The final battle of the Abyss campaign, and the Black Order's greatest challenge yet...
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The man who treated the wounds I received at the Tower of the Avenger turned out to be far more than a simple healer. Myrdred, a journeyman of an order of warrior-monks that long ago set down their arms to take up the mantle of the healer, arrived in our camp during the chaos of the battle's aftermath. And at his back gigantic figures strode straight from the pages of our oldest legends.
Their names, as best I have been able to translate them into our tongue, are Baugi Widow's Husband and Jorunn Breaker of Horses. They are ettins, a cousin race to the ogres, and no man of our Order has seen trace of them in over a hundred years. They came down from the untamed, wild lands to the north - further than any man of our kingdom has been in living memory - to fight against the encroachment of the dark horrors that now plague our lands, and at Myrdred's behest they will stand with us during the coming battle.
An Orc horde, its numbers too great for our scouts to count, now marches upon the Order's holdings. Whether the horde is under the aegis of its avaricious chieftains or directed by the malice of darker masters, it will be here within a day and clearly intends to finish what the Abyssal horrors of the last battle could not. We have not been idle since that clash. Our smiths have been working tirelessly to refit the infantry, and yesterday the survivors of an unsung battle in the West - three score knights and two hundred veteran infantry - reached our camp and replenished our ranks. We will mount a defense such that the enemy will cover the stones in rivers of their blood before we yield. Myrdred, the healer-monk who has joined us, has convinced the ettins to stand with us against the coming tide of darkness.
And yet it will likely not be enough. All of us are exhausted from the engagements of the last two weeks. All of us know that without further reinforcement from the rest of the Order we cannot think to hold against a horde of the magnitude our scouts have spoken of. The battle we will fight tomorrow will be to the death and utterly without quarter. To permit the enemy to pass us by and bring its violence and cruelty to the lands of the south is unconscionable. This alone dictates that we must fight to the last gasp of breath before the enemy is allowed to pass.
In a few hours I will stand shoulder-to-shoulder with my fellow warriors for our final prayers. Whether peasant, landed knight or paid mercenary, the duty faced by each of us now is the same - and the sacrifice each of us will be called upon to make will be total.
The Order, exhausted and battle-weary, marshal for a confrontation with the oncoming horde. The infantry and archers hold the centre, whilst the Order's knights take the left flank.
The green tide pours onto the plains.
The Orcish centre surges forward, while outriders advance to meet the Brotherhood's knights on the left flank.
The Order's infantry hold fast, as archers and siege engines pour storms of fire upon the advancing greenskins.
With regiments of Orcs and larger troll-like beasts being culled in their droves by Brotherhood arrowfire, the Orcish right rotates to meet the oncoming Brotherhood cavalry.
Knight-Captain Tyr overlooks the Brotherhood line before committing to the left flank with his inner circle of elite knights.
As the Orcs become bogged down in the muddy fields, picked apart by the arrowfire of the yeomanry, the knights begin their advance screened by mounted men-at-arms.
However, Orcish outriders have managed to circumvent the Brotherhood lines - spelling certain doom for the yeomanry who until now have been crucial in the battle's development.
The lines engage. Brotherhood light cavalry engage the Orcish right, whilst the Order's infantry finally advances to engage the bogged down greenskins in the centre.
Carnage erupts! The ettin Baugi Widow's Husband tears into the Orcs, scattering greenskin elites as the Order infantry surge forward, following the ettin's wake and tearing apart the disoriented Orcs. The Trolls, however, are in their element - undisturbed by the mud and gore, they start to reap a heavy toll among the Order infantry, even wounding the ettin Baugi himself.
The Knights join the fray, tearing through the Orc cavalry and obliterating those who stand in their path. The Order's cavalry ride straight into the swirling melee between Orc and human infantry, scattering the last of the greenskins. However, while the Orcs are being slaughtered, the Trolls have regrouped and regenerate their wounds with horrifying speed...
Disaster strikes. The Knights, tearing through the Orcs and piling the dead in mounds, overstretch themselves and expose their flank to the Trolls, who whip round with impossible speed and savage the Order's horsemen, tearing steeds in half and ripping armoured men apart.
Meanwhile, the situation is worsening on the right flank. More Orcish cavalry emerge from the shadow of the mountain to thunder into the Order's yeomanry, scattering the unprepared archers like leaves in a storm.
As if Fate itself has taken the field against the Brotherhood, as the Order's right flank collapses the Brotherhood centre gives way beneath the fury of the Orc counter-attack. Greenskin cavalry butcher the Order's infantry, and soon only the knights under Ludovic Tyr remain to contest the field. However, the Order's siege engines and yeoman archers in the centre are still combat effective, and commit their last ammunition reserves into the rear of the Orcs now sweeping into the Knights.
Knight-Captain Tyr slashes through an Orc berserker regiment, his blade Tyrfing hacking apart shrieking red-eyed greenskins as he presses through to the last of his knights.
The sun starts to set and it becomes clear that neither side has claimed the field. The howls of the wounded and dying echo over the battlefield, and despite winged horrors menacing the Order's remaining yeoman reserve, the Brotherhood has enough warriors standing to deny the Orcs total mastery of the field. The ettin Baugi stands atop a mound of bodies - man, troll, greenskin and indeterminate horror alike - and roars his triumph to the skies with atavistic fury. The Brotherhood has lost too many warriors to count, although the Orcs likewise have been decimated. Both sides retreat under cover of darkness, gathering what wounded they can from the muddy field. Neither will be able to contest a pitched battle again for some weeks. Whether or not the Brotherhood has managed to stem the tide of the Dark, or merely delay its inevitable victory, will only be seen upon the morrow. And yet for now, for this briefest of moments, the sacrifice of the peasants and knights of the Order has bought a chance for respite for the peoples they protect, even as a backdrop of nightmarish evil and darkness falls upon the world around them.
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