwarven flying machine. She felt the warmth of the explosion enraging her own burnt skin, but her joy at the successful spell quashed the immediate discomfort.

"Done and done," she said, dusting off her hands.

But the machine was not done. Even as the thought crossed her mind that she hadn't seen anything drop to the ground, the flying monstrosity punched through the smoke and flames, completely intact. 

Ellendee's eyes widened and her jaw dropped in horror. The cold fingers of terror gripped her inside as she realised her position - she had her back up against the rock face, and as she looked left and right, she realised that she had nowhere to go. 

Her prior magical efforts had left her drained of energy, and the burns from the steam screamed blue murder as she moved, but she had no choice - she would have to take the machine down before its next attack run.

***

Torin was becoming concerned about his water levels. He could feel the machine's lift become sluggish and good Guild discipline would suggest that he should not fire the steam cannon again, lest he jeopardise the massive investment the Guild had put into this gyrocopter. 

The water level had concerned him more than the incoming fireball. 

He was used to the gyrocopter now and he found it easy to manouevre the big machine. His primary concern was not to be hit with the fireball himself, so he had tipped the nose forwards, and released a little torque so that the gyrocopter twisted to the left. The fireball didn't hit him (which is what he wanted) but it did hit the boiler. Fortunately, the boiler was of good quality, and, designed as it was for heat, the explosion simply washed off its side. 

Waves of fire rolled over him, but he didn't feel anything especially uncomfortable, given the amount of leather padding he was wearing. One doesn't straddle a steam pipe and rest one's back against a boiler without a little padding. 

He grinned as he saw the expression on the witches face when he materialised from the smoke.

"That's right, lady," he said under his breath. He patted the framework of the gyrocopter. "I'm still here..."

Still, here or not, he was presented with a problem: if he wasn't going to shoot at her, what was he going to do? He had thought about tossing a grenade down there, but he felt he was too close and again, could put the gyrocopter in danger with the blowback from the rock face. 

That's when it occurred to him. She's trapped, isn't she?

"Right," he said to himself, and pressed the stick forwards. 

***

Ellendee was already chanting the same words she had spent the afternoon mouthing. She drew signs in the air and made ready to loose another spell, desperate to save her life. 

But as she started making the sigil to target the flying machine, she realised that the pilot was driving it straight towards her! Her words faltered as she watched the gyrocopter bank into the curve of the rockface. Too late, she realised what was happening. She ducked low, but it was not enough. Evidently the pilot was used to dealing with short targets. 

***

Torin reached out and grabbed a fistful of the witch's hair. He jerked the stick back, causing the gyrocopter to lurch away from the hill, lifting himself and the elven wench high into the air. She flailed at him, howling like a banshee, but he held on resolutely. 

Later that day, he would reflect on how she had been the architect of her own fate. When she had stabbed his arm with her hair pin, what was it that she expected he would do?

Of course, he had let go. And, nimble as elves were rumoured to be, a twenty foot drop is a twenty foot drop. He never did see how she landed, but as he turned the machine around, he spied her crumpled form at the base of the hill. 

"Just so you know, that's not how I wanted it," he said quietly. 

***

Gayestin's keen eyes caught the wizard's fall. He wasn't sure how things were going on that side of the hill, but that seemed like a sure sign that it wasn't going well. 

"Hey guys! Guys!" he shouted. "Let's beat it!"

As one, the wardancers flipped backwards and darted towards the forest. 

***

Borri watched them run into the distance. He was relieved to realise that he was not the only dwarf resting his hands on his knees, puffing. 

Modern dancing! He snorted. It would never catch on.

***

And so, in the end, Ellendee also fell in battle. She also managed to score a hit on the dwarf pilot, but the lucky fellow passed his armour save. It wasn't hard for him to overcome Ellendee.

This, then, was the situation at the end of the game:

In the next post, I'll wrap everything up with an epilogue, a discussion of the game, an explanation of anything that looks like it needs explaining and some before and after shots of the two armies.

***

Battle Navigation

Prologue

Army Presentation

Turn 1

Turn 2

Turn 3

Turn 4

Turn 5

Turn 6

Turn 7

Epilogue

Conclusion & Comments

Battle Report: It's fun to slay at the Wyemm Seeyay - Turn 6

She cast a spell! No, really, she did! Come and see!


Ahem. Anyway, this is how turn 6 started:

Both Dreamfish and I thought that turn 6 would be 'the one', so I thought I would commit the elves to the fight - you know, a big bang and all that. So, everyone charged:

 The Wardancers finally made contact:

Morgrim challenged Gaymar to single combat. Gaymar had no choice but to accept, because he bravely charged by himself.

***

Morgrim gripped his sword in both hands. Finally - the elves were coming. He had positioned himself in the centre of his Firehammers to face the elven archers when he heard a maniacal ululating screech emanate from somewhere on his left. Craning his neck, he spied a wild, lone elf hurtling towards his unit at high speed. 

It was only when the elf was much closer did Morgrim recognise the fool as the one who had led the column down into the valley. So, he thought. This must be their leader. 


"Step aside, boys," he said. "Looks like our host is coming to greet us personally." He pushed his way out of formation and positioned himself in front of the rapidly approaching elf.

***

Danak Royd also watched Gaymar's meteoric approach to the dwarven line. I suppose we have to save him, he thought. No one else left to do it, now.

He took a deep breath. 

"Charge!"

***

There are many ways to approach single combat. Of course, gentler races, such as the elves, approach combat with finesse - moving quietly and on light feet, caution lining their attentive faces. Hardier races, such as the dwarves, rely on their unflinching discipline and sublime confidence. 


Witnesses to the battle might later claim that the dwarves had indeed evidenced their confident discipline, as all dwarves do. But no-one would claim that Gaymar's approach was at all cautious or well considered. As soon as he was close enough, he leaped into the air. For a brief moment, his profile formed an almost perfect 'c' - his feet nearly touched the tip of his sword as he arced through the air, belt buckle first. 

***

Morgrim had been in the army for a while now. He had seen many things, including the sort of indulgent arrogance that no doubt led to the elf leaping at him as he did now. But, that arrogance had never materialised in such a fashion. He had never faced an airborne elf moving at terminal velocity. 

***

Gaymar felt the sword hit home. A thrill unlike any he had ever experienced flooded his entire body with excitement and adrenaline. It didn't feel planned, but he knew it was all him, baby. He had seen the dwarf raise his sword above him in order to deflect the elf. But Gaymar had expected that. He didn't know how - he simply knew that the dwarf would do just that. 


He switched his grip on the blade in one swift motion. Now, dagger-like, the blade pointed downwards. As he sailed over the dwarf, he thrust down. The dwarf's defense was against a hack, not a thrust, so it was almost too easy to force the blade into the dwarf's shoulder. 


The next thing he knew, he had broken his nose. 

***

Morgrim swore as the elf stabbed him. The little shit had been lucky. He had managed to force his blade directly into Mogrim's shoulder, right where the back plate and breast plate met. 


Enraged, Morgrim swing his two handed sword with all his might. In his youth, he had been a prolific Baze Ball player. Baze Ball was an ancient pastime the dwarves indulged in, where one dwarf would lob a rock (called a Baze) at the other, who would attempt to hit it with a club before his head was smashed. All of that muscle memory came to the fore as his powerful arms drove the blade forwards in a sweeping arc. Sparks flew as the blade crunched into the metal greaves protecting the elf's shins.


The impact was enough to stop the forward flight of the lower half of the elf. The upper half, however, had no such impediment, so it continued on it's original trajectory. Morgrim looked up and saw the elf flip head over heels twice before slamming face first into the ground.

***

Danak Royd expressed such a look of amazement at the sight of his lord somersaulting in the air that the dwarf he faced cast a brief look over his shoulder. It wasn't planned, but Danak took the opportunity none the less, and walloped the foolish dwarf just behind the ear with the pommel of his sword. The little fellow crumpled.

***

Gaymar rolled onto his back, moaning and clutching his face. There was blood everywhere. He felt no pain, but he knew for certain that his nose shouldn't be so ... flexible. He groped around for his sword before realising that the bloody thing was still sticking out of the dwarf like a banner pole. Animal instinct took over as he moved to a crouch and leaped at the dwarf again. 

***

Morgrim was a pragmatic dwarf. The wound hurt, but he wasn't dead or dying. And as long as the blade was in his shoulder, it wasn't in the hands of the sodding elf, so he had made no effort to remove it. Firming his grip on his own sword, he watched as the elf got onto all fours. Morgrim enjoyed the brief look of despair on the face of the elf as he registered the location of his sword. But, even though Mogrim was expecting it, the little bastard was just too fast. He elf hurled himself at the sword, again moving to leap over Morgrim. He narrowly missed the elf in an overhead chop which would have cleaved the idiot in two. He spun to face the elf. As he did so, he saw the blood running down his breast plate. Morgrim ran a hand over his shoulder and grimaced at his opponent. 

The elf had his sword back. 

***

Hargen Darce drove his hammer deep into the midriff of one of the archers. Dopey knob, he thought, as the elf folded in front of him. The dwarves had given ground, stepping back to consolidate their formation. Evidently, the elves considered this a victory and had pursued into a hardened, reorganised dwarven line. But, as this elf - who was now on his hands and knees coughing up blood - had just discovered, the dwarves were not about to give up. Tactical redeployment, kids. That's all it was - tactical redeployment.

***

The combat phase was the first place we came across some issues. As you know, we've found it easier to run the report if we process each other's equivalent phases one after the other, as opposed to the whole IGO UGO mechanism so common to Warhammer. This led to the interesting situation where two combat phases would follow directly on from each other - one for the elves and then one for the dwarves (both sides still fight in each, though). So, we were able to see the elves win (I know, can you believe it?) both combat events in the first combat phase, and then see them grind to a halt in the second.

Morgrim and Gaymar each manged to knock a wound off each other in the first round, and both failed to hurt each other in the second!



The first combat phase:

Combat in Warhammer 3rd edition does have some subtle but powerful differences compared to the later incarnations. In later editions, if an attackers WS is equal to the defenders WS, then traditionally the attacker must roll 4 or more on a d6. In WFB3, a 5 is required. Also, later editions of Warhammer only really allow for a scale between 3 and 5 on a d6, so if the attacker has WS10 and the defender WS1, the attacker must still roll 3 or higher. In WFB3, the scale is bigger, running between 2 and 6+. 6+ in this case means that a 6 followed by another number is required to score a hit.


All of this told heavily in combat, meaning that most of the time, very few hits were actually scored. So, ultimately, not many casualties occurred.


The second combat phase:

The second and more interesting debate we had was about number of attacks and base to base contact. In later versions of Warhammer, the notion of diagonal base to base combat is accepted as the norm:

...but, is the same true in Warhammer 3? From what we could see, no. This was especially interesting, because this led us to investigate the rules, in which it claims that attackers can only attack forwards unless they have gore or stomp or tail attacks. That then led us into the question about models with multiple attacks - how many figures can they actually kill? On face value, this looked like a good natural limiter to some of the more powerful (I'm looking at you, chaos) armies that have many models with multiple attacks.  Assuming the above is true - it then suggests that you can only kill as many models as you are in base to base with...which takes us full circle to the beginning of the argument - is diagonal contact base to base contact...


The reserves phase was pretty subdued, with almost every unit on the table in combat:

Having completed a few rounds of combat, the exhausted units assume new formations, ready for the next round.

And...last but certainly not least - Ellendee finally cast a spell! With 2 magic points remaining, she successfully launched a fireball at the gyrocopter, scoring 3 hits.


No wounds, though, but we gotta crawl before we can walk, right?

So...given that Gaymar and Morgrim are locked in mortal combat...we thought it made sense to move on to turn 7!

Will Ellendee finally eliminate the gyrocopter? Will the Arrowheads reach their destination? Can Gaymar eliminate Morgrim?

***

Battle Navigation

Prologue

Army Presentation

Turn 1

Turn 2

Turn 3

Turn 4

Turn 5

Turn 6

Turn 7

Epilogue

Conclusion & Comments

Battle Report: It's fun to slay at the Wyemm Seeyay - Turn 5

Turn 5 starts like this:

Plenty of movement in the movement phases. The elves manage to execute a planned charge, even as the chariot rumbles off the field.

The Wardancers could have charged the Steelaxes this turn, but if they had done so, they would have opened themselves up to a flank charge from the Arrowheads. Based on that, they decided to move to the flank of the Steelaxes, allowing them to control the charge in the following turn and use the Steelaxes as cover form the Arrowheads.

Spar finally gets to grips with the stone thrower. 

Some dwarves sneak past the abandoned war machine:

Again, the dwarves out-shoot the elves:

***

Gaymar was having the time of his life. He had loved reading the adventure books his uncles had given him and his mind had been filled with stories of heroes of old dealing out justice and retribution to all the enemies of the elves. And now he was there. In the action! Even when that infernal flying machine had scorched him from above, he realised just how alive he really felt. And...the steam had left his jerkin tattered, his muscles exposed and gleaming, and his hair wet and wild. He looked like a hero. He looked epic. 

He tossed his hair. 

It was only in so doing that he came to witness the demise of the Chippin Dale Regiment of Foote, behind him. Where before ten brave elves had followed him unquestionably into battle, there now only stood three bedraggled warriors and a string of broken, moaning casualties spread out behind them. 

Gaymar knew how fate worked. It happened like this in all the stories he read. Entire regiments were decimated by dragons and sorcerers, leaving only the toughest fighters and their brave commanders. In this case, he reasoned that he must be the brave commander, although he did note with irritation that Jorj Miy Kael was still alive. Maybe that's so he can leap in front of an arrow or something and save my life, Gaymar thought. 

Anyway, he knew fate. And fate was telling him he would win the fight with the Chippin Dales. He knew at that point he needed to join with them and lead them in a dazzling display of bravery and cheek - he must lead them directly against the approaching dwarves. 

Hair tossing complete, he turned to face them and was about to shout to them when he saw them completely engulfed in torrent of boiling hot water and steam. Even as far as he was, he felt the violent heat of steam cannon. 

Brilliant, he thought, as he savoured the feeling of his hair whipping in the wind. I'm totally epic!

He waited for the steam to dissipate, expecting to see the vehicle of his victory standing firm and cheering for him. What he saw was three screaming elves rolling around on the floor. Jorj Miy Kael had gone from a suitable lieutenant to the worst hair disaster this side of the Forest of Loren. 

Gaymar looked up at the approaching gyrocopter. He looked across at Morgrim and his approaching Firehammers. Evidently, Fate had an even better outcome for him. Evidently, he didn't need the Chippin Dales. Evidently, Fate had chosen him to single handedly slay the dwarves. 

He gripped the pommel of his sword and in one fluid movement, hoisted the blade high above his head. He hoped the others were watching, so that his moment of greatness would be remembered for ever. It was only when the sword was above his head that he heard the traditional schwing of the blade being drawn from the scabbard. 

Hang on, his subconscious said. The schwing normally comes before the blade goes overhead. Doesn't it? 

Yes, his subconscious replied to itself. Schwing, then up. Not up, then schwing. Definitely not that way around.

Gaymar's keen eyes spotted an object descending in the distance. His heart dropped. Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no. She would never let him live this one down. 

"Ellendee!" he shouted. "ELLENDEE!" He waved his arms furiously. 

He winced. Too late.

***

The elves finally eliminate the devastating Earthquaker:

Spar is a bound spirit host. Storm of Magic (for Warhammer 8th edition) is the first time since 3rd edition that GW have even contemplated this sort of thing - another bit of evidence indicating the true source of inspiration for WFB8.

In Warhammer 3rd edition, hosts (being Spirit, Monstrous or Chaotic) can be bound into service if there is a wizard to do so. Although the full points cost is payed for the host, the wizard also needs to spend magic points in order to bind the host. In this case, I could only afford to spend 5 points in the binding. That means that once Spar has finished this engagement (as he did at the end of the combat phase), he will simply 'blip' out of existence.

Had I had a more powerful wizard with more magic points, I would have been able to use more of them to use a stronger binding with the spectre. Or...had I known that Ellendee would be completely incapable of casting spells, I would have used the rest of her magic points for a stronger binding...

In the reserves phase, both sides prepare for the 'end-game'. Warhammer 3rd edition doesn't have a turn limit like the later editions, but in this case, it really appears that turn 6 is the one that will decide the outcome.

***

Ellendee was embarrassed. She should have been able to manage the damned flying machine and she had messed her spells up twice now. She was glad her tutors were nowhere near to watch her crumble like this. Granted, it was her first battlefield experience, and she didn't really know many dangerous spells, but she was sure she could do better than this.

Checking to make sure no one was looking, she quickly drew a small book from her robes. This was her spell book. She had been desperately hoping she could do the thing from memory, but fireball was a difficult spell. She quickly paged through, flipping to the 'F' section. 


Ah. Here we are.


Seeing it on paper brought it all back to her. She slapped her forehead. Of course! How could she be so stupid? 


She looked up at the gyrocopter. Her eyes narrowed as she chanted in the language of the wytch. Her hands weaved this way and that, drawing impossible signs on an unseen page. She contracted with nature and the elements and allowed their combined grace to flow through her veins. It's coming, she thought. It's coming. 

At the moment when she thought she could hold it no longer, she launched a fireball. 


At exactly the same time, the steel tip of the bejeweled scabbard of Gaymar the Foccer descended from the heavens and bounced off her head. 

-Poc!-

Her eyes rolled up as she fell backwards. 


This event left three things floating in the air: a scabbard, a spellbook, and a fireball. 


The scabbard, having bounced directly up, dropped down again onto Ellendee's stomach. Her eyes jerked open as she grunted in surprise. This gave her just enough time to see the spellbook, travelling upwards, meet the fireball, travelling downwards. A properly cast fireball will explode on impact, but it came as no consolation to Ellendee that her's was a properly cast fireball. It exploded exactly as it ought to.

She watched in horror as her spellbook disintegrated in a rain of ash and cinder. She grabbed the object lying across her stomach and, still lying on her back, brought it into her field of vision to identify. 

I. Am. Going. To. Kill. Him. She rolled onto her stomach and slowly regarded her cousin. The simpering idiot was waving at her. I am absolutely going to castrate that retard, if it's the last thing I ever do on this earth...

***

One of the most disappointing elements of this game (for me) has been the complete absence of magic. Although the story suggests the fault lies with Gaymar, in rules terms, the silly cow failed her intelligence test for the third time in a row. She needs to roll 10 or less on 2d6. Three times she's duffed that now! She has now consumed 3 magic points in her attempts, and only has 2 magic points left. Surely, surely, surely, she'll be able to get a spell off in turn 6?!?

I was really hoping to demonstrate how simple the magic phase really is and what a game might look like without the uncontrolled, top-heavy magic of Warhammer 8th edition.

Anyway.

The dwarves and the elves prepare to engage:

This is the situation at the end of turn 5:

Will Gaymar survive the impending contact with the dwarves? Will Gaymar survive his next encounter with his cousin? Will Gaymar survive his next encounter with his father? Join us next time, for turn 6!

***

Battle Navigation

Prologue

Army Presentation

Turn 1

Turn 2

Turn 3

Turn 4

Turn 5

Turn 6

Turn 7

Epilogue

Conclusion & Comments