[From Andrew Gross]
|Home||The Dwarves of Greenlake
All Ral Partha, Bob Olley sculpted Dwarves
|Visitor||Orcs from Outer Space
Our sages and wisemen had warned us that the comet that blazed through the evening sky a fortnight ago augered grave danger, and so Wise King Nuxhall had gathered all the clans together, to prepare for the worst. Yet nothing could have prepared us for what the comet had brought: hideously mutated Orcs, similar to yet frighteningly different from the Orcs that have so longed plagued our peace-loving people, bearing strange and woundrous weapons unlike anything this world has ever known.
Despite the fearsome aspect of the host arrayed against us, we were not afraid, and a thousand throats joined our minstrel Dylan in joyful song as the battle approached.
Our opponent was more cunning than ever our own world's Orcs were, and immediately he caused some of his lesser numbers to be flown into combat with our artillery. It was some goodly while before this threat could be dealt with, and our catapult was silent during this time. Had we perceived the nature of his threat, our own Godly Cleric Gallen might have intervened to stop their flight; but alas, by the time we understood why he would waste precious mana to transport such lowly cannon-fodder by magical means, it was too late, and the deed was done.
Leaving the brave artillery crew to their own devices, we pushed our main battle line forward. As we came closer, the King's Own Guard was destroyed by a huge Fireball, and the King himself barely escaped. And yet we pressed ever on, even though doubt must surely have found its way into even our bravest warrior's heart.
It was then, before our battlelines clashed, that the tide began to turn; for these hellish fiends had recruited the Evil Dragon Andreeson to join them, and he now flew behind our lines to put an end to the fearsome threat of our catapult. Yet, Cleric Gallen prayed mightily to our Gods, and a miracle occured; and so the Dragon was not able to harm our artillery, even though these brave Dwarves know more of numbers and trajectories then they do of warfare. But even this was not the end of Gallen's intervention: for he continued to pray and to cast mighty magics, and the Dragon became despondent, and then desperate; and soon thereafter, he quit the field of battle in haste, though he had suffered not a single blow.
Seeing this great loss to our enemy, a mighty cheer went up from our battleline, and with renewed determination we marched steadily forward, into a storm of strange missile fire. Several of our units were destroyed, but we were able to close ranks, and eventually to engage our otherworldy foe.
Much like the Orcs we have fought in the past, our opponent had caused his lesser troops, who were not so fearsome or so well armed as their comrades, to take the brunt of our charge, in the hope that they would do us some mischief before they were sent back to whatever hell had spawned them. And yet, they were as blades of grass before a scythe, and we killed all of them, and were unbloodied. We could see then that the fear was in our remaining foes; they had come expecting an easy victory, and had sought to engage us first only with their ally the dragon and their own raw recruits, hoping to crush us without risking their main strength: but now the shield that they had so cowardly cringed behind was shorn away, and there was no mercy in us.
At long last, our two main lines met with a fearsome crash, and the carnage was fearsome to behold. As has ever been the case, there is no match for a Dwarf in straight battle; and whether the Orc was birthed on this world or another, the outcome is the same. Ragged holes were torn in his line, while the only damage that he was able to inflict on us came from small numbers of wondrously nimble craft that flitted around behind our battle line, hurling fire of unknown origin into those units of ours that were not engaged in combat. In desperation, their leader challenged our mighty hero Gates; yet Gates was born without fear, and accepted the challenge, and their leader fled like a whipped dog from the combat. Soon, his chain of command had completely collapsed, and he was unable to form his ragtag group of survivors into a workable defense; and the day was won.
All of this I faithfully record on this, the 11th day of February, 1998.
- Andrew B. Gross