The General Archive > The Battleground

4000 pt Ogres vs Lizardmen (Photos)

(1/3) > >>

Southland’s Gold (Part One)

The tyrant Agrobog and his brother Bufbar had been marching for months now. Their armies had been much reduced by the hardships and fights they had encountered on the way south, so that they were both convinced of the cleverness of their decision to ally their forces to undertake the quest. It was a long way to the jungles of the Southlands, and as they approached their goal they stillr eckoned they had (together) forces enough to get what they wanted.

They had heard that these very jungles contained the riches of a dying race. That the once mighty Slann who dwelt here, lived in golden temples and commanded dwindling armies of bejewelled warriors. And once they heard it, both could not wait to get here and take it for themselves.

Some Ogres amongst their forces had not died due to pestilence or battle, but had instead been slain by one or other of their brothers. They were the ones who spoke aloud their opinion that the journey was taking too long, or that it was a fool’s errand, or that there was no such thing as a golden city in the jungles. One died simply for saying he did not believe in jungles!

None of the surviving Ogres were arguing now, however, for the enemies scouts had been encountered, and the jungle could be seen ahead of them. Most convincing of all was the glimpse of something bright, like the tip of a pyramid, piercing up through the distant green canopy. Something that shined bright whenever the sun shined upon it. In fact, their worries had transformed into a very different set of concerns – would there be enough Ogres to carry all the gold, or should they leave some behind? And would the army be strong enough to make it all the way back with the gold?

But now they had more immediate concerns. It seemed the enemy was not willing to allow them to enter the jungle. An army was approaching across the barren land at the southern edge of the desert, where only a scattering of copses and giant rocks broke up the flat terrain.

The Battlefield:

Agrobog and his brother grinned. At last this would be a battle worth fighting, one in which victory would bring riches and not just a meagre feast on scrawny, stinking, goblin flesh, or the strangely spicy meat got from nomadic desert riders.

Their commands were shouted, each trying to outdo his brother in loudness, and their two armies arrayed themselves for the fight.

Two bodies of gnoblars, both belonging to Agrobog’s ogres, were sent to the very right of the line, with orders to lead astray any enemies that tried to outflank the army. Agrobog knew full well that they were good at running away, and so was pleased to give them orders that would have them do what they do best.

Several little companies of Leadbelchers were also sent to the same flank. Both brothers recognised that no plan should rely on gnoblars, and so agreed that a bunch of cannon wielding lads could deal excellent well with anything that did get through.

Bufbar’s Hunter and his brace of Sabretooths chose also to join that flank, though they had in mind not to slow the enemy down but to get around the flank themselves. The final touch was Agrobog’s order to his two Maneaters to follow up behind the right flank. A last precaution against slippery enemies, as well as ‘encouragement’ for his own troops to behave as expected.

The two brothers, each marching with their bodyguards of Ironguts, put themselves in the centre of the line. Most of the butchers were told to stay pretty close, for the Tyrants had felt the power of their magic coursing through them often enough to know that it was both real and very useful in battle. (In truth Bufbar was mildly addicted to the sensation!)

Agrobog’s Slave Giant followed his master obediently, and the last remaining Scrap Launcher came up next to him too. The others, all three of them, had been lost in a variety of (amusing) ways during the long voyage. This one, however, had been constructed upon the back of a giant Southland’s creature that the ogres had captured from an Arabyan caravan. It’s appearance made the Gnoblars wonder if it was perhaps a cousin to the Rhinox, but the Ogres had failed to notice.

Between the right flank and the centre, more Gnoblars and a handful of Bulls marched up.

Out on the left flank came several of Bufbar’s lads: Maneaters and Leadbelchers. And farthest to the left one last Ogre unit, the second of Agrabog’s Bulls.

(Game Notes: The Ogres are two 2,000 point armies, well balanced. We’ve always thought that any advantage gained by the extra rare and special choices gained by such allied forces cf. one force of 4,000 are balanced by the disadvantage of two players trying to co-ordinate tactics and play into something coherent. Keep in mind that if the two players in question discuss tactics, they risk revealing all sorts of things to their opponent.)

The Ogres’ enemy was an army of Lizardmen, led by the ancient Slann Lord Actyrix. He had absolutely no idea where the brutish Ogres had come from, but he knew they meant no good, for he knew of their greed for gold. Deciding that he could not stand the thought of them putting even a foot into his jungle, he marched all the forces he could muster (4000 point) out to the desert edge.

He commanded his Saurus Oldblood to lead the Cold One riders on the left flank, backed by the Kroxigors and some skink skirmishers. His orders were clear – get around the foe and strike them from the flank, or even better, from the rear. With such a strike force as this, the Oldblood was confident he could do what his wise master commanded.

The centre of the Lizardmen force consisted of three large regiments of Saurus Warriors, the central one being Templeguard and thus having the honour of escorting Lord Actyrix. Two Stegadons and a body of Razordons supported the centre, whilst on the far right two companies of Skink Skirmishers sneaked their way forwards, ready to spit poisoned darts by the dozen at the foe.

Unseen by friend of foe alike, and thus unknown to all but Lord Actyrix, a further little company of Skinks were present – chameleon skinks. These were hidden in the copse of trees right in front of the Ogres’ left flank.

For the briefest of moments both armies halted, as if both were assessing their strange foe, the likes of which neither had ever faced in battle before.


Wow, that is a lot of Ogres!  And if both sides had 4,000 points, that's a lot of Lizards, too!

Padre, I realize you painted the Ogres, and I'm wondering how long this took you to complete?

I only painted Agrobog's Ogres (i.e. half of them). This is why the Ogre force is an alliance between two 2000 point armies. One is mine and one is my friend's.

PS: This was an adventure earlier in Agrabog's life (BTW) - as he is the same Ogre as is featuring in our Solland effort thread!

Seeing both of those armies arrayed, I just had Harry Hill in my mind go "Which one will win? There's only one way to find out.. FIGHT!!!" Second half of clip relevant.

I look forward to the report!

Part 2

The Ogres, ravenously hungry for flesh and gold, made the first move. Clutching his Weirdstone necklace for good luck, one butcher suddenly felt pain wrack through his body. Not that this perturbed him, as he was used to such pain, but he did wonder if it boded well!

On the far right flank the Ogres prepared a trap for whatever enemies might try to come that way around the towering rocks. The Gnoblars shuffled forwards nervously, knowing that their only role was to draw the enemy on (but in a direction which suited the Ogres). Meanwhile, the Hunter and the Leadbelchers hefted themselves and their mighty weapons into place ready to hurl their deadly missiles at the foe.

In the centre of the Ogre line the real advance began, though both Tyrants bawled at their warriors to keep the line. They had agreed before the battle to meet the foe as one, delivering a hammer blow from the Ironguts, Tyrants, Slavegiant and Maneaters all at the same time, and directed at whatever formed the centre of the enemy lines.

Of course, much depended on the rest of their forces managing to fend off any tricky flank attacks. Both Tyrants knew the dangers of a foe more nimble than their brutish warriors. They had already encountered the little lizard scouts and discovered the delights of poison tipped darts. A handful of such darts merely pricking the skin could fell the mightiest of Ogres, thus the need for good defences on the army’s flanks.

On the left, therefore, the Ogre line advanced cautiously, trying to prepare itself for enemy trickery. They might not be able to see any enemies in the trees, but all where in agreement that they would be there – even Ogres are not so dull witted as to fail to recognise such a likelihood. Leadbelchers, Butchers and Bulls prepared for what might emerge.

The Ogres’ magic proved less useful than they might expect. A handful of units felt invigorated by the spells. But while the Butchers fumbled and stumbled, the Scraplauncher hurled its first load into the air killing six skink skirmishers in total. The Gnoblar crew giggled manically at the sight of what they had done, then busied themselves re-loading. They had started to think this could be fun!

Out on the far left of the Lizardmen line, the Oldblood could see well what would unfold if he were to lead his Cold Ones directly forwards. Deciding that such an action would be too wasteful, he signalled the Kroxigors and Skinks to proceed as best they could, while he wheeled his regiment around and headed off towards the centre of the field.

On the other side of the field, the Lizardmen’s left flank, the Chameleon Skinks in the wood came close enough to the edge to unleash their deadly darts at the Maneaters, and these darts were joined by those of another unit of Skinks moving forwards from the main line. Between them they managed to fell a Maneater and wound another.

In the centre of the Lizard line the main regiments of Saurus held their positions, as their Lord was happy to see what magic and missiles could do to the enemy before he committed his fighters.

The Slann’s fabled magical abilities, however, were to let him down. Neither he nor his skink priests could bring about any harmful incantations, for either their will proved incapable to the task or the enemy found some means to brush the magic aside. The Razordons’ first shower of barbs fell short of the foe, and the Stegadon’s massive arrow flew straight past the giant.

Lord Actyrix pondered (he did a lot of this). But in the end he decided he had not given his intended plan enough time. He would continue his cautious stance, and see whether magic and missile would prove somewhat more effective as the battle rolled on.



[0] Message Index

[#] Next page

Go to full version