Warhammer Fantasy: A Dynasty of Dynamic Alcoholism

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[X] From Magnus, With Fury: Order the Imperial Foot to assist in completing the encirclement. The plan can still work, you just need to regain momentum and control of the battlefield. While those from the Empire strike across along the east, you shall guide your forces across the west. The ogres will go with the Imperials as well, as they are the strongest fighters you have, if not the 'best' as it were. You shall have to rely on your numbers while the southerners will have to rely on skill.
 
Getting ready for another round of "Is this the Frederick your looking for?"

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Vote tally:
##### 3.19
[X] From Magnus, With Fury: Order the Imperial Foot to assist in completing the encirclement. The plan can still work, you just need to regain momentum and control of the battlefield. While those from the Empire strike across along the east, you shall guide your forces across the west. The ogres will go with the Imperials as well, as they are the strongest fighters you have, if not the 'best' as it were. You shall have to rely on your numbers while the southerners will have to rely on skill.
No. of votes: 14
Sage_Of_Eyes, Voikirium, DragonParadox, Night_stalker, tenchifew, rex754, Erandil, dacsan, Restalaan, luckybreak91, Yun, overmind, paintedspear, Vanestus

[X] Screw it, Link Up
No. of votes: 1
Xantalos

[X] From Magnus, With Fury
No. of votes: 8
Derek58, Arbit, Theunderbolt, staplesdex2, Godogma, veekie, SlyOverlord, Chimeraguard

[X] Screw It, Link Up: The encirclement plan failed utterly. It's time for a new tactic. Drive forward until your forces can link up fully with the currently still surrounded Bull Warriors. With both of your forces together, tear apart the Norscans who attack you. This would combine your forces and make it harder to encircle you yourself should the enemy try whatever it is what they did to your father.
No. of votes: 1
notmi
 
We need to get our hands on some Gromril plate at some point. Having a Runefang doesn't do shit if we can't survive long enough to use it.
[X] From Magnus, With Fury
 
Battle of Salkalten 3
  • Threadmarks
    • The Battle of Salkalten, 2305 IC​

    Road To Salkalten

    "Get me Sir Erwin and the Foot!" you bawl at a messenger who immediately disappears into the scrum.

    There is a tense moment where you simply wait, letting the sounds of battle wash over you and the crunch of corpses being trampled by thousands of pairs of boots. Then, from your right there a great cry goes up for Sigmar and all of a sudden the leader of the Knight's Griffon bursts into your small protective circle. His gorgeous armor has been littered with dents, the wax seals remaining but much of the paper they once held to his pauldrons and greaves having been torn to shreds or whipped away in the fight. Blood drips from his blade in such amounts that the grey and silver of the metal has gained an entire layer of red atop it.

    "Count Hohenzollern! Your orders?!" he says through the slits in his helmet even as he straightens to attention.

    You narrow your eyes at him and then north to where the Bull Warriors are even now being squeezed tighter and tighter. They are being swarmed now, so much so that you cannot actually see the knights beneath the pile of Norscan bodies that scream for their dark gods. The plan nearly failed, but hasn't. Not yet. Not entirely. If you are to win victory here then you must move forward, despite the failed charge.

    "Advance to the east with the Foot! Encircle upon that front! We shall do the same! Take some ogres with you!"

    He does not question, only salutes, and then he is gone, his voice rising above the crowd. A miniature earthquake rumbles as the metal boots of the Foot extricate themselves from the chaos that your front has become and assemble themselves into formation. Somewhere from the center of the fight onto its outside Sir Erwin managed to grab the attention of the ogres. The almost golden armored man then turns towards you, and nods before roaring out your orders to those he leads. There is another muffled boom and a cannon ball flies overhead, crashing directly into a formation of charging Norscans who had just left Salkalten. It seems that even if not all the Norscans wished to join the fight, the length and challenge has drawn them.

    Now it is your turn.

    (Rally 88/100)

    "Soldiers of Ostland!" you cry out. Heads turn in your direction even as you, your wife, and your respective bodyguard formations begin to shift direction. All together that has to be at least a thousand men even with casualties during the battle. Thus it is hard to avoid being swept up alongside you.

    "Cut these curs down! They have squatted on our lands for too long! Now, today, we take it back! Follow me! To Glory! For the EMPIRE!" Then your small contingent breaks apart the swirling melee amidst hoarse cheers.

    The remaining Norscans around you are cut down, many requiring multiple strikes to finally put down, and they take a good many men with them, but they go down. A steady stream has continued drifting down from the fight with the Bull Warriors to meet your own, but now you have blunted it. The momentum begins to grow as the Foot and the Knights Griffon charge up the right flank, drawing plenty of attention to themselves. They are, after all, the best equipped on the battlefield.

    A charging group of Norscans abruptly finds the ground beneath them to have become a thin sheet of ice and slip unexpectedly. They manage to catch themselves, surprisingly, only to be cut down by the rumbling avalanche that has become your personally led force. Greatswords and Kreml Guard form the vanguard, while behind you swordsmen and pikes rush forward. What cavalry your province possesses finally gets to work on the open plains, and restricted as they are in the forests they do this with great glee.

    (Encircle 66/100)

    It cannot go perfectly, nothing in this world does, but slowly what remains of your ten thousand men shift the battlefield. They grind up against the Norscans, who begin to be crushed between them and the Bull Warriors. Archers let loose with volley after volley, coating savages in arrows, while you smash into the remaining Norscan elements. Across the way you swear you can hear Sir Erwin bawling out praises for the Emperor, and once or twice there are sudden and blindingly bright flashes accompanied by raised hammers by Sigmar's most faithful priests. The results of these flashes are scorched Norscans and healed soldiery, and the result of everything is that after half a minute of work you suddenly see open ground before you.

    Across it lies Sir Erwin who raises his sword in salute before whirling to cut down an approaching Norscan. You can finally turn your forces inward. Only now do the marauders realize what has occurred, and yet they can do nothing to escape the vice. They do their best, to be sure, one Norscan gets run through with a blade but continues to fight, killing four swordsmen and an archer before a Greatsword cuts him apart with an uncomfortably similar blow to what you were struck with a few moments before.

    (Squeeze 42/100)

    They are fierce, the Norscans. The ogres crush and smash, their clubs simply pulping multiple Norscans with each strike. Your Greatswords and the Kreml Guard tear apart the barely armored marauders. A corkscrewing spear of ice takes down about a dozen of the savages and leaves them twisted into malign shapes as parts of them were simply sheared off. Hundreds of injuries and kills must have been achieved in the time it took for your forces to fully encircle the Norscans and join together in a ring of your own much like they produced to slaughter the Bull Warriors.

    (SQUEEZE 35/100)

    Then it happens. Something breaks, a few too many were killed before a formation could be restored, or perhaps something else. Several of the Norscans begin to roar and bellow with intensifying volume as they begin to go berserk. Men are cracked and swept aside like toys before these brutes that seem unheeding of their injuries. One is disemboweled yet continues fighting until an ogre crushes the savage into the dirt and yet even then an arm grasps wildly for another solid few seconds. Part of the formation breaks down, and the Norscans actually manage to break it apart.

    A full on gap opens up, in the rear of the circle. Or to be more cardinal, the south. Directly towards where the cannons are. You don't see it until the shouts of alarm go up, and by then it is too late. A group of charging berserkers, covered in what should have been mortal wounds, are roaring out and swinging their weapons like the madmen they are while running towards the four long metal tubes which were granted to you by the Emperor.

    Luckily they are still defended. You knew that they could be targeted easily and that they were difficult to move. So you put something that was exceedingly difficult to move in front of them. Specifically, ogres. One hundred of the best ogres that are in your army, the best of the best, stand there wearing oversized half plate and enormous clubs of studded stone and metal. No matter how many injuries the savages could ignore while in their berserker state, being smashed into jelly is one of the things that one cannot simply ignore. Yet these warriors are incredibly skilled, and have only grown stronger in their states.

    The lead Norscan, a man whose jaw was removed and is spilling blood, roars defiantly even as the ogres prepare themselves. For some reason you gain tunnel vision at this moment in time.

    =============​

    (Ogre Smash 93/100)

    As one, clubs fall. As one, Norscans are smashed into pieces, little bits of rib cage going everywhere. The lead ogre, Captain Urgdug raises one sausage like finger and wags it back and forth.

    "Uh uh. Shiny boom tubes are for Empire, not smelly man."

    The largest ogre in the Ostland army then raised half a pig into his mouth and took a big satisfying bite.

    "Best job ever."

    ================================
    ​
    Well. Apparently you didn't need to be bothered. The circle quickly closed the gap, and the Norscans can fight all they want but they are dying. Too many of them have fallen, and when one of them descends into their wild berserker rages often they strike down some of their fellows in blind fury. The tactic is working, and now there are more dead Norscans on the field than dead Imperials. Hemmed in as they are, all they can do now is die taking out as many of you as they can.

    Then suddenly their legs and arms start being encased in ice. Your wife sends out concentrated blasts of ice which lock down limbs and result in a quick death to many of the Norscans, prevented as they are from killing. The ice melts soon after, making the muddy ring of earth that the marauders have become trapped in turn into a mucky slush. Though they come from Norsca, a land which possesses infinitely more brutal terrain than this, every small advantage helps.

    Every moment you come closer to victory, and you realize that there is a truly incredible amount of broken bodies upon the ground. Many are yours, but there are plenty of dead savages as well. At one point you are not even fighting anymore, just letting the better rested elements cut into the Norscans. Stepping back, you take a swig of an offered flask by one of your Greatswords. Then you nearly spit it out.

    "Wine? Really?" you say with a raised eyebrow at the Greatsword.

    They shrug, a shifting squeak of metal, leather, and cloth. You think about saying more, but then again you aren't about to tell a man when or what kind of alcohol they should drink. So you take a longer pull of the wine, which tastes like some kind of fruit, and hand it back. Sir Erwin appears, as does your wife with a bit of tiredness in her step and growing bags beneath her eyes after all the power she has slung back and forth during the fight. You open your mouth to speak and-

    "Finally! A true challenge!"

    -close it, spinning on your heels to face Salkalten. There is a rumbling in the earth, a disturbing one, as from the partially collapsed gates of your port they ride. Despite your previously positive feelings, a very cold pit grows in your stomach at the sight. The beasts beneath them paw wildly and snort flames, the unnatural flesh coating them twisting nauseatingly in the sunlight. Enormous cloaks of fur come down from the scratched and simultaneously glossy black armor that they wear. In their hands are blades, some of which you swear possess eyes.

    No. No you've heard of these.

    "Knights of Chaos," Sir Erwin hisses.

    "We have been waiting for an actual fight for some time weaklings of the Empire. Do not disappoint us."

    "PIKES! PIKES AND OGRES TO THE FORE!" You scream at the top of your lungs. People turn to look, and many blanch in fear. To fight Norscans is one thing. To face the black armored Champions of Chaos is another. To face Chaos Knights?

    (Form Up! Form Up Now! 75/100)

    You cannot get an accurate read on their numbers, as they seem to blur forwards. Their demonic steeds move far faster than they should be able to, no matter how many legs they possess. Your heart pounds even as you grip Brain Wounder tight. The Greatswords refuse to allow you to be in the front this time, placing themselves before you with their legendary blades held at the ready. The Kreml Guard do the same, while the Kossars cut down the Norscans behind even faster.

    The pike and ogres rush into position, while behind them your archers draw strings. The last few of the Norscans kept between your forces are slaughtered, allowing everyone to turn and face this foe. Behind the charging Chaos Knights come more of the Norscans, and these must be the last. For judging what you remember of Salkalten and just how many screaming men and women have come streaming from her ruin they could not possibly have held any more within the settlement. It is not logistically possible, and for all that you know that the powers of Chaos can twist reality itself, today is not one of those days.

    Mentally, you realize that these are why the Norscans so confidently strode about on your coasts. They were led by some of the deadliest warriors that their Gods could produce out of pure mortal stuff. These Chaos Knights are the masters of the Norscans plaguing your shores, and they have just been…sitting here waiting. The unnatural speed of their mounts makes sense. At last, you know how your father died.

    He tried to take Salkalten, and found himself encircled by these horrific hooved beasts. But they are not shifting now, it is as if they intend to try and trample your entire force down. You can feel your teeth shake in your mouth as they come closer and closer.

    (Charge of Chaos 19/100)

    Practically with an explosion your very front ranks vaporize underneath the daemonic charge of Chaos. Impossibly some ogres smash down a few of the knights and several pikes snap apart yet manage to leave their tips in the beasts. One pike point slams through a helm's eye slit and kills one of the Knights immediately. They trample many a man, swiping down with blades and axes and their beasts spitting flames.

    It is not a fight, this thing that they have done, it is a slaughter. You swallow the entire flask of wine this time. A slaughter that you will no longer abide.

    (Rally Ostlanders All 78/100)

    "Push! Them! Back!"

    Your forces roar as they somehow managed to rally. The whinnying demonic beasts find themselves stabbed from a dozen different sources, sending their riders to the floor where they are assaulted. One Kreml Guard sweeps one of the beasts limbs and slams the blade of his halberd into the gap between shoulder and neck and driving it deep. Natasha whips out a hand and a block of ice encases one dismounted knight's skull before manifesting an enormous hammer of ice and then cracking the helmet into multiple pieces.

    Sir Erwin trades blows with one Knight, while several ogres who do not suffer the height disadvantage many of you do begin smashing and crushing with their clubs. As for yourself, you sweep Brain Wounder and end up cutting directly through a daemon horses incredibly thick neck and right through the midsection of a Chaos Knight. One half of the damned warrior went one way, the other went another. Unable to risk it, you stab down into the thing that had once been a true man and pierce its skull multiple times. A good thing to, as one of the arms lifted up to try and strangle you.

    "For Ostland!" you yell from a ragged throat.

    "For Ostland!" the cry is echoed from all.

    The fight continues, and for all that the Knights seem to be overwhelmed, they are only enjoying themselves more. Several manage to extricate themselves and trot back out, wheeling around for another charge. If they crash into your forces again then they will surely overwhelm another flank resulting in further deaths as they trample all before them. This is before your own cavalry attacks them. Light cavalry though they may be, but determined they most certainly are.

    "For the Emperor!" you cry again.

    "For the Emperor!" more voices cry out this time, stronger than before.

    "Silence! Spew blood, not words!" Comes the dark and echoing voice of the same Knight that bellowed across the battlefield earlier.

    His beast is massive, almost a third again the size of the other daemon horses. Multiple eyes spin wildly in their sockets along its head and nose, while gouts of red flame spew from its mouth scorching and melting flesh. Spikes of what appears to be metal have erupted from the hooves it attempts to kick you with, even while the brass braces across its legs nearly gore you again and again with the wicked spikes upon them. As for the rider himself, he is clearly the leader of the Knights. A plumed crest the color of fresh blood rises from his helm, while the blade he wields in one hand is easily the size of a Greatsword. In his other hand is a shield, which he nearly brains you with.

    "Die!"

    (Mortal Combat 34/100)

    You don't, but you nearly do. With a wild exchange of blows that sees you forced to wield Brain Wounder with both hands instead of with your hammer in the other hand, he nearly slays you in about five different ways. The tip of his blade strikes the nearly useless cuirass and would have disemboweled you if you had not jerked out of the way just in time. As it is another long rent is added to the poor punished metal. Technically it has prevented your flesh from harm two out of three times today, so it isn't all bad.

    Then his horse kicks you in the shoulder and sends you flying. Your back bangs off of an ogre's belly that rights you before getting back into his own fight with three different Chaos Knights. You shoulder is dislocated, clearly, though you simply snarl and with a fierce grip and angry twist you pop it back into place. The sensation of pain that floods through your right shoulder burns, but you ignore it. The Chaos Knight laughs at the sight of you standing up again.

    "Yes. Yes! For too long have we sat here, doing nothing but rot. Under Kul, we were united, but he would have us act as if we had always been patrons of the eldest! Fight me, fight me and die for Chaos!"

    "Bugger off you oversized cockring!" you snarl back.

    (Kick Me Will You? 69/100)

    You've had enough of that damned horse. Brain Wounder flashes through the air and does much more than simply 'wound' the brain of the Norscan who thought to get between you and your target. The last of the marauders have apparently committed themselves to the fight now. No more of the Norscans stream from the city. When their masters ordered everyone out to fight, everyone went out to fight.

    The Knight laughs again and nearly lops off your head which you jerk away from. Another few inches and your Adams apple would have been sliced in two. His horse rears back, trying to kill you with its spiked hooves. But you aren't having it. You thrust Wounder forwards until it stabs into the creatures stomach before twisting and dragging downwards. The monster squeals in pain and attempts to set itself on all four hooves which is when you reverse your grip and drag upwards, essentially performing a cross section of the daemon horses body. Intestines spill out in a wild rush, and from one second to the next the creature is dead, collapsed into its own pile of disgusting and off-colored organs.

    The Knight is no longer laughing.

    "That beast has carried me for three hundred years, warrior. Your soul will purchase me another."

    You laugh, harshly, even as he removes himself from his dead mount.

    "You want my soul, warp fuck? Come and get it!"

    The only thing visible in the fully covering helmet are two red orbs. They narrow at your words.

    "Raaaagh!"

    =============================
    ​
    Captain Urgdug blinked as a gasping man covered in black plate and a halberd ran up to him.

    "Hullo Kislevite man. You not Empire, but you are…kinda. What you want. Want use boom tube?" the ogre said with a reassuring pat on one of the cannons mentioned.

    "Yes, yes I would. Lady Natasha says that bombardment is to begin of Salkalten immediately. She has ordered the remaining cavalry to begin torching the place. Any remaining Norscans are to be killed."

    Urgdug blinked again and rubbed his many chins.

    "Mmmm…ok."

    ====================================​

    (The Duel 76/100)

    Pulling air through your lungs is requiring extreme effort at this point. It feels like you are gasping in dust and glass with every breath, and you're only slightly sure that the latter is not true. Your arms burn with pain and exhaustion, more tired than they ever were when you were smithing something. He is simply so much stronger than you that if it weren't for the Runefang in your hands he would have broken you already. As it is every impact of your respective weapons sends ripples throughout what feels like your entire skeleton. Both of your eyes have begun to blur, and yet even while you feel like you should be slowing down, you aren't. Much to the joy of your opponent.

    "You have taken my horde from me, man of the south. And without the precious guns of your Emperor and Nuln!"

    He's praising you, even as you know he is doing his level best to slay you.

    "Even now, you face me without fear! Hah! If only there were more of your kind, maybe the rest of your Empire could call itself one of men!"

    Brain Wounder pierces through his massive shield and into his arm beneath. A wild twist ends up nearly tearing the forearm in two but it yet remains somehow attached. The shield falls away to the ground, and the Knight laughs again.

    "Yes! Too long acting under the orders of decay! Too long without giving homage to Khorne and the rest of the true Gods!"

    The very name of the Chaos god sends shudders down your frame. Echoes somehow whisper seductively in your ear, promises of endless war and bloodshed. The satisfaction of slaying a foe magnified a thousand times and provided as a prize to be forever sought and always to be gained. Blood, the power of blood…blood and brass. You blink and for a moment see your armor in red and brass instead of the black and white of Ostland. Then you blink again.

    (Screw The Gods 87/100)

    Then you blink, and the familiar red haze that sometimes fills your gaze disappears. The bleariness of your vision clears up, and air passes into your chest without difficulty for the first time in the whole fight. The rage within you descends into that cold pit that has been there since these Knights arrived, and takes hold there. The two mix, until a cold fury comes over you.

    His blade bounces off of the Runefang, and then again and again. Every time his blade is stopped farther and farther from your body. You are quite sure that he is saying something, but it disappears. Your sight and hearing tunnel upon him, and then it is you who is advancing. The gods. Always the gods. Sigmar this and Sigmar that. Ulric this and Ulric that. Hammers and wolves and blood and all the damned gods of Chaos.

    Can no man do anything in this world without it being attributed to a god? Why? Why can nothing be simply the result of a good man's work, with his own two hands? Why? Why? Why. Why. Why. WHY!

    You scream wordlessly as you slice through the Chaos Knights hands, disarming him quite literally. There is a small grunt of surprise.

    "To hell with your gods! GO JOIN THEM IF YOU LOVE THEM SO MUCH!"

    Surgically, purposefully, you remove his legs. Brain Wounder's runes flare wildly as you do so. Then you cut off everything below his waist. Stabbing follows this, all across his chest. Then both shoulders, and so you are left with a torso. Then a rapidly smaller and smaller torso. Finally, there is nothing left but the head. Which you pick up.

    "Your skull…goes to no one."

    Then the helmet drops to the ground and you look towards the northern skies. Your free hand rises up in an obscene gesture while Brain Wounder slams down onto the helm which carried the Knight's head. Again, and again, and again. Until there is nothing left. After that you grip the blade with both hands and raise it high into the sky, its runes still flaring.

    "FOR THE EMPIRE!"

    "FOR THE EMPIRE!"

    You just about have a heart attack from how loud, close, and unified the responding cry is. As it is you jump a little before a chill hand finds its way onto your face and slightly tugs at you. Your eyes turn to find the blood splattered visage of your wife, her ice armor cracking apart as she lets it go. A searing kiss is planted upon your lips before she releases you so that you do not suffocate. Then, and only then, you notice that the fighting has stopped. All around you the soldiers who followed you here stand, saluting and cheering.

    "I was about to step in, but then it turned out you had it," Natasha murmurs in your ear, "Which is good, because you don't want to make a habit of me having to rescue you. What will the stories say?" she whispers with a teasing lilt to her voice.

    Your fight had been the last, your forces successful at slaying the rest of the enemy. Everyone had turned to watch your duel. Everyone saw. Everyone also watched as you abruptly collapsed, exhaustion finally taking hold of you. Many voiced concern, and you saw the same warrior priest from earlier arrive and place his hands onto your chest. There is that buzzing you realize must be his powers, before he draws back, informing everyone that you had simply driven yourself to exhaustion in the fight.

    "Next time…do it anyway," you tell your wife from your position on her lap which she somehow managed to get you into as you fell.

    Then she leans down again.

    "But I needed them to see you win, darling."

    This time…this time there is no sarcastic drawl to the word of affection.

    Good. Your eyes close, and you pass into dreamless sleep to the sounds of cannon fire and burning buildings.

    =========================================================

    Victory!
    ​
    Enemy Fatalities:
    Total.
    Clan Clan Bjarni: 11,000
    Clan Skrag: 1,750
    Clan Ranulfsson: 3,125
    Chaos Knights: 75
    ​
    Remaining Forces:
    Army of Ostland: 2,000 Swordsmen/1,250 Archers/750 Light Cavalry/250 Pike/320 Ogre/400 Greatswords.
    Auxiliaries: 100 Kreml Guard/200 Kossars/14 Knights Griffon/2000 Imperial Foot/4 Cannon
    Priests/Mages: 6 (1 Ice Mage/5 Sigmarite Warrior Priests)
    Knightly Orders: 800 Bull Warriors

    Public Opinion Changes:
    Peasant and Noble Opinion to 8/10
    Military Morale - Poor to Decent
    Wife Opinion - From He'll Do to 'Yeah, I like him a lot, what of it?
     
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  • Threadmarks
    • Okay, not the greatest start, but I think we can call this a victory. Pyrrhic? Maybe, but we kinda went in expecting something like this.

    And I never thought I'd love the ogres as much as I am right now. Maybe it's their simple nature and their ability to still understand somewhat complex commands.

    Edit: Okay, after going over the numbers, we pretty much lost half of everything except the ogres and some of the elites with some of the losses being more than half and going into fractions that scare me in things like this.
     
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    Man, I'd hate to try this fight without Magnus's reinforcements from that crit.
    torroar said:
    His blade bounces off of the Runefang, and then again and again. Every time his blade is stopped farther and farther from your body. You are quite sure that he is saying something, but it disappears. Your sight and hearing tunnel upon him, and then it is you who is advancing. The gods. Always the gods. Sigmar this and Sigmar that. Ulric this and Ulric that. Hammers and wolves and blood and all the damned gods of Chaos.

    Can no man do anything in this world without it being attributed to a god? Why? Why can nothing be simply the result of a good man's work, with his own two hands? Why? Why? Why. Why. Why. WHY!

    You scream wordlessly as you slice through the Chaos Knights hands, disarming him quite literally. There is a small grunt of surprise.

    "To hell with your gods! GO JOIN THEM IF YOU LOVE THEM SO MUCH!"
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    FUCK YES!
     
    We even upped our military morale.
    Let's see if we can't keep it up! :D

    (I can't help but feel that the biggest gain was making Natasha really like us, though)

    @torroar
    Will we get some interlude scenes with Natasha as she dotes on us or something like that? :)

    Xkeizer said:
    Okay, not the greatest start, but I think we can call this a victory. Pyrrhic? Maybe, but we kinda went in expecting something like this.

    And I never thought I'd love the ogres as much as I am right now. Maybe it's their simple nature and their ability to still understand somewhat complex commands.

    Edit: Okay, after going over the numbers, we pretty much lost half of everything except the ogres.
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    I repeat: Ogres are fucking awesome.

    brian boru said:
    JESUS THAT WAS NERVE WRACKING!
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    Oh fuck yes it was.
     
    Xkeizer said:
    Okay, not the greatest start, but I think we can call this a victory. Pyrrhic? Maybe, but we kinda went in expecting something like this.

    And I never thought I'd love the ogres as much as I am right now. Maybe it's their simple nature and their ability to still understand somewhat complex commands.

    Edit: Okay, after going over the numbers, we pretty much lost half of everything except the ogres.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...

    Pretty definitive victory here, yeah, Chaos Knights are Not common, they're to Chaos Warriors as Chaos Warriors are to a typical Norscan. And we just butchered 150 of them here.

    Yeah, we were hurting, but we never expected Not to be hurting in this fight, but we won, and we killed every fucking last one of them. We've earned our Runefang in the eyes of our populace now, and even the Witch Hunters are like to back off after that showing.
     
    torroar said:
    Fun fact, majority of Ogre casualties in this fight came from the Chaos Knights. Only because of them did you not lost even more normals.
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    Further proving that Ogres are the best things ever.
    When the Old Ones make a warrior race, they damn well don't halfass it.

    How long does it take to replace Ogre losses?
    And we definitely need to start working on our own engineering and gun school - if we can get our equivalent to Ogre Leadbelchers, I think that'd be much better for us.
     
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