Monday, 30 September 2013

Battle Report: The Bridge Over the River Chai - Epilogue

One year later, we're done. 

Boy was that hard. 

Attached is a handy battle navigator for you to catch up on events as they happened, because I'm sure most of you can't bloody remember what happened when this whole thing started.

Oh - and thanks for being patient. Better late than never, as I keep trying to convince my employer...

Battle Navigator

Epilogue (you are here)


Sirrell grinned as he realised the elf was awake and its eyes were locked on his body. He pouted at the elf, before slowly and sensuously undoing the knot on his gown. His grin widened into a broad smile as he registered the morbid terror in the elf's eyes - now unable to look away from the vast expanses of pasty dwarf flesh as the gown fell.

Sirrell half turned to show his back to the dwarf, reaching down and slapping his exposed buttock. He flicked his hair and looked away from the elf before inserting his thumb into the top of his red leather y-fronts, stretching the garment away from his waistline and allowing it to slap back into place.

The elf, eyes wide with utter horror, shook as he fought his chains, his protestations muffled by the red leather ball that had been stuffed into his mouth. His eyes goggled as he watched Sirrell begin gyrating to some internal, unheard music, like some giant corkscrew being twisted into a cork. Down he went to his feet, before slowly dragging his hands up his body. Now a spin, arms out. The elf, helpless and stunned, could do nothing but stare aghast as the hateful little dwarf pranced about before him. Thumb into the y-fronts again. Slap!

Suddenly the dwarf stopped, resting his right hand on his jutting hip. He locked eyes with the elf.

"I'm a little tea pot, short and stout!"

"Lfhdt mfft grro yff ffffkn frrk!" screamed the elf, his voice and muscles straining against the chains.

"This is my handle and this is my - "


Sirrell stopped dead. He caught the brief motion of the elf glancing over at something behind him, before its terrified eyes found their way back to him.

"What the hell are you doing?" growled a voice behind him.

"Gaaah!" he squealed, leaping into the air before spinning to face the voice. "Aahhh! Aaaahaaaa! I - uh... Aaaah." He ran his hand through his hair as he stared at the pistol pointing at him. "Hahaaa. Lady Luuhs. Uh. Um. How did you find us? This - isn't - what it looks like, you know."

Lady Luuhs cast her eyes around the dungeon. Curious chains hung from the wall and from what appeared be a leather covered throne against the wall. An assortment of different whips lay on a table next to an open chest, its contents hidden by what appeared to be a studded leather vest carelessly draped over the top.

"I'm not sure I know what this looks like, Sirrell. I've never seen anything like it before. Perhaps you'd better put your spout away before the teapot gets broken, hmm?"

Sirrell flashed a queasy smile at the pistol. He reached down slowly and adjusted his y-fronts.

"You've not answered the question. What are you doing?"

Sirrell squirmed, clasping his hands together. "Er. It's - it's an interrogation technique. Yeah. I'm, you know, interrogating it."


"Er, yes, that's right. Him. Dead right. Haha."

"And how were you proposing that he answer you with whatever that is in his mouth?"

Sirrell deflated as he stared fixedly at the damning ball wedged in the elf's mouth. "Well. That's, um, that's obviously what the problem has been all along!" he cried, waving a finger in the air. "No wonder he's not answering the questions! Lady Luuhs - where would we be without you and your keen eyed observations, eh?"

Lady Luuhs raised an eyebrow. "See that chain hanging from the wall - yes, that one with the neck brace - why don't you be a good boy and fasten that around your scrawny little neck?" She waved the pistol towards the cold, rusted chain.

Sirrell grimaced and sighed, before brightening up quickly. "I've been a naughty boy, haven't I?"

Lady Luuhs said nothing.

"I mean - very naughty. Punishably naughty, yes? Because you can always use that wh-"

"You've got three seconds to lock that chain around your neck before I redefine your concept of pain."

"-ah. Right you are," Sirrell said, scarpering for the chain, the echo of which clanked around the stony room.

"Honeybunch!" gasped the elf as Lady Luuhs wrenched the ball from his mouth.

"Oh Smoothie!" she cried, kissing his forehead. "Stay here, sweetie - back in a moment!" she sang as she danced over to the wall that Sirrell was now attached to.

Testo coughed, watching with satisfaction as Lady Luuhs punched the red ball into Sirrell's mouth.


"Them ribs'll take a while," Cuttan Paest said, snapping his case shut. "Obviously, I can't help with the teeth - no doubt you'll buy some new ones anyway. The other cuts and stitches," he pointed at Morgrim's shoulder, "will probably heal quite quickly. Plenty of rest, really."

"Thanks Doc," Morgrim grunted, dropping is head back onto the pillow. He could not recall lying on so comfortable a bed as this one - his body felt like it had been awake for a thousand years.

"One other thing - I'm sorry to have to say it, but light beer only -"

"Aw Doc-"

"Don't want to hear it. Light beer or no beer. Doctor's orders!"

"I hate you, you know."

"I hate you too, buddy. Get well soon," Cuttan said as he stood up, smiling kindly at Morgrim.

"Cheers, Doc."


"Waddaya mean, escaped?" King Domcome hissed through clenched teeth.

Berni Ycklestone cringed before the king, his whole body wincing in anticipation of some physical retaliation. Arrayed behind Berni stood the full membership of the dwarven court, none daring to breath.

"Well?" demanded the king.

"Uh. Well, you know. Like, not there, really. Imagine an elf all changed up, right? Then. er...just imagine, well, chains. Y'know, without the elf. Escaped. Empty chains."

"And Lady Luuhs?"

The dwarf court experienced a collective intake of breath.

"Lady Luuhs. Lady Luuhs," Berni mumbled, as if trying to remember where he'd left his keys. "She's, uh, not - not here right now."

"Not here right now?"

Berni shook his head, his eyes taking in everything in the room except the enraged figure of the king.

"But she'll be back later, because you know where she is, right?" King Domcome's bare whisper was like a cold wind blowing over an open grave.

All seventy members of the court grimaced before shaking their heads. Of course they didn't know the answer, but - they knew the answer.

"Haha," laughed the page nervously. "I'm, er...that is, we - are sure she'll be back. Sure. Maybe she's just out-"

"You've lost her, haven't you?"

Berni looked down at his shoes and nodded.

King Domcome fastened his hans behind his back as he paced up and down the throne room, the sound of his heels shattering the thick silence.

"Sirrell's still there, Your Majesty," Berni offered after a while.

"What, you didn't set him free?" snapped the king.

"He, um, didn't want to be set free, as such. He felt that he'd - well, he thought he'd been - what's the phrase he used - naughty. He felt his actions contributed to this state of affairs. So we left him. He seemed safe and we are more concerned about the elf. And Lady Luuhs, of course."

"Of course."

Berni coughed, unsure of what else to say. Silence descended. Everyone stood rooted to the spot. THe king scowled.

After what seemed like an eon to the nervous court, he looked up at the court. "Why don't lot you lot just sod off? Not you," he barked, grabbing Berni by his collar.

Some courtiers blinked, others stared with mouths agape.


They got out.


Testo looked down at the rushing water. "Are you sure?"

Fasten patted him on the hand. "They'd never think we'd go this way. A couple of decades ago, a worker fell in there and was never seen again."

The elf stared at Fasten, waiting in vain for her brain to catch up with her suggestion. Realising that eventuality was unlikely to materialise, he prompted: "That suggests that if we jump in there - " he pointed at the rushing torrent beneath them," - then we wouldn't be seen again either."

"Exactly!" Fasten beamed.

"...Because we'd be dead."

"Oh! I see wh-"

"Yeah," nodded Testo.

"No, no - you think the bloke that fell in there died?"

"That's what you said."

"No, I said he'd never been seen again. Except by me, that is." Fasten winked at the confused elf.

Testo sighed. "We don't have time for this. What happened to him?"

"He popped up on the shore of Oresohn's Well. It's a mountain lake in the northern reaches of the range, quite close to the Wyemm Seeyay, actually. Maybe two days travel?

"Yeah, but was he okay? Popping up is no indication of good health. That looks cold and really, really rough."

"He was fine. All fine. Look, we don't have any other choices. I brought some helmets."

"What about baby?" Testo's voice softened as he gently rubbed Fasten's belly.

"He, she, or they will just have to cope. We'll make it, I promise." She reached up and pulled Testo's face down, planting a tender kiss on his forehead. "You ready?" she asked, manoeuvring him into position for the two of them to jump.

He nodded. They took each other's hands and started counting down.

"Wait!" he shouted, stopping their jump at the last moment. "What happened to the dwarf who fell in before. How come no-one ever saw him again?"

"Oh, he became the mayor of Wetchit. Still is today, I believe."

"Why didn't he come back, though?"

Fasten gripped Testo's hand firmly, yanking him over the edge with her.

"Because he couldn't who he was!"


"You're going to do two things," Kong Domcome growled at Berni. "You're going to go and fetch Browning for me. And then you're going to bring me my travelling cloak, my hammer and my iBone. Yes?"

Berni swallowed. "Browning, cloak, hammer, iBone. Got it."

"You've got ten minutes."


Browning sauntered into the throne room, scratching the side of his head. Berni scampered in behind him, bearing the king's possessions as demanded.


"Your Majesty," the slayer said, bowing deeply. His grand blue mohawk brushed the floor. "Barney here sez you wanted me?"

"Berni," Berni said, raising a finger in objection.

"It seems I have a love struck dwarf whose bride-to-be has eloped with an elven spy as a result of her pregnancy with said spy. The love struck dwarf is even now chained up in a dungeon somewhere below us because he feels he's played some part in this... charade. I thought you might be able to help him. He's clearly beside himself with grief."

Browning nodded slowly, lines of sorrow evident on his face. "This'll be Sirrell, then?"

The king nodded.

"Poor kid. Didn't deserve it at all, really. So you think he'll take the vow?"

"I don't know, but he sounds pretty broken up about it. If I was him and I was in this situation, I think I'd take the vow. I think its what his family would want. And probably it'd be good for him. You know, refocus the mind a bit. From my own experience I can tell you that trying not to get eaten by a troll kind of puts things in perspective."

"That it does," Browning grinned. "That it does. I take it Barney knows where Sirrell is?"

"Berni," sighed Berni.

"He'd better do, because I've got to go and sort out the rest of this mess with the elves." The king took his things from the page before ushering them from his throne room.

"Right, Barney. Let's go see Sirrell,"


"Do you mind if I call you Barnes? Lovely name, Barnes." Browning said in a cheerful voice.

"Yes. I. Do," grunted Berni.

"Browning put his arm over Berni's shoulders. "Excellent Barnes! We should hang out sometime..."



Lord Zynladyz stood up, reaching out to greet King Domcome as he trudged through the snow.

"I came as soon as I got the call."

King Domcome dropped onto a frozen tree stump, huddling close to the fire Lord Zynladyz had prepared.

"Not as young as I used to be," grunted the dwarf.

"You could just get over yourself and get a dragon, you know? I'd get you an egg if you asked," the elf replied.

"Nah. I haven't ridden anything up until now and I don't see a reason to start. Besides, a brisk mountain walk - gotta be good for you, right?"

"Brisk?" Lord Zynladyz raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, okay, so its colder than my mother-in-law's heart, but we had to talk. Good call on the fire."

The elf sat down opposite the dwarf. Both huddled close to the crackling fire.

"It's a bad business, what happened in the valley." King Domcome said, pulling a pipe from his pocket.

"Yeah. Vass isn't taking it so well."


"Vass Saleen. The minion who 'offered' the bride price. Testo's one of his, you see."

"What I don't get is the other elves. Who were they? Why'd they hit your column?"

Lord Zynladyz shook his head. "I'm sure it hasn't escaped your notice that not all elves are as sensible as us. Some of them are in open rebellion against the natural order of things - others have settled into piracy and crime. It wasn't always this way.

"Rogue elves?"

"We call them Dark Elves. Because they are unenlightened, you see. Crafty buggers they are too."

King Domcome puffed on his pipe while the elf poked the burning logs distractedly with a stick.

"Whiskey?" said Lord Zynladyz suddenly. He poured a tot into an ornate silver cup he produced from his cloak before offering the flask to King Domcome. "Keeps the throat warm."

"Sure, why not?"

The two sat in silence, staring at the fire.

"My concern - and the concern of my hold, really, is that we don't know if these were renegade elves or not, so what it looks like is that some elves tried to stop some other elves from paying the bride price. Sort of as if this Vass Saleen fellow you mentioned wasn't so keen on the marriage plans we had set up."

"I thought you might say that."

"It's not that I don't trust you, of course." King Domcome looked up and met Lord Zynladyz' eyes. "We go back a long way. But we don't know Saleen. And to have a marriage proposed by the elves broken up like its been down at the River Chai - well, the hold is angry, you understand."

"I understand." The elf' held the dwarf's gaze. "You think they'll want war?"

The king shrugged. "Hard to say. It's not like our two people ever really got on. I think it depends on whether or not we can find Lady Luuhs and your elf Testo."

The elf raised an eyebrow. "You lost them?"

"It looks like Lady Luuhs broke him out. We can't find either of them. Problem is, those orcs are still out there. We killed a lot, but they're like fleas in a carpet out there."

"What are you saying, though? If we find the couple, your hold won't prosecute a war?"

"I'm saying we might be able to avert a conflict if we can produce a happy ending. Right now, it seems the happy ending is the heroic dwarves save the little child form the evil elves who clearly betrayed one of their own in order to prevent a marriage they didn't approve of. Failing to achieve their goals, they then betrayed one of their own patrols leading to the deaths of both dwarves and elves."

Lord Zynladyz sighed. "Yeah. It does kinda look like that. The problem is, it sounds like that happy ending means the baby and mum live happily ever after in the hold, whilst young Testo presumably has an accident in a mineshaft somewhere or rots in a prison cell. To Saleen and his elves, they'd have to come and save the poor elf and the child, you see."

The dwarf shook his head. "I remember when our biggest problem was trying to find a safe place to sleep whilst pillaging a ruined dungeon..."

Lord Zynladyz smiled. "Good times."

"Good times indeed."

"Well, it sounds like we'd better go and find our wayward parents-to-be. Perhaps they'll have an idea of what to do, seeing as how they're now the most politically correct of our people?"

King Domcome nodded. "Maybe. I got no other ideas."

"Want a ride down on the dragon?"

"Eh? No, no, no. Tough political climate, is all. right now with the whole elves and dwarves thing. Not cause I'm afraid or anything, you understand."

Elven eyes smiled. "I understand. I'll take a few passes with the dragon to see if I can find them. I'll call you if I get them."

"Ditto. Good to see you again."

"And you, my friend. Good luck in the hold."

"Yeah - good luck with Saleen."


"Now that has slayer written all over it!"

Sirrell looked up to see who was addressing him.

Browning looked the dwarf up and down. "Barnes - "


" - I think Sirrell and I are gonna need some time to talk. Why don't you scuttle back upstairs and organise us some sandwiches or something? And beer. Look at the poor boy - he's distraught!"

Browning watched as the Berni stomped out of the cell, swearing under his breath. "That kid needs to lighten up. But enough about him." Browning pulled an old wooden stool from a corner and positioned himself in front of Sirrell, still chained to the wall.

"Leather y-fronts. First time I've seen that, but sure, its practical. Gotta protect the nuts, right?"

"I don't wanna be a slayer," Sirrell moaned.

"Why? You look the part. Distraught. Angry. Naked. I got what you can't get anywhere else."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"Oblivion. Wholesale oblivion. Imagine wrapping your hands around the throat of that elf. Imagine you could do anything you liked to him. Make him pay. Now, just imagine doing that to trolls, ogres, giants and anything else stupid enough to cross your path whilst you hunt him down. Slaying is easy."

Sirrell shivered as he contemplated doing to a troll what he planned to do to the elf. "It just wouldn't be the same," he bleated, before he could stop himself.

"You say that. In the beginning, yeah, its not the same. But as you learn about your anger - how to channel it, how to control it - how to be anger - it becomes the same. Maybe sometimes a bit too samey, but the nice thing about slaying is its usually short and sweet."

"Um, could you unlock me now, please? I, er, I think I've suffered enough now. And I really need to take a slash."

"What? Oh, yeah. Sorry." Browning looked up at the lock. "You have the keys?"

"You should find them on the-"

"Bugger that, I'll use the axe."

Sirrell's eyes bulged as the axe clanged into the chains holding his hands above his head. A shower of sparks descended onto his exposed shoulders as the chains came apart.


"Whoah!" Browning cheered. "Did you see the sparks?"

"SPARKS? Did you see my bloody hands, you moron!" Sirrell screamed, rubbing his wrists where the chains had bitten in. "And the damn chain hit me on the head!"

Browning patted Sirrell on the shoulder. "That's it, boy. Feel the anger! Very slayer! Although," he said, standing back from the growing puddle under Sirrell. "Wetting yourself? Not very slayer."

"Gah!" squawked Sirrell, leaping from the puddle. "Damn it all! I don't want to be a bloody slayer!"

"Poppycock! D'ya reckon your more of an axey slayer or a hammerey slayer?" Browning held his axe as if to measure Sirrell for size. "Hey, wait up. Where you going?"

Sirrell ran. He had no idea which way to go, but he just needed to get away from Browning. He could hear the thump of the slayer's boots behind him, but he was smaller, more agile and, he strongly suspected, much more used to running.

"Shit!" cursed Browning, huffing to a halt after a brief but frantic chase. He rested his hands on his knees and panted, vapour forming on his breath. He looked at the split in the tunnel. "Which way did he go?"


Sirrell stared at the waterfall. Before him, the thunderous torrent swept past him into the inky darkness of the cavern. There was no other way to go.

It can't have come to this, surely?

"Careful out there, boy!"

Sirrell spun, nearly slipping on the wet grating he stood on.

Browning stood at the cavern entrance, barely lit by the paltry effort of the lone torch on the wall.

"You thinking of jumping? You don't have to prove yourself to be a slayer, you know."

"What? WHAT! I'm not trying to bloody prove myself. I. Don't. Want. To. Be. A. Slayer." Sirrell spat.

Browning edged closer, setting one foot on the grating. Sirrell stepped back, his heel searching for the edge. "Well then what are you doing out there? You're going to get yourself killed. And if you're gonna do that, may as well do it being a slayer."

"Just leave me alone!"

Browning rested on his axe and scratched his chin. "Is this about the axe or hammer decision? Because if you're a sword kinda guy, we can do that too, you know." Browning's eyes explored the ceiling as he recounted the various different weapons that he thought would be acceptable for slaying.

Yeah. It has come to this after all. Anything is better than this.

Sirrell fixed Browning with a disdainful stare. He's not even bloody looking at me. Sirrell closed his eyes and launched himself backwards, the icy hands of the torrent snatching him down into the darkness.

"...or maybe a flail?" Browning looked around in confusion. "Eh? Where's he gone?" Browning peered over the edge through the grating. "Silly bugger. Maybe he as a mancatcher sort of guy. Hmm. Maybe I'd have jumped too if I was a mancatcher user." He shook his head as he turned to leave.

"Shame, really."


How Sirrell survived he never quite understood. It was actually a wonderful feeling knowing he was without a shadow of a doubt going to die - it clarified so many things in what he now realised was his short and pitiful life.

So surviving came with a certain amount of disappointment.

Here I am, lying on the windswept shore of a freezing mountain lake in nothing other than some leather y-fronts which smell of pee, having just failed to kill myself by jumping into an unfathomably deep underwater river to try and avoid committing suicide by becoming a slayer. 

And I thought things couldn't get any worse. 

Sirrell pulled his knees up and wept. At first, it was the gentle mewling of mild loss, but as the tension in his body released, his ribs started shaking with great, racking sobs. He cried until there were no more tears. He didn't feel the cold as night came, nor did the cold let him feel the scrapes and bruises he'd sustained on his brief underwater journey. Eventually sleep came.

Sirrel started up with a snort.

"Huh? Wha-"

Looking around, he wiped the sand from his face as he blinked at the sharp sun, its gentle rays just beginning caress his body with warmth.

"A shit. " He shook his head. "Not a dream. It's true: I can't even actually kill myself properly."

He stood up, he's legs shaky. One trip through a high speed underground river followed by a night sleeping rough in the freezing mountain air is hard on the ol' body, he thought.

"Perhaps I can jump off something else around here and get the job done properly..."

He looked around, his eyes catching a series of indentations further up the shore. Not seeing an immediately obvious route to accelerate his demise, he thought there'd be no harm in investigating. Perhaps a nice meal before he offed himself would be in order?

He trudged up to the marks, shaking his head to clear it up for the analysis task ahead.

Footprints. They're footprints. Two pairs, if I'm not mistaken.

He shrugged and started after them. Nothing else to do around here.


The footprints led Sirrell down a pleasant little mountain path, easy to navigate and with a suitable declination - nothing too challenging, for which the dwarf was grateful.

Soon, the sun was shining and its rays, together with the effort of walking and the lower altitude, did wonders both for Sirrell's body temperature and his mood. The footsteps seemed fairly recent and although he nearly lost them once or twice, were relatively easy to follow.

His mind frequently wondered if he was following the trail of Fasten and Testo, but each time he did, his rational centre informed him that no pregnant woman would take that sort of chance with a child. He still wondered at his own survival - was he set aside for something else? Something more than being a slayer, or a tailor (as he was back in the hold)?

At around midday he found himself in a forest clearing. He hadn't realised it, but he had been walking along a forest track for some time - he wasn't sure when the mountain had stopped and the forest had started. It was here that he snapped back to his senses.

The footsteps got all messed up. Other recent footprints all criss crossed in the middle of the clearing. The thing that snapped his senses back into place, though, was the sheer size of them. Evidently there had been other man or dwarf sized creatures - their footsteps were evident. But what was the thing that had a footprint the same size as his entire body?

Fear gripped Sirrell as his good humour drained from him. His eyes darted wildly around the clearing, frantic to find the owner of the footprints. Or better yet - to prove that the owner was not to be found.

The clearing offered no threat. Pleasant sunshine shone through the surrounding trees and the forest on all sides seemed welcoming and pleasant. Sirrell felt the panic subside as he realised that whatever had happened here, the massive perpetrator was no longer in the vicinity.

So what had happened here? Curiously, none of the footprints left the clearing. The trail he'd been following led straight to the middle, where the giant feet and some other normal feet all conglomerated, before just... disappearing.

Sirrell scratched his head.

"It was a dragon."

Sirrell yelped, leaping in fright before slipping in the sand and doing the splits. He toppled on to his face.

"Dragon, wagon! Wagon, dragon!"

Sirrell pushed himself on to all fours, wincing at the new found pain in his thighs. He stopped as he came face to face with a dancing yellow goblin.

"Hee hee," it cackled, dancing away from him with its arms spread wide.

He scanned the clearing again. His heart stopped as his gaze came to rest on the cloaked figure sitting on a boulder at the distant entrance to the clearing. The cloak revealed heavily armoured legs and an ornate scabbard, but nothing else.

The figure spoke. "Two elves, a dwarf and a dragon. Don't see that every day. And now a dwarf in leather underwear. This is the most interesting day I've had in a while."

Sirrell groaned as he dragged himself to his feet. The curious goblin came dancing out of nowhere and offered him a cup.

"Er, thanks," he said, looking down. "Is this wine?"

"Fine wine! Wine fine!" giggled the goblin.

"You're safe for now, little dwarf. You can drink the wine." The stranger's appearance was incongruous with the gentle female voice Sirrell heard speaking.

Sirrell shrugged. "Can't get any worse," he said to no one in particular. He drained the cup.

"Wow," he said. "Wow. That is good. Oh wow." Sirrell felt as though all of his aches and pains were like water in a bath and that the plug had just been pulled. Even as the sensational wine cooled his throat and worked its way down into his belly, his hurts, both physical and emotional, seemed to evaporate.

"I, um, I don't suppose I could have another?"

"We can have more wine later, Mr Dwarf. For now, I was thinking we should get to know each other a little more."

The figure stood and stalked over to Sirrell, the movement supremely elegant and yet disturbingly clumsy at the same time. Sirrell noticed that the speaker appeared to have a deformity - a severe hunchback, perhaps? Something unusual about the shoulders, certainly.

"What is your name, Mr Dwarf?" it prompted.

"Sirrell," he blurted. Fear clamped its iron hard claws around his heart. "W-what's yours?"

The figure stopped next to him, resting its gauntleted hand on his shoulder. Far from the impact Sirrell expected, the touch was gentle, almost tentative.

From under the cloak, its head appeared, covered in a plain but impenetrable armoured grill. The creature stood on the left of Sirrell, but he noted with alarmed discontent that its head seemed to slither over his right shoulder.

"My friends call me Ellen. Will you be my friend?"


"C'mon, you big softie. Time to go."

"I'm not ready yet," Morgrim mumbled to his wife. "Let the next guy go ahead of me."

"There are none left. You've let them all through. You're the last one. It's your turn now." 

Morgrim's eyes pleaded with his wife. "You promise you won't let go?"

She smiled as she held is hand. "I promise."

A nurse appeared around the corner. "Mr Ironbeard?"

"No," he said.

"Yes?" said his wife. 

"The dentist will see you now."


Some time later.

Testo smiled down at his son.

"Like this, daddy?"

Testo nodded. "Bring your right hand a little closer to the axe head. That's right. Now you drive it down, straight into the middle of the wood, okay?"

The axe fell, splitting the wood clean in two.

"Good job, son," Fasten said, as she wandered around the side of the cottage.

The muscular boy beamed as his mother hugged him.

She looked up at his neck. "Still itchy, is it?"

"You've got to stop scratching it, son. Otherwise, you'll never get used to it."

"Aw dad- you don't understand - you don't need to shave, you know."

"I know," Testo said, coming over to hug both of them. "I know."


Battle Navigator

Meet The Contestants
Rules and Deployment
Turn 1
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Turn 10
Epilogue (you are here)


  1. Could I recommend that new readers also read It's Fun to Slay at the Wyemm Seeyay, as this might fill in some of the continuity intimated in this report.

  2. Congratulations Gaj - an epic story drawn to an epic conclusion!

    Definitely Warhammer for Adults in places ;)

    I must say I was waiting for a gimp reference a la Pulp Fiction at one point.

    Nice to see some old friends from the Wyemm Seeyay too!

    1. Thanks very much, Mr T - its nice to close the thing down with soem leather. Pulp fiction had crossed my mind, together with scenes from Star Wars and Reservoir Dogs, but in the end, it looks like we avoided all of those.

      As regards Ellen, it seems I'm slowly building a Slaanesh warband, one battle report at a time...

  3. Good work Gaj. How's the lichemaster project coming along?

    1. I hate you :)

      In fairness, though, just undercoated the 17 characters this weekend past (terrified of lead rot, really), and I've sorted out the 40 imperials I need. I just need to acquire three more dwarves, clean and assemble the imperials and the dwarves, paint the remaining 62 figures, make the scenery and jobs a good 'un.

  4. You enjoyed writing this bit much more than the battle didn't you!

    Good fun all round.

    1. ...I'm sure you enjoyed reading it much more than the battle too ;)