A HOTT battle report

A little explanation first...

A while back, I got sucked back into wargaming. Gloranthan wargaming, naturally. But from there it was an easy step to a weekend using HOTT rules with any old fantasy army. All right, mine were both Gloranthan, but I knew I could end up facing just about anything.

My "serious" army consisted of Ducks. Never mind about them for now. The less serious one started when Tim Sharrock introduced me to the idea of Edible Armies (he builds them out of pasta, nuts, and so on) and someone mentioned a communal cheese board as a tradition at this event.

So I built an army out of cheese. Well, I had to, didn't I? And it fought, and it died, and we ate it.

Then another Tim, Tim Ellis, said "Can we expect the full story at the next Storytelling session Jane?" What a daft idea. How could a battle between an army of cheese and a bunch of Napoleonic teddy bears make a Gloranthan story? Stupid, and I don't have time anyway.

So here it is.

The unfortunate end of Polemarch Roquefort

So, there we were ordered to hold this nasty smelly little fort in Northern Volsaxiland. Goddess only knows why. It wasn't even on a trade route.

There was us. There was the sunny boy who'd been put in command. Oh, he mouthed the words all right, and he had his bit of moon rock, but we all knew he thought more of his Sun King than he did of Her. And he thought he was a Hero. Worst sort, that.

And there were the Barbarians. Yes, I know, we are all us, and I'm sure it's good that they see Her light instead of resisting, but really! They'd joined us because they'd been losing in some local feud - a lot had. Some tribe called the Telmori had been after them. This lot knew about Her power all right. Every full Moon, these Telmori all turned into giant magical wolves, can you believe? Savage great brutes. But just to make it worse, our new friends had a curse when She was full, too. They turned into sheep. Yes, sheep against wolves. Not surprising they were losing really. So they came over to us, maybe hoping She'd lift their curse.

Anyway there we were when word came that the locals, the Bear clan, were coming to have a go at us. Now, we could have stayed inside the fort. That's what the walls are for. But oh no, our hero decided he wanted a proper battle. So we all formed up, us in the centre, the Baa-barians on the flanks, and Himself on a little rise on the left where he reckoned he'd get a good view.

Sure enough, the Bears charged in, some of them shooting, some riding those little hill ponies they keep as a hobby, a couple flying.

Himself pulled out his bit of moon rock, and must've been scared enough to get it right for once, 'cos he summoned up a full-size Lune!

Well, we were all heartened to see that, I can tell you, but we were wrong. Sunny-boy hadn't thought this one through, had he? Them Baa-barians. Lune's like a full moon, right? You guessed it. Sheep. Enemy already charging, and all of a sudden our flank's protected by sheep. Himself must have dropped his bit of rock in surprise, because the Lune vanished, too. The sheep ran off and hid in the woods.

And it all went downhill from there. We’re good, but when you’re outnumbered that badly, there’s no chance. They surrounded us. We tried to get back to the fort, but last I saw it had hairy barbarians climbing the walls.

Slingers, those heroes of theirs, the mad ones – you name it. Himself tried to challenge one of them, and they stood there and called each other names for a bit.

That’s when I backed off a bit and organised the retreat. His job really, but what can you do? Me and some of the lads got away. Sunny-boy didn’t, and nor did the sheep. We came back the next day to see what was left, and it looked like trolls had eaten the lot.