Edge of the Abyss

The Final Stand of Sir Dan
Or:
How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Growing Abyss

The Armies:

The Brotherhood:
Ash-dusted men emerged from shattered ships that crashed upon the shores near Rhyn Dufaris. They had sailed the Sea of Suan after the destruction of their fortresses, only to be blown off course by a brimstone-scented gale. Sir Dan Fortescue, hammer in hand, stood at the head of the surviving villeins as sworn brothers galloped past, their armor battered yet shimmering in the sun...

The Elves:
From a nearby marsh, a ramshackle band of Elves moved slowly forth, eyes red and beady as if waking from a night of too much celebration. Their armor was tarnished and muddy, their weapons rusting save the blades of the elite Mud Bleeders and the spearheads of the Duskflame Lance, which were rippled with intricate patterns of long-forgotten forgemasters. Their leader, Vaesi Li’ii the Birdspeaker, whispered soothingly to the patch-feathered seagulls that defecated on his shoulders, awaiting the moment he would send them pecking at his enemies…

At first, several Brotherhood spearmen stood to face the elves, unsure if they were potential allies or unlikely enemies, and the elves wheeled their bolt thrower to face the Brotherhood. In the distance, loud drums and harsh screams echoed to their ears…

The Orcs:
Across a brackish river, the orcish warband of Bukweet the Biggit pounded their chests, howled guttural bellows, and let great clouds of nacreous gas escape their bowels as sacrifice to the gods of their tribe. Boars snorted spats of snot, and a giant stomped his feet with anticipation, then scratched a pus-filled zit on the side of his neck. Three trolls bumbled clumsily near the shrine of a long-forgotten lake goddess; one relieved himself in the bowl of a long-weathered chalice as another gnawed his own arm in self-cannibalistic bliss. The giant, zit successfully popped, gazed stupidly to the horizon, smelling men and elves and gripping his crude club tightly…

The Servants of the Wicked Ones (Abyssal Servants using Varangur rules)
Nearby, corrupted men, tempted by the seductive powers of the Wicked Ones, shouted battle cries and sang songs of slaughter. Bleeze, their mighty leader, had been bested by Bukweet in single combat, and was bound to serve the Biggit in a battle against the “shinies.” The massive orc leader began to run forward, and the orcs and abyssal sympathizers followed suit…

The Battle:

The forces clashed in the hot summer sun, men sweating, hellhounds slathering, orcs smashing, and elves moving their feathered feet with grace. The field of battle, strewn with ruins and small jutting sandstone ledges, was halved by a brackish river. An ancient stone bridge crossed the river, and it was upon this central point that the thrust of battle did unfold. Wave after wave of good and evil forces crashed into one another. Brotherhood knights charged hell-corrupted infantry and skewered them on their lances. Trolls pulverized the Brotherhood knights into squishy pulpy messes. The Elven knights sliced a graceful dance of death to slay the trolls. Orcish Moraxes cut down the Elven knights. More Brotherhood cavalry fought to a standstill with the Moraxes. They were then flanked by barbarian infantry. The Moraxes were flanked by Redemption knights. The Redemption knights were flanked by Greataxes. A giant wandered across the river and smashed into villeins as Elven infantry met the thunderous charge of Abyssal cavalry with sharp spears and solid shields…

And so the battle turned and turned and turned again. In the final moments of battle, the forces of evil had overwhelmed the Brotherhood and Elves. Only Sir Dan Fortescue, perhaps the luckiest man to ever wield a warhammer, remained of the Order. He was supported by the Goldspike Bolter, an ancient bolt thrower from the swamps of Ka-terii Na’a. In the battle’s final moments, the bolt thrower was smashed by the giant as Sir Dan slew Bleeze upon the bridge. The knight then single-handedly battled a troop of barbarian infantry, a regiment of unholy mutant monsters, a regiment of Greataxes, and Bukweet himself before falling into the river’s blood-stained depths.

The dice of the Gods were truly with him as the river’s current swept his broken body from the sun-baked field.