Author Topic: Skaven vs Dark Elves Narrative Batrep  (Read 2628 times)

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Offline Zero

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Skaven vs Dark Elves Narrative Batrep
« on: September 11, 2012, 04:12:56 PM »
First a few notes:

This is my first narrative batrep, and indeed my first bit of properly written fluff, so it's no professional quality...

Grey Seer Vorikk is obsessed with poetry and thinks he's the greatest poet to ever walk the Old World, but he's absolutely terrible at it, hence the bad poems and whatnot.

I still need names for my Chieftain and Plague Priest.

The Warpfire Throwers didn't do anything this game, so they're mentioned only once (I believe).

Lists:
Dark Elves:
Lords – 320pts.
Supreme Sorceress – Level 4, Lore of Shadow, Pendant of Khaleth, Sacrificial Dagger (Melkoth’s Mystifying Miasma, The Withering, Penumbral Pendulum, Pit of Shades) – 320pts.

Heroes – 150pts.
Sorceress – Level 2, Lore of Death, Tome of Furion (irrelevant) – 150pts.

Core – 400pts.
30 Warriors – Shields, Full Command, Banner of Murder – 250pts.
14 Repeater Crossbowmen – Standard – 150pts.

Special – 417pts.
5 Cold One Knights – Musician, Standard Bearer – 174pts.
14 Black Guards – Musician, Standard, Razor Standard – 243pts.

Rare – 200pts.
2 Reaper Bolt Throwers – 200pts.

TOTAL – 1487pts.

Skaven:
Lords – 240pts.
Grey Seer Vorikk – 240pts. (Wither, Skitterleap, Howling Warpgale, the Dreaded 13th)

Heroes – 271pts.
Chieftain – Battle Standard Bearer, Storm Banner, Halberd – 122pts.
Warlock Engineer Fitz – Doomrocket – 45pts.
Plague Priest – Flail – 104pts. (Plague)

Core – 401pts.
24 Clanrats – Full Command, Shields, Warpfire Thrower – 198pts.
20 Clanrats – Full Command, Shields, Warpfire Thrower – 180pts.
5 Giant Rats, Packmaster – 23pts.

Special – 285pts.
35 Plague Monks – Standard Bearer, Plague Banner – 285pts.

Rare – 300pts.
Doomwheel – 150pts.
Doomwheel – 150pts.

TOTAL – 1497pts.

The Battle:
‘My own-personal Warpstone supply-supply,
These stupid Elf-things it is behind,
If they just move-moved out of my way,
I wouldn’t have to kill-kill them all this day.’

-   Grey Seer Vorikk

Vorikk would never speak of how, but he had his own ways of gathering information. He’d been informed of a significant amount of Warpstone that a contingent of Dark Elves had come across whilst mining a mountain only 49,576 paws to the east and he wasn’t about to let those dirty Elf-things steal his Warpstone. He had great plans for the rock (well, they were actually Warlock Engineer Fitz’s plans, but Vorikk wasn’t about to let him take credit for such genius).

The Elves had been using human slaves from a nearby settlement to mine the unstable rock. Vorikk was annoyed that his human contacts hadn’t informed him of the Elves coming. They would be punished for this slight, but first the Elves had to be taken care of.

***

As Vorikk’s horde marched to meet the foe he could see that they were already awaiting him. Perhaps scouts had spotted his unsubtle approach or some vile magic had been used. Or perhaps he was being double-crossed. He’d have to interrogate his Clan Eshin representatives to make sure. You can never be too careful with these things.

Either way, the battle would take place here, on the outskirts of a small town. The Elves must have taken them all as slaves, because the place was devoid of human life.

‘Into position we will march,
For now-now the battle shalt start!’ the Grey Seer squeaked in his most poetic of tones, and the Skaven instantly began skittering into place as the foul-looking Elf-things did the same. They‘re too dark, thought Vorikk, no wonder their poetry’s not as good as mine, they clearly lack any inspiration.

Vorikk floated next to Fitz, the more sane (if such a word could even be used) and creative of the pair of Warlock Engineers in his service, allowing the Engineer a place in his personal meat shield of Clanrats. The fanatical horde of Plague Monks marched up to his right, barely restraining themselves from charging forward at the wall of spears directly opposite them, desperately wishing to spread the love of the Great Horned One. The Chieftain moved to the right of these fanatics, his standard of storm-calling held high while his bodyguard of Clanrats gave suspicious glances to the Warpfire Thrower weapon team stood next to them.

As the last of the Dark Elves moved into place and the Skaven’s Doomwheels rolled up to the flanks, Vorikk urged his horde onwards to destroy these defilers of his rock. The great wheels of doom lost no momentum as they spun towards the enemy Cold One Knights and Black Guard, eager to show these funny smelling man-thing-like beings how wonderful their creations are while the Plague Monks marched feverishly towards the enemy.

Vorikk led his unit forward towards a building with foul intent written upon his features as he devoured a pair of Warpstone Tokens and unleashed all the power of the Great Horned One upon the enemy’s Crossbowmen and lesser mage. The rush of power was far too much for even the greatest effort the Elf-things could possibly muster and the unit writhed and twisted as they were all transformed into ratmen. The incredible surge of magic through the Seer’s veins caused him to black out for a couple of seconds, and when he came to he realised he was laughing maniacally, not of his own accord, and stopped himself.

Still a little dazed, he couldn’t remember what had just happened, but did notice 15 Skaven wearing purple up ahead, already behind enemy lines. Vorikk thought to himself that these rats must have infiltrated the enemy army and pretended to be Elves so they could attack the enemy unawares. What a genius tactic! Whoever came up with that incredible idea would be rewarded handsomely for keeping their jaw clenched and letting him take the credit. ‘Was that you?’ he quizzed Fitz, but received only a quizzical glance in return. ‘Never mind.’

Three bolts of lightning arced out and struck some of the Clanrats in Vorikk’s unit. The Grey Seer turned his head to see that it was one of the Doomwheels as surviving Clanrats cursed and squeaked at the machine, and by the sounds of it, the same thing had happened to his Chieftain’s unit as well. Ah well, that’s what they’re here for, he thought, turning back to see the Dark Elves now marching to meet the Skaven.

The foolish, or perhaps just arrogant, Dark Elf Black Guard thought they could take on a Doomwheel and charged the Skaven machination as the Cold One Knights attempted to do the same to the other Doomwheel, but perhaps they were the more intelligent of the enemy units and decided that it wasn’t such a great idea and stopped short.

Meanwhile, the Warriors had nudged their way forward, remaining defensive and ready to receive any charges as the Supreme Sorceress infected the minds of the Plague Monks and Priest with confusing spells and chants as Vorikk was still far too confused to make a decent attempt at stopping the enemy mages power.

A hail of bolts rained from a Reaper Bolt Thrower, but the literal hail called upon by the Chieftain proved to be the more powerful, only a couple of bolts finding a home in the half-rotted flesh of the Plague Monks. The other turned its sights towards the Doomwheel soon sure to run down the Cold One Knights, and despite the storm managed to hit home with a single sizeable bolt, but the rugged design of the Doomwheel meant that only minor damage was sustained.

The Black Guard soon learnt of their mistake as the Doomwheel grinded down its foe, two of the Elves getting caught beneath the wheel and crushed to death with a horrid squelching sound as they were ground into the mud. Blood sprayed out behind the Doomwheel and what were once two Elves was now nothing more than a red stain. Despite the fate their comrades had received, the Black Guard stood strong and attacked the Doomwheel, but their foolishness was further proven as halberds bounced off the solid exterior of the wheel. The Engineer driving the thing was too caught up cackling condescendingly at the Elves to even bother attacking and left the work to three of the rats who managed to chew their way through the leg of another Elf, who fell forward smashing his face against the still spinning wheel and was rapidly drawn under to the same fate as those before him.

The other Doomwheel set its sights on the Cold One Knights and slammed straight into their front, annihilating every last one of them with a combination of mass and lightning bolts before they even had a chance to retaliate.

Likewise, the Plague Monks decided it would be a great time to let the elves of darkness feel the loving embrace of the Great Horned Rat, but a weird fog clouded their minds, distracting and confusing them, leaving the unfortunate elves without any kind of love.

Vorikk skittered his way inside the building with his meat-shield and inventor-engineer. While Vorikk was busy looking for shiny objects to take, Fitz found a nice window through which he aimed his rocket of joy at the Dark Elf Warriors below, blowing a few of them into mouth-sized chunks and raining flesh upon their fellows, but the elves seemed to care not.

More Black Guard fell beneath the grinding wheels of the Doomwheel and continued to fail in any of their attempts to hurt the thing, the engineer inside laughing with ecstatic joy as intestines squelched underneath in the mud created by the Chieftain’s storm.

The rat pack, not aware of the Plague Brethren’s befuddlement, charged headlong at the Elves, halting only paws away from the spearmen. The pack halted as the Packmaster awaited the Monks’ charge, but after a few moments of nothing happening, he risked looking away from the enemy for a quick look over his shoulder to see where they were, and was more than a little annoyed to find them slowly lurching forward with confused looks upon their features.

The extra-sneaky infiltrating rats move towards the rear of the elf spearmen while more Black Guard fall to the first Doomwheel and the other rolls towards the enemy Bolt Throwers, but its own lightning proves to be barely powerful enough to slave, let alone a machine.

Taking advantage of their current distraction, the spearmen hack apart the Giant Rats and their Packmaster before charging headlong into the confused Clan Pestilens representatives and confusing them further with mind-boggling power.

The Chieftain saw the flank of the enemy open and directed his mildly faithful Clanrats into these foolish warriors. The stealthy 15 attempted to hit the rear, but the distance was mighty to say the least and they soon realised the fighting was much too far for them to reach.

The Black Guard finally fell before the unyielding might of the now gore-splattered Doomwheel while its counterpart continued on its roll, coming just short of the enemy Bolt Throwers before its lightning arced out and once again proved to be nowhere near powerful enough to cause so much as a burn mark.

“Look at what I found, so perfect and round!” squeaked Vorikk. Fitz scuttled over and looked at what Vorikk had held in his paw.

“It appears to be some kind of circular object!” replied Fitz, “I wonder if it explodes. It would fit perfectly into the end of my Doomrocket…”

Vorikk and Fitz remained peering at the child’s play-thing, not paying much attention to all the commotion going on just outside the building.

“Face me, dirty-dirty elf hag! Step-step forward and let me introduce my blade-blade to your face-face!” squealed the Clanrat’s Claw Leader. The elf witch obliged and leapt towards him. Before the arrogant Skaven could even strike a blow, the elf slipped her blade through his throat, ending his life almost instantly.

The elves on the side of the unit retaliated in aggression towards the Clanrats that had hit them unawares, slaying a few of the ratmen, but not before the Chieftain had culled a few elves of his own. The rest of the elves that could reach thrust their spears towards the mind-weakened Monks at their front, destroying a few with surprising ease for an elf.

The Monks and their Priest were rather enraged by this absolute rejection of the wisdom of their rat-god, and retaliated in rage, slaughtering countless elves along with the few the Clanrats could actually manage to hit. The immense losses were too much for the elves and they began to turn and run the other way, but their hesitance in leaving the still-condescending sorceress proved to be their end as rats swarmed over them, tearing all they could catch limb-from-limb and devouring what they could.

The Bolt Throwers figured taking on an entire army would prove to be slightly difficult, so they turned the other way, not bothering to pack up their machines as the matter of a Doomwheel only an arm’s length away proved to be more pressing.

What matters creative endless toil
When, at a snatch, oblivion ends the coil?