The following is a battle report about a game between thenobleknave and UncleEurope.

Torgan’s lips peeled upward over his sharpened tusks as he surveyed the scene below.  A battalion of Dwarves was stretched out across the snowy valley below his vantage point, and he saw the telltale glow of a Summoning Stone emanating from the lead Dwarf’s staff.  It was a good day for battle.  It was a good day for glory.

Silently, he ordered his small hunting party of troops forward, ready to leap onto the Dwarves and begin the slaughter.  He gingerly grabbed his Stone, still unsure of its weight or power, and called forth a wall from which to base his offensive.  The filthy shortlings were upwind, and they would be easy prey.

Before he could give the order to strike, the Dwarves somehow divined their presence, and sent a pair of their squat protectors charging in.  With a heroic thrust, one bravely bested Torgan’s favorite lieutenant, while another summarily beheaded his only troop capable of retaliating at range.

Torgan snarled, rage coursing through his normally icy veins.  However, he was a clever and a patient Orc, and would not give in to his baser instincts.  He commanded his remaining troops to flank the cursed Dwarves, and himself moved closer to the Dwarven ranks to begin the hunt.  Despite their brash natures, his Berserkers served him well and savagely cut down the intruding Dwarves.

Torgan laughed cruelly as he saw the remaining Dwarves huddle for protection in their thinned ranks, their menacing tower unable to target his troops.  He peered into the stone and called forth two more troops to bolster his ranks.  With a flick of his wrist, he encased his closest soldier in a sheath of icy armor, and sent him for glorious and terrible combat.  His new troops charged into the fray, and a puny Architect cowering behind their Tower was quickly slaughtered by a laughing Berserker.  The only Dwarf left on the battlefield save their Summoner was wounded from a vicious icy blast courtesy of Torgan’s new shooter poised near Torgan’s wall, and that lone Oath Sworn would be easy prey.

Torgan was convinced that victory was already at hand when his Dwarven nemesis leapt into action.  He saw the squat Dwarf lift the Stone, and suddenly the Dwarven defenses had neatly doubled with no apparent expenditure of energy.  With a second emanation from the Stone, the Dwarven towers seemed to magically harden, ready to withstand all but the mightiest attacks.  Torgan was not concerned by these new fortifications, since most of his troops were well out of range.  His opinion, changed, however, when one of the towers stood up upon mighty legs and started advancing towards his lines. 

Torgan was stunned, and snarled with rage as an Orc he thought safe was blasted into bits.  His armored soldier was wounded by the brave, sole surviving Dwarf that had advanced on his position, and then he watched in amazement as the other Dwarven tower lobbed a shell and blew their wounded comrade to bits, in the process decimating the Orcish ranks.  A lone Berserker survived the blast, thanks to Torgan’s earlier gift.

Torgan unleashed his fury in the form of a fresh Crusher brought forth to avenge the fallen Orcs, and then channeled his icy rage into his Stone to freeze the very air in front of him into a fortification.  The Crusher whipped his massive flail overhead and laid a devastating blow upon the nearest tower, demonstrating his namesake despite the magically reinforced mortar of the tower.  The surviving Berserkers ran forward and demolished the other strengthened tower with a well-placed frenzy.  Torgan felt the surge of magical energy pulsate through his Stone and knew that the time had come to call upon one of his mighty and glorious Champions.

The Dwarf Summoner, completely devoid of troops after the latest onslaught, beat Torgan to the punch by calling upon a shotgun-wielding Dwarf.  Bolvi fell away from the onslaught and left his Lieutenant to deal with the Orcish menace.  As luck would have it, the Lieutenant failed to kill the immortal Berserker, who savagely retaliated.  Torgan saw his opponent peer into the stone, and in a feat of accelerated construction managed to magically materialize a Wall where none had been and then bring out yet another Tower near it.  The Dwarves were clearly desperate to slow the advancing Orcs.  Bolvi waddled back into battle and, drawing strength straight from his walls, slaughtered the near-immortal berserker and allowed his Lieutenant to wound the nearby Crusher.  Bolvi seemed strangely confident that the wounded Crusher was of no threat.

Torgan knew that the foul Dwarf would pay a steep price for his arrogance.  Calling forth the mighty Grok, he commanded her and the wounded Crusher to assault the Dwarven leader.  Grok, drawing strength from the Dwarves’ own fortifications, loosed a mighty salvo on her diminutive foe.  The Crusher brought his massive flail down upon Bolvi’s head, narrowly dodging his own malice-filled weapon, and the Dwarven Summoner was suddenly on death’s door.

Bolvi hastily retreated, bleeding heavily, but managed to erect a wall to protect both his retreat and his brave (albeit highly inaccurate) Lieutenant, while Grok merely snarled as a salvo of Dwarven projectiles barely slowed her down.  Torgan, tasting sweet victory, sent the mighty Crusher to attempt the coup de grace, while he and Grok tore down the remaining Assault Tower with ease.  The Crusher’s assassination attempt failed miserably, and Bolvi laughed despite his predicament as he stared down at his headless would-be assassin.  Channeling his energy, the Dwarf brought onto the battlefield the mighty Tower of Grundor, trapping Grok behind enemy lines and grievously wounding her.

Torgan howled to see his prey slipping away behind such stout defenses, and worried that his lovely Grok would soon fall despite her heartiness.  Lifting his Stone high overhead, he again froze the very air in front of him.  The ground began to shake, and the battlefield itself began to tilt at an insane angle.  The Dwarves cowered in fear to see the glacial walls of ice advance on their cowering leader’s position.  Torgan would not suffer these Dwarves to live this day, and ran in behind his new front lines to deal with the colossal Tower of Grundor himself.  However, the Dwarven enchantments kept the behemoth tower safe, and Grok decided that the cursed Lieutenant must die for interfering.  The icy shot into his chest was even more powerful than the last, and the wounded Lieutenant had fear in his eyes for the first time.  Torgan smiled cruelly at that delightful smell, and the taste of glory teased his senses.

The Dwarves had but one trick up their sleeves left, and a flash shot across the battlefield as the operators of Grundor’s Tower revealed its devastating new weapon.  Grok was not fazed by their attack, however, and finally killed the offending Lieutenant who had thwarted her for so long.  Her victory was short-lived, as the new weapons on the mighty Tower blasted her asunder before swiveling to lay a painful barrage on the Orcish Summoner.

The splash of his blue blood across the snowy battlefield brought Torgan to a tipping point.  While normally a cold, calculating Orc, his patience had run its course and his violent heritage came to bear.  He brought forth the mighty Ugg, one of the most terrifying (albeit slow-witted) of the Tundra Orcs, and together they began to tear down the Tower (curse that Grundor!).  A surge of power allowed Torgan to freeze the air and protect both of his flanks so as to focus on the murderous task at hand; seeing the Dwarves’ resources depleted while his own supplies were flush, he knew that he could soon bring the wily Krom out to wreak havoc using his icy fortress.  With cries of glory, he cheered on a brave Shooter that gave his life trying to demolish the Assault Tower flanking the mighty Ugg.

Torgan could once again taste victory.  It tasted sweet.

The battered Dwarf Summoner wearily trudged forward, knowing that even the great Tower of Grundor could not long survive the crushing onslaught and that his own battle prowess was needed again.  The blood dripping down his staff left a long arc on the snowy plain, a shadow of his resolve.

Torgan howled with delight, knowing victory was at hand.  He would be crowned with ever greater glory, and none could stop him.  The second salvo from the engineers of Grundor turned the howls into those of pain, and the third salvo silenced the howls altogether as a hush fell over the battlefield.