Alaloth charged forward on his mighty stag, leading his forces back toward the gates of Streamwatch Outpost. His curved blade and spear flashed in the air as he cut down every Skaven in his path.
Behind him, the Talas Hawks, the Queen's personal guard, followed their chosen champion of Athel Loren's queen, Alarielle, pressing forward relentlessly. They used their shields and spears to carve a path through the horde, leaving behind nothing but piles of Skaven corpses.
Following the Talas Hawks was Alaloth's personal unit, the Grey Wardens, the elite guards of the Talsyn forest. They stayed close behind their leader, determined to retake the outpost.
"Fall back to the outpost! Hold the line!" Alaloth could faintly hear the curses of the Dwarves, and his face flushed with embarrassment. Despite having made the decision to retreat, he was beginning to regret it. But he quickly justified it to himself: they were protecting the supply lines at Streamwatch Outpost!
Yes, that was it!
Just as Alaloth was convincing himself of this excuse, he and his stag burst through the gates of the outpost.
The entire outpost was engulfed in flames. The defenders inside were locked in brutal street fighting with the invading Skaven.
As soon as Alaloth entered the gate, ready to take command of the defense, a series of nets were thrown at him!
With a swift motion, Alaloth slashed the nets apart with his spear. But as he advanced deeper into the outpost, he was met by a barrage of Warpstone sniper shots!
The bullets tore through the stag's armor, and the beast collapsed to the ground with a pained cry, sending Alaloth tumbling into the snow and mud. His treasured green antlered helmet, a gift from Lileath, fell to the ground. Before he could recover, a horde of Stormvermin surrounded him.
"Pointy-ear scum! Die-die!" Queek Headtaker himself appeared on the battlefield, directing the attack. "Kill-kill! All of them!"
Nearby, Skaven weapons teams were taking positions. Each unit consisted of a shooter and a loader, armed with long-barreled rifles powered by Warpstone. Hidden behind large shields, these Warlock Engineers had been the ones to kill Alaloth's beloved stag. Their thunderous volley now put Alaloth in grave danger.
Queek's lieutenant, Sokk the Jagged, grinned as he approached, followed by a large contingent of Stormvermin armed with halberds.
"Yesyes! Today you die-die, pointy-ear!" Sokk shouted as he closed in.
Alaloth knelt in the snow, seething with rage. His once-pristine face was now smeared with mud and blood, a deep insult to his honor. He was the chosen champion of Alarielle, and if the Skaven wanted a fight, he would give them one.
Calmly, Alaloth stuck his curved blade and spear into the snow. As the first wave of Stormvermin advanced, he showed no fear. With lightning speed, he drew his bow from his back, nocked five arrows at once, and fired: "By the power of Kurnous!"
The arrows, guided by a magical force, weaved through the battlefield, bypassing the Skaven's defenses. Five Warlock Engineers fell dead as the arrows pierced their skulls.
"Lileath, guide me!" Alaloth continued firing. Arrow after arrow flew from his quiver, each one blessed by the powers of Kurnous and Athel Loren's starfire. Within seconds, all the Warlock Engineers had been killed, their bodies left in the snow.
Having emptied his quiver, Alaloth swiftly slung his bow back over his shoulder, picked up his spear and blade, and launched himself at the surrounding Stormvermin.
With a flurry of strikes—slashing, stabbing, sweeping, and blocking—Alaloth danced among the Skaven. Every move was precise and deadly. Within moments, the first wave of Stormvermin was dead. Three heads fell with a single sweep of his spear, and with a forward thrust, he drove the spear into Sokk the Jagged's chest.
Sokk's grin turned to a look of disbelief. He stared down at the spear lodged in his chest, shocked that he had been bested before even launching an attack.
Alaloth twisted his wrist, tearing Sokk in half. Then, without pausing, he turned his attention back to the remaining Stormvermin. Despite their numbers, they couldn't get close to him, falling one after another to his expert combat skills.
Finally, Queek himself stepped in to challenge Alaloth. The two champions clashed fiercely, Queek's Dwarf-slaying sword clanging against Alaloth's spear. The chosen of Alarielle had met his match in the Warlord of Eight Peaks. For several tense minutes, they battled to a stalemate.
"Protect the commander! For Athel Loren!" At last, the Talas Hawks arrived, charging the Stormvermin with their spears. The elite Wood Elf soldiers clashed with Queek's bodyguards, the Crimson Hunters, as well as Sokk's remaining forces. Reinforcements continued to pour into the battle from both sides.
At first, the Skaven's courage held, buoyed by Queek's aura. But as the battle raged on, it became clear that the seasoned Wood Elf warriors were far superior to the Skaven. Slowly but surely, the Stormvermin began to fall.
Watching his elite troops die, Queek felt as if his heart was breaking. The Crimson Hunters were the best of the best, the result of countless years of training. Now they were being wiped out, along with his handpicked Warlock Engineers and Stormvermin. Every death felt like a dagger in his chest.
With half of his elite forces dead or incapacitated, Queek made a quick decision. He used his Warpstone armor to block a blow from Alaloth's blade. Though the attack didn't penetrate, the force sent Queek flying backward. He quickly signaled for his Plague Priests to deploy their poisonous gas grenades and ordered the surviving elite troops to retreat.
No way was he going to waste his finest warriors just to prop up the greenskins!
"Don't even think about running! By Lileath's grace, you'll die here!" Alaloth prepared to chase after the retreating Skaven, but a wave of poisonous gas forced him and the Talas Hawks to halt. Meanwhile, the Grey Wardens rained arrows upon the retreating Skaven, decimating the Plague Priests. Queek cursed under his breath as he watched his troops fall: "No-no! We're done-done! Retreat, retreat! Save-save what's left of our forces!"
"Yes-yes!" Queek's battered troops scrambled to escape, leaving behind a horde of Skaven slaves and Clanrats to delay their enemies. These cannon fodder units were swiftly slaughtered by the Wood Elves. Alaloth quickly regrouped the remaining defenders of the outpost, commanding them to hold their ground.
Streamwatch Outpost had been secured.
With Queek pulling back his elite Stormvermin and leaving only fodder units behind, the pressure on the Dwarves immediately lessened. The White Dwarf, leading the combined forces of Bretonnian knights and Dwarven soldiers, rampaged through the Skaven ranks. He personally slew five Rat Ogres before splitting Skaven warlord Rikk Flayer in half with a single axe strike. The Skaven once again broke and fled, squealing in terror.
With the Skaven threat neutralized, the Dwarves could turn their full attention back to the greenskins.
On the other side of the battlefield, the Bretonnian knights were locked in fierce combat. They had not been attacked by the Skaven, but the ogres were proving to be a formidable foe. After hours of fighting, the ogres were growing tired and hungry. Half of their forces had fallen, and the survivors were losing interest in the battle. Complaining of hunger, the ogres decided their contract was complete, grabbed a large pile of corpses, and left the battlefield, ready to host a feast elsewhere.
With the ogres gone, the pressure on the knights was greatly reduced. This allowed Ryan to send five hundred knights and their squires to reinforce Belegar. Upon hearing the news, Skarsnik threw a tantrum, furiously ordering his messenger to get Gus the Gut to resume the attack. But the ogre tyrant had already fought a brutal duel with Calard, losing his mount in the process and one of his arms to a magic cannon blast from Morgiana's latest weapon.
Having suffered so much, Gus the Gut declared the contract over, demanding double the original payment to continue fighting—after he had eaten his fill.
There was no way Skarsnik could afford that. Thus, the Gut Tribe left the battlefield, retreating eastward with no intention of returning.
"Sire! The ogres are retreating!" A series of battlefield reports reached Ryan. The king had just finished smashing a greenskin Big 'Un into a bloody pulp with his warhammer. Raising his hand, Ryan summoned a storm of psychic lightning to strike the battlefield before pulling on his griffon's reins, signaling the creature to take to the sky.
Impressed by his latest kill, Imprydas reluctantly released the head of a greenskin warlord from its talons and flew upward. From the air, Ryan surveyed the battlefield and immediately spotted the Wood Elves retreating. Rage surged within him. He had anticipated that Alaloth might fal
ter in the heat of battle, but he hadn't expected the Wood Elves to retreat so swiftly and decisively, leaving the Skaven hordes free to catch the Dwarves off guard.
If only Alaloth had held the line a bit longer! The Skaven's inferior fighting skills couldn't compare to the Wood Elves. They would have collapsed eventually. But no—the cowardly retreat had squandered that chance!
"Dammit! I'll let Lileath deal with you later!" Ryan cursed under his breath as he summoned another lightning bolt, shattering two more greenskin Big 'Uns. As he landed back on the ground, his newly appointed Count Julian Cajon rushed to his side.
"Sire! We should charge! One final push and we can crush the greenskins!" Julian urged, slashing through a couple of Orc boyz as he spoke.
"Wait! Hold your ground," Ryan ordered firmly. "We must not move yet."
"But why?" Julian asked, perplexed as he decapitated two more Orcs.
"We stand like a mountain. A mountain never moves!" Ryan roared, adding, "We wait for the right moment. Skarsnik still hasn't committed his Black Orcs or his Night Goblin elites. If we move first, we'll lose!"
"I understand!" Julian shouted, cutting down another greenskin. At that moment, a black raven appeared on the horizon, cawing loudly as it flew toward Belegar.
Belegar was surrounded by the corpses of Orcs and goblins, with a few greenskin warlords among the dead. The King of Eight Peaks looked as unyielding as iron, his hammer having crushed countless enemies. His rune-covered stone glowed beneath him, and his body was similarly bathed in light.
The raven landed on Belegar's shoulder, cawing: "Caw~"
"The time has come for Skarsnik's reckoning," Belegar said with a grim smile. He turned his gaze northward, toward where Ryan and his forces were positioned.
The sun's rays flickered across the battlefield, as if something had momentarily blocked the light. Then, from the northern hills, a thunderous horn sounded, followed by another, and another.
The long blast of the horn echoed through the valley, drawing the attention of both sides. The Dwarves recognized the sound and let out cheers and battle cries, while the greenskins grew anxious, unsure of its meaning.
The noise of marching boots, clanking chainmail, and the rhythmic clash of hammers and axes against shields drowned out the greenskin's raucous yells.
A new army had appeared at the northern ridge!
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