Marshal’s Log, Entry 8:
We have suffered a loss by a foe we did not expect to face here: One from close at home.
We had moved south by ship to support our Stormcast brethren, the Obsidian Watch. We had heard news of an oncoming Orruk invasion, which had been fend off by Morvak’s sentinels. As we positioned ourselves for the green tide, we could spot their banners and the warpaints on their weapons. It was then that we realized who these greenskins were.
This was a remnant of the Orruk Warclans that fought in the name of Gobsprakk, herald of Kragnos. They were our greatest foes when we settled Andtor, with many a valiant man, duardin, and aelf dying for their incessant need for violence. It was only with the death of their bonesplitter shamans that most of the clans splintered to infighting. We fought our foe was gone, until today when we saw the same banner so far away.
An instinctual fierceness embodied our Ghurish minds. We would not give an inch. I readied my sword, bit through the pain of my wounds, and saw my men levelling their weapons with the same determination. Our enemy reciprocated the action, as we noticed their recognition of us by their war cries; a maniacal, near feral cry: WAAAAAAAAAGH!
Before we knew it, their leader was upon us. A gigantic orruk atop a mawcrusher, which pounced at us with the unnerving speed and agility of a cat. Luckily, we were all experienced with orruk warfare. My entourage was able to mostly get out of the way, the crushing charge barely brunting us. The warrior on top the massive beast was however as experienced with us. From atop his mount he swung with brutal precision, ripping warriors apart with the metal slab that vaguely resembled a sabre.
We replied with coordinated strikes. Me and an Archknight took on the rider on top, pushing him back with our sigmarite weapons. While we managed to hit our foe, the warlord was undeterred. He managed to hit me back with such a fierce hit, that it breached my armour, and made me topple. Suddenly, there was a shrill cry, as the mawcrusher moved back. I could just see how our spymaster had managed to approach it and pulled his icy rapier from the beast’s throat. The flesh around the needle wound was already turning a nasty light blue and black, showing severe frostbite. Sounding an earsplitting roar, the mawcrusher took wing and fled the battlefield.
Unfortunately, as we tried to recuperate from our assault, we saw that our men were not much better off. Both the middle and the left flank were overwhelmed, which gave us little recourse than to fall back.
As we moved back, I saw that our envoys of Ivrevein had also suffered permanent wounds, with their barkflesh smouldering at the tips. Yet our backline had been able to gather vast amounts of emberstone. I think with so many fierce enemies around us, it is time to stoke the forges, as they say in these parts. Let us see what this material can do.