Okay...Part 2.
@Ernst - HAIL REIKLAND!
@Guvnor - From what you posted, I'm assuming that you're okay - or maybe even happy - to have the corrupt end of the deal. If I'm screwing that up, let me know. He's your guy - I'm just trying to represent him appropriately.
@Helblaster - I know, two stories, NO MENTION! Don't worry, your army is in the next one.
@Everyone who hasn't said where they're from - It would be cool if you did so.
Thanks to everybody who's posted information/story clips thus far. I'm actually tracking all of this in a file on my computer so I have easy access to "quick info" about your armies and characters, so expect to see at least an honorable mention sometime in the future.
Without further ado, here's part two.
Chapter II: In the Great Forest
"HOLD...THIS...LI-"
The roar of cannonfire cut off Captain Helbrecht's last word. Around him, men slashed and chopped desperately, their longswords hacking through the green flesh that engulfed them. To the right, the halberdier detachment was breaking, men fleeing back over the hill - as though that would save them. The cannon crews watched them go, but held their posts. To the left, the crackle of handgun fire drew Helbrecht's attention; he swiveled his head to see the handgunners firing off a desperate point-blank volley into charging boar riders. The lead orcs went down, but the second rank smashed through the handgun line, tossing men aside, cutting them down, and trampling them underfoot.
On the hill behind Helbrecht's swordsmen, the cannon crewmen were desperately reloading their machines. Next to them, thirty greatswords were hefting their weapons. The tiny contingent was too small to be part of the battleline, but they were the personal bodyguard of the horseman in their midst - Jodas of Gorim, Marshal of the Reik. When they engaged, it would be in a desperate bid to sell their lives dearly and buy Jodas time to escape.
The orcs had come on them quickly - too quickly, Helbrecht thought. They must have had good scouts, to take out Jodas' archer screen without alerting anyone. When the green battleline had emerged from the forest to the left flank, it had caught Jodas' small army by surprise. Numbering only a few hundred men, they had quickly fallen into a defensive position against the thousand or so orcs that they faced. Unfortunately, goblin wolf riders had gotten in amongst the pistoliers before they were in rank, and that melee had resulted in fleeing horsemen and wildly chasing gobbos. Then the orc battleline had hit them, and would soon sweep over them.
Helbrecht stepped back into the line; there was nothing to be gained by observing the chaos. Their duty was to hold as long as possible, and by Sigmar, he would do just that. "Rally, men!" he bellowed out. "Push them back! Let them taste Reikland steel!" With a roar, he hurled himself against the nearest vile green beast, his steel blade sliding effortlessly through its crude armour to the hilt. The beast stiffened, and he ripped the blade back out, slick with black gore. He chopped quickly at the next orc, who deflected the blow with a crude shield, but Helbrecht slammed his own skull-emblazoned black shield into its face, causing it to stumble back in surprise. His blade slid up, punching through its throat, the tip erupting through the monster's skull. He spun, deflecting another orc's attack with his blade, and squared off against another foe. The orc hefted a massive cleaver in both hands and brought it crashing down with frightening speed, but Helbrecht stepped aside and chopped upward, catching the orc on both forearms, cutting deep. As the beast howled in agony, he brought the sword swinging around and chopped off its head.
Next to him, a swordsman's shield was split asunder - along with his skull - by an orc war-axe. On the other side, a valiant soldier ran his blade's tip into an orc thigh, but the brute simply smashed the pommel of his blade down on the warrior's unprotected skull, shattering it like a melon. The orcs had nearly broken them, Helbrecht knew - and when they did, it would go from battle to butchery.
Behind him, the cannons barked again, raining clouds of steel balls and shrapnel through massed orc bodies.
"Did you hear that, sire?"
Duke Rudolf VanHelsing glanced over at his ranking Captain, Jeremiah Steinhauer. "I heard nothing, but my ears are going a bit in my age, Captain." he replied. "What did you think you heard?"
"I thought I heard- " there was a second roar, muted with distance, but audible to both men this time. "That, sir. It sounds like cannonfire."
"Probably a provincial skirmish, Captain," replied the Duke, "but you are an attentive man."
"Sir, our scouts did report the trail of a large party of orcs - at least a thousand, they estimated. Perhaps they've engaged a contingent of troops?"
VanHelsing gave a nod. "You may be right. Deploy our lead battalions. I will follow you in if necessary."
"Yes, sire. For Sigmar!" With a salute, Steinhauer wheeled his steed and galloped ahead down the line.
"First battalions, advance at the double!" he bellowed out in a deep, commanding voice. "Ready for battle!" He brought his horse up next to a column of black and gray-clad knights. "Order of the Silver Shield! Advance forward and prepare to engage the enemy! For Morr and for Sigmar!"
The columns pressed forward, the cavalry quickly taking the lead, the infantry spreading out behind them - more than a thousand men pressing through the forest and along the road, the regulars in white with flecks of crimson or azure, the militia clad in browns, leathers, and tassels of white. They jogged in formation, drawing weapons and getting close to companions.
As they drew closer, the sounds of battle grew louder, and Steinhauer could soon distinguish the fearsome warcries of the orcs and the desperate screams of men. He urged his troops faster, riding among the infantry in the center of the road.
They emerged all at once from the brush into a clear, open area along the road. Directly opposite them, atop a small rise, a white banner marked by an eight-pointed scarlet cross waved above a desperate knot of men, now surrounded by a tide of green orc flesh. Greatswords' plate armour was spattered black with orc blood, and weary swordsmen continued thrusting into the enemy ranks. A particular figure in plate armour with a shattered black shield and impressive knot of red-and-white feathers stood in the middle, fearlessly engaging any orc who dared close enough to his black-stained blade.
"Men of Reikland!" bellowed out Steinhauer, loud enough to draw the attention of the men three hundred yards away, "TO OUR BROTHERS!"
The ground shuddered underfoot; rocks leapt into the air and plate armour rattled. Men around Helbrecht stared in awe at the sight of two hundred heavy horsemen thundering straight into the orcs, their black lances leveled as steadily as though they sat dummies instead of galloping horses. Behind them came a massive wave of Reiklanders under crimson and blue crosses, their white uniforms erupting from the forest; swordsmen and spearmen, free companies, archers, and crossbowmen together. They crashed forward, their warcry tearing through the air: "For Sigmar!"
Helbrecht leapt to action. "Pull tight, men! Let's make the anvil for this hammer!" Invigorated, his troops leapt to action, tightening their formation and reclaiming the hilltop from the shocked and as-yet stunned orcs. "Take them on your swordpoints, lads! Let none escape!"
At last, and too late, the orcs leapt to action, trying to form ranks against the incoming cavalry. But with their best troops at the hill, it was the weediest and weakest of the orcs who faced the onrushing horsemen, and even before the impact, the orc ranks were breaking.
Lances speared through orc flesh like guided bolts; fountains of black gore erupted through the air, and the orc warcries turned to howls of terror. Many turned to flee, but Helbrecht and his men were ready, and took the first orcs to run on the ends of their swords, gutting the hapless and disorganized brutes like animals. The infantry plowed in behind the horsemen, slowing to finish off an injured orc or run through one who was lucky enough to survive the cavalry charge.
Steinhauer guided his mount in on a clump of greenskins that hadn't been run down in the initial charge. His lance took the first in the eye, tearing the top of his mishapen skull off, and took the second in the chest. He ripped the lance out and he wheeled around and drove the weapon's point deep into the back of a confused orc who didn't know which way to turn. When the weapon resisted being pulled free he dropped it, settling for his longsword, and soon he was chopping down on exposed orc heads and shoulders, making the foe cry with despair.
The knights wheeled around to survey the carnage they had wrought, and advanced again, this time at a slow trot, their lances low, looking to destroy the survivors. The men on the hillside charged down with a roar, the plate-clad warrior leading the way, hacking with fervor into the enemy that still stood.
What orcs remained were turning in all directions, fleeing into the woods with no sense of leadership or direction. Helbrecht caught himself before ordering the pursuit; his men were exhausted, and much of his command was already dead on the ground around him; no need to sacrifice more good men if the orcs managed to get their wits and turn around.
A warrior trotted up to him on a silver-barded brown steed, clad in gleaming armour, a cloak of white on his shoulder and a crimson feather in his helm. "Greetings. Are you in command here?"
Helbrecht gave a quick survey of the hilltop. "I command this contingent, sir. My own commander was, I believe, forced to fall back; he should be returning with more troops soon."
"I see." The warrior gave him the courtesy of sliding from the saddle and extending a hand. "Captain Jeremiah Steinhauer of Ludenhof, at your service. That was a stubborn wall you made there."
Helbrecht gave a grim smile. "It was a costly one, too. I'm Captain Markus Helbrecht. I serve under Earl Jodas, of Gorim. You march with Duke VanHelsing?"
"Yes," Steinhauer smiled broadly. "He's coming up soon with the rest of our army. We're on our way to Volksdorf, to serve under General Helstrom in the new crusade."
"Us as well," Helbrecht nodded knowingly. "Though the orcs pulled a nasty one, I think - turned the sign and got us pointed the wrong way at the last crossroads."
Steinhauer frowned. "If you were headed south on this road, then you're going the wrong way." At Helbrecht's confirming nod, he frowned further. "But orcs are normally that bright."
"I don't know," Helbrecht shrugged. "I'm a soldier, not a general. Anyway, we're going to need to collect our wounded and then head north to meet with the Earl and point him in the right direction."
"We'll regroup here - you can march with us," volunteered Steinhauer. "A couple of priestesses of Shallya are with us, too; they can help care for your wounded."
"Your aid is much appreciated," replied Helbrecht. "If you can spare a horse, I'll send a rider to the Earl and let him know what's going on."
"He shall have mine," volunteered Steinhauer. "And ride immediately."
"Thank you." Helbrecht nodded. "I'll organize my men. Thank you for everything."
Three hours later, Earl Jodas' Army of Reikland yielded the road to Duke VanHelsing's Army of Ludenhof, and both columns proceeded on the three-day march to Volksdorf. The news of their arrival led to Helstrom's hurried orders to clear much of the surrounding forest to make room for the rapidly enlarging encampment and greatly cheered the armies present.
The same day that Jodas and VanHelsing arrived, another army arrived, from the north - a contingent of five hundred veteran Talabecland state troops under the command of Jacob Marley, a hefty, pig-eyed bull of a man clad in the crimson and sable of the Church of Sigmar who was known primarily as the corrupt religious advisor to the Ottila. Disliked though the man might be, his men were well-respected as both stubborn and strong fighters, and the favor of the Ottila was too valuable for Helstrom to dare send him away. All he could do was pray that Marley intended to profit from following orders and not from carrying out some private agenda. Though what private agenda he might be pursuing, no one had a clue...
