There are many different experiences I want from my hobby on any given day. One day I might have a vision in my mind to create. It could be a new dragonspawn for my IKRPG group or a stroke of inspiration to convert my favorite warcaster into a reflection of a deity. The next day I might want to figure out a rewarding and satisfying list to challenge myself to play in a style outside my comfort zone. On another day, I might want to get all my aggression out on the table and jam 90 models into my opponent’s deployment zone. A few days later, I might want to paint a beautiful-looking theme force.

Today, though, I want to play out the story of two scouting forces without warcaster support, pursuing rumors of the coveted Athanc Wagon. I was in the fortunate position this round to get a game in against JR, and we were going to tell a story—and it would be beautiful.

From my past battles with JR, I knew he would be into the feel of the battle more than simply playing a competitively intense game. This wouldn’t be a game of millimeters; it would be a game of heroic movie moments. A story of foot soldiers slugging it out in the mud, trying to recover a few pieces of critical intelligence for their superior officers, who were probably miles away from the front, secure in the safety of their command post.

Shick had created a great scenario for this battle. Following rumors, my forces located a previous campsite of the wagon convoy. There were a dozen objective/information markers to be deployed on the table. The mission for both JR and me was to investigate the objective markers with either a solo or unit commander. From just the scenario description alone, I had a vision in my head of my Convergence soldiers stepping out of the morning mist into the remnants of a recent camp, the sun rising behind them to glisten off the dew clinging to their metallic forms, forming up to meet the proud and rambunctious Trollblood rabble coming across the field toward them. I knew what needed to be done—I needed to create objectives! That’s right: no standard markers here. JR and I were about to chronicle a clash of epic proportions, and the battlefield needed to reflect that.

I first considered the kinds of disposable materials that are left behind by forces on the move: barrels of foodstuff and maybe water, empty crates that once held medicine, broken and discarded equipment. I browsed the Privateer Press Online Store and found some crates, campfires, and barrels perfect for the objectives I wanted to create. I quickly assembled and painted them in time for the battle.

But what about the battle itself? Well, gather ’round for the tale. Once, not so long ago as it is now, Horgle Ironstrike was dispatched with a small scouting force of Trollblood warriors and a handful of full-blooded trolls to investigate rumors that a powerful magic device was being transported through his people’s lands. A dawn of the second day of their journey, the trolls discovered a clearing where a sizable force had but recently made camp; however, the trolls were not alone.

Before Horgle, ready for battle, were ranks of soldiers from the Cult of Cyriss. Giant mechanical engines of destruction flanked a core of shield- and flail-wielding humanoids. Instead of living eyes, the machines’ dim, emotionless orbs burned into Horgle. Breaking formation with frightening speed and agility unbefitting such ugly machines, a half-dozen mechanical forms bolted forward and began to ransack what the clearing’s previous occupants had left behind.

With a bellow, Horgle called orders to his brothers in arms. The Warders advanced at disciplined pace, refined from years of battles alongside one another. While Northkin Fire Eaters stationed on the left flank broke into a run, desperate to make it to the rubbish heaps before the mechanical angels claimed all the loot for themselves. Horgle goaded the pair of Pyre Trolls under his command to advance and hurl their destructive fireballs at the mechanical towers. The Trollblood Axer who had been assigned to the scouting party took up position on the Warders’ flank and began to mimic their pace while the Impaler moved to outflank and cut off the avenue of retreat for the jade monstrosities.

Much like raw iron put to the forge, the Trollblood force melted under the onslaught of the paired walking towers’ powerful energy beams and the relentless advance of the clockwork soldiers. Horgle’s forces were shattered like a brittle blade, and Horgle himself succumbed to the pressure, surrounded by the broken bodies of his brethren.

It was already dusk by the time he regained consciousness. For some reason, it appeared the clockwork soldiers had not finished off the broken trolls. Though the clearing had been stripped bare of the intel he had been dispatched to gather, Horgle now found himself in possession of potentially even greater information. The machines had not killed him, and he would make them regret that decision. Picking up his smith’s hammer, he once again gathered his forces. The kriels needed to be warned of this new threat. The elders might even see fit to seek the aid of their Circle Orboros allies. None can know for certain what information the Convergence gained from their raid, and none can know what the elders will do about this new threat. One thing is certain, however: Horgle will have his revenge!

So, there you have it: a unique scenario played out on a beautiful table against an amazing opponent. What will my forces do next? What information did I glean from the sacked campsite? Did my supposed ally Simon betray me and invade my homeland? I guess we’ll just have to wait and see how everything else unfolded this round!