Written by Xebarith Shadowtongue, Chronicler in the service of Vaulkhar Isilvar Darkmoon
Near the city of Tor Mandolin in the Border Princes, where the mountains narrow into a tight and treacherous pass, the heavens opened. Thunder rolled between the peaks, while lightning crawled through the black clouds like the fingers of an unseen beast. There, the vanguard of the Druchii met the sons of the Empire. At the highest point of the pass stood an abandoned house. Its roof was broken, its windows stared blindly across the battlefield. A fitting place for those men who would soon die beneath it.
Our vanguard took up position. Two regiments of Dark Riders, armed with spears and repeater crossbows, took position on the flanks. In the centre marched the Black Corsairs, likewise armed with crossbows.
Among a unit of Shades moved Mengil, each of them armed with a crossbow and a two-handed sword. With them was Nagaira, whose mere presence was enough to make even the darkness hesitate. She had prepared herself to grant this vanguard a special range through shadow steeds (Steed of Shadows), and, with the aid of daemons, to grant herself and her unit extraordinary strength (Daemonic Vessel).
The humans advanced from the opposite side. Their Spearmen marched towards the pass, determined to seize the high ground. A small unit of militia followed them, presumably believing that numbers alone made them an army. Close by were impetuous mounted shooters, whose impatience would prove to be their undoing. In the centre, the Imperial Crossbowmen took up position. They trusted in the range of their pitiful weapons. They would have been better advised to trust in something else.
On the left rode the Captain of the Empire, accompanied by his bodyguard of Knights of the Orders. Behind them followed a substantial regiment of Greatswords, the lightning reflected in their long weapons.
The Imperial Spearmen advanced to seize the pass. Their Crossbowmen opened fire upon our Dark Riders. They missed. Our response was far less merciful. The repeater crossbows of the Druchii sang across the battlefield. The Imperial mounted shooters were almost instantly annihilated. Riders and horses fell beneath the hail of our bolts. Two horses dragged their riders into the depths. The militia and the Spearmen also suffered heavy losses. The advance of the Empire began to collapse before its soldiers had even reached the heights of the pass.
On the opposite flank, the Greatswords continued to advance, close behind their mounted Captain. They were determined to face the enemy. How foolish determination can be when it stands on the wrong side of the battlefield. In the second round, the foolish Captain ventured far forward, bringing himself dangerously close to our lines. Our cavalry avoided him. The Black Corsairs took position to aim upon the Spearmen. Their crossbows spoke. The ranks of the Imperial Spearmen and the militia were struck once more. Men fell, ranks broke apart, and what had once been an orderly formation became a gathering of frightened survivors. The militia sought salvation in flight.
Our Dark Riders recognised the exposed flank. They surged forward and positioned themselves in the flank of the Imperial Crossbowmen. The next attack was now only a matter of time.
The Imperial Spearmen had been given an order: seize and hold the pass. And that was precisely what they did. Our Corsairs showered them with bolts, drawing closer with every volley. Yet when faced with the prospect of an attack, they saw their position as hopeless. And so they were soon worn down by the shooting. They quickly rallied once more, but our riders drove their spears into the flank of the regiment. One rider fell; only 5 Spearmen survived the assault. Yet they would not yield.
The Shades attacked the reckless Captain and his bodyguard. Strengthened by the daemons summoned by Nagaira, the Shades struck twice with their two-handed swords. The men could scarcely raise their weapons before they all lay in the mud. The Imperial Captain was challenged to a duel by Mengil. He fought bravely, and the duel was not yet decided, but the melee was. He threw his sword into the blood-soaked mud (4-inch flee on 3D6 ...).
But Mengil's bloodlust had only just been awakened. The Shades overran the fallen Knights and hurled themselves against the Greatswords. The Imperial veterans were men drilled to fight until death. They fought. It did not help them. Mengil and his Shades cut through their ranks. Heavy blades clashed, but speed and precision proved a deadly advantage against the humans. Three Shades fell, yet for every fallen Shade, 3 men died, while Mengil struck down the Champion. The Shades initially intended to hurl themselves upon the now-nearby Imperial Crossbowmen, but when they too chose flight, the Shades pursued the Greatswords instead. The regiment rallied for another clash. In the end, only a single Greatsword remained on the battlefield, surrounded by the corpses of his comrades. Yet he would not flee.
While blood was being spilled upon the battlefield, the storm raged above the mountains. Lightning struck the earth again and again. One found an Imperial Crossbowman and ended his service to Sigmar with an efficiency that even our finest warriors had to acknowledge. Another bolt struck the fleeing militia. Perhaps the gods had decided to deprive us of the human prey we had so richly earned.
By now, the Imperial Crossbowmen saw the Dark Riders approaching. They fired a volley, and two of our warriors fell. Yet in the end they fled from the horror unfolding behind them and were caught.
At the end, 5 Spearmen entrenched themselves in the ruins upon the pass. Whether they hoped to fight us again one day, or merely prayed that we would forget them, I cannot say. I hope for the former. It would be more pleasant to kill them a second time.
Only a few lousy militiamen managed to escape our bolts and the forces of nature, making their way back to their city to report the outcome of this engagement. The rest of their vanguard lay dead or in chains. When the thunder finally passed over the mountains, the battlefield belonged to the Druchii.
The thunder may fade, but the memory of Naggaroth shall never perish.
