Having grown tired with the base scenarios for Warhammer, me and Praetorian set up one of our own based on the events in our previous battles.

The Highest on a D6 would earn the right to ambush and deploy last and along three of four sides of the field, and win the initiative of the first round.

The bonus for the one attacked would be 500 extra points in his army.

Prolouge:

ith the wounds received from the fight with the Black Knight healed, Sir Ferran set out to rid the last shame placed upon him in this war. The Dark Elf assassin had slain his trusted friend and keeper of the blessed banner of virtue earlier in the war by the village of Littleton.

So far the Elves had managed to evade him, as they tried to get back to their own lines by the port and the high seas.

*

The sun was just rising over the horizon, and trees at the Hidden path cast long foreboding shadows. The Dark elves hurried along the pathway, their scouts had informed them that the Bretonnian knights were quickly approaching from their rear and they desperately needed to find a good spot for an ambush.

Malevon The Foul, acting leader of the band, could hear the sound of approaching cavalry behind his warband and gave it a moments thought.

The ground did not rumble, the horses of the pursuers did not make enough sound for heavy cavalry. What was going on struck him and he turns to yell out a new order to his warband when hell broke loose.

Turn 1

Sir Ferran filled with anger and hate towards the wretched Dark Elves for their deeds against the people of Littleton, and the defilement of his personal banner filled his very being as he watched the Dark elves hurry onwards between the trees. Far off on the other side of the path he could see the young Impetious Knights Errants he had brought with him waiting eagerly for his command. He lowered the visor of his helmet over his face and then gave the command. Through the slit of his helmet he saw the sky turn dark as Vall and his archers rained arrows with a deadly precision down upon the Elves, and how young Sir Dupont and his errants started to move towards the enemy.

A soft smile crept over Sir Ferran’s lips as the mounted yeomen began their approach from the rear while firing their arrows, and he set his own unit of knights in motion down the hill in cover of the woods.

Malevon shouted out commands, fighting to keep his troops in check as panic began to spread after the deadly volley of arrows, none but the Asrai should be able to fire with such precision yet the shafts of the arrows was human made. He had ran straight into the trap, and arrows came from all around his troops, and he could see how a unit of Knights began to approach from the side down the slopes of a hill. His own troops rallied under his command and began to fire back towards the knights, yet all their bolts were deflected by the heavy armor of the oncoming enemy. Cursing his luck , he ordered his witches to summon the winds of magic to wreck death and havoc among the enemy and much to his dismay did it seem his bad luck remained as nothing transpired once the incantation was done.

Turn 2

Sir Dupont, felt the presence of the lady as all the enemy threw towards him were deflected, and filled with eager to seek glory did he lower his lance and called his troops into a charge of the enemy lines.

With the woods between himself and the enemy, shielding his view Sir Ferran could only hear the sounds of battle and the screams of the elves as the Knights Errants, much like a hammer against an anvil, brought death to their ranks. A second volley from the archers and the yeomen painted the morning sky dark and were followed be even more screams.

With a soft whisper to the lady, the banner flying over his unit began to glow, and the woods before him parted to give him and his unit free passage. As the woods closed behind him, Sir Ferran stood at the rear of the enemy lines with his seven knights formed up for a coming charge.

Malevon drew his own blade, blessed in the temple of khaine by the witches of Nagaroth, and felt it’s ancient power pulsate in his hand. The trap set up by the enemy had sprung, and caused its fair share of death among his ranks, and his presence alone ensured that they held their ground instead of fleeing. The Knights had charged, and their momentum halted by the executioners, that fought as hard as their could yet did not manage to slay a single knight. With a deep sigh Malevon began to wade through his own ranks to reach the melee, smiling as he had one card left to play.

Otronicë the Assassin, was not overly worried as he saw the wood part itself to allow a second unit of knights pass through, nor the fact that the leader of the Knights were the same one that had killed his previous master Sesostris. In a flurry of movement, did he bring his blades forth and jumped the Knight Commander, thanking Khaine for yet another kill.

He saw the fear in the eyes of the Knights following Sir Ferran, and he felt confident in his skills. He drew first blood, as his left blade pierced in under Sir Ferran’s armpit, and he swung his other blade towards the neck of the knight. For a moment his eyes meet with the Knight’s eyes and Otronicê saw sadness in the eyes of his opponent.

Turn 3

“You are avenged, my friend.” Sir Ferran said as he pulled his blade out of the stomach of his attacker. The knights around him, watched in awe upon their commander, all of them remembering the fate of Sir Reginald that had faced the same assassin in a just duel. They had all deep down expected Sir Ferran to die, especially now when the Assassin had all the odds on his side. But the Lady seemed to favour Sir Ferran above all others this day, as he had with one arm wounded slain the assassin with ease and speed that none thought possible.

With the Knights Errants fighting, Sir Ferran and his knights charged into the rear of the enemy.

Not even Malevon could keep his troops from panic, as everything went against them. All around Dark Elves died by either the blades and lances of the Bretonnian knights, or by the arrows of the peasants. The most important thing now was for him to survive, and in the cover of his Crossairs did he make a run for it.

Epilogue: