Game Report: Fatum in Porta

Southern Gaul, 146 BCE

Gaius Portius Carbo had not been a happy man in months, not since his hubris, his arrogance had led him to volunteer for a special mission for the Praetor. Now he was trapped in an unending nightmare, fighting the monsters who emerged almost daily from the ocean, in seemingly endless waves. Fight after fight, risk after risk, horror after horror. 

Now at least there was the promise of an end to the nightmare. The odious spy was once again accompanying him and a picked party of soldiers, to a stone circle deep inside enemy ravaged territory, while the rest of the Legion fortified their camp in an obvious position to draw off the main enemy horde. The priests had assured the Praetor and him that performing a barbarian ritual at the stone circle would drive the creatures back into the sea for more than two thousand years. A local Gallic druid had been persuaded, with great effort, to part with the details of this ritual. 

There wasn't much further to go, and hopefully the nightmare would end. One way or another. 

The Cursed Dry-Lands, the one hundredth and seventh day of the campaign

Athtaen of the Deep Burrows was tired. The demands of serving the God of the Deep were many and took a great toll. Even worse, fighting on the Cursed Dry-Lands was sapping his strength further, the magics cast so long ago by the mud-crawlers still potent enough to drive him and his kin back into the sea regularly. His scrying had identified a focal of the power that held them back, with a little effort he could reach it and break the magics, allowing his kin to ravage the dry-lands endlessly.

Perhaps then the God of the Deep would then grant his tribe the strength to rule over the whole of their kind, and perhaps Athtaen would be granted a night of peace. 

The Game

This game pitched the forces of Rome against the Formorian invaders, in the final installment of a series of games which we began many years ago, see games one, two and three here. In this game, a force of Romans had to get the magical spear they had retrieved to a stone circle and perform a ritual, while a group of Formorians had to escort their priest to the same circle to lift a curse that held them back from conquering all of the earth. 

The stone circle stands silent for now

The circle was at the far end of the table from the two sides who entered on opposite sides of the table, immediately facing the choice of charging for the objective or clashing with one another.

The Roman force consisted of:

Gaius Portius Carbo - Centurion

Septimus Castricus - Picked Principius

Marcus Aventius, Sextus Apidius, Gaius Ofanius - Principii

Tiberius Gellius, Appois Hortensius - Triarii

Mansur, Scallius - Syrian Archers

Gaius Nonius - Spy

The Romans arrive

The Formorian warband consisted of:

Sargessir the Unproven - Tribal Chieftain 

Athtaen of the Deep Warrens - Priest 

Grawl and Kwarwk - Beastmen Beserkers 

Barrelithin and Hetherin the Bound - Tribal Champions

Trestiral and Mensarum - Warriors

Nimestel, Scrablein and Lotherimur - Huntsmen

The horde descends

In the opening couple of turns, the Roman spy and the Syrian arches broke away from the main body of Romans, heading around the farm to make their way to the circle, the spy clutching the spear, while the whole Formorian force bore down on the encroaching Romans.

The Roman force splits up, which can't possible end badly.

Led by their newly crowned Chieftain, the Formorians surge forward.

The two sides continued to close, with Formorian arrows thudding around the Romans or into their shields. After the Romans sought cover behind a small rise, the Formorians closed, eventually launching a charge when the Romans showed themselves, with Grawl rapidly felling Gauis Ofanius in the first charge.

Blades clash as the two sides begin their first combat of the game.

In what would later prove to be a critical moment, one Formorian arrow went a little astray, killing a piglet in the nearby pen. 

Athtaen, Sargessir and the two tribal champions left the warriors, Beastmen and hunstmen to tie up the main Roman force, making their way towards the stone circle. 

The objective is in sight.

As they approached, two forms emerged from the stones around the circle, coalescing into the horrifying forms of two skeletons wielding scythes, one wreathed in red light, the other bathed in a blue glow. 

New arrivals cause mild consternation among the players.

Meanwhile, near the main fight, the mother of the piglet so cruelly slain by a Formorian arrow broke out of her pen, enraged and seeking vengeance. 

The pig breaks free

With only one creature in her immediate line of sight, the pig charged at a Formorian huntsman, bowling him over and trampling him to death in moments. 

The pig strikes back with the fury born of tragic loss

Elsewhere far more convention fights raged, Sargessir charged by one of the skeletons, neither of them having any real impact on each other, the main brawl continuing with wounds being traded off and both sides struggled to outflank one another, and the two tribal champions, having moved to intercept the Roman spy and archers finding themselves being attacked by the other skeleton, who cut down Barrelithin in short order.

A brutal sweep of the scythe ends the rise of a Formorian champion

While all this chaos was unfolding, the Roman spy was able to dash into the stone circle, plant the spear and recite the incantation, which unleashed a torrent of energy, which ripped through the Formorians and Beastmen, driving the souls of any who showed insufficient willpower to resist the waves of energy trying to drive them back into the sea, decimating the Formorian force, killing Krawrk and the two remaining huntsmen.

In the meantime, the pig charged into the main melee, crashing into Marcus Aventius, goring him in the abdomen and sending him to the underworld as the rest of his men swarmed and attempted to bring down the monsters. 

Oblivious to the fighting around her, fueled by her blind rage, the pig claims another victim.

Before further pulsations of magic could completely wipe out the Formorian force, Athtaen stormed into it, bringing the God of the Deep's magic into conflict with the power the Romans had unleashed from the stone circle, creating a swirling vortex around the circle.

Man and monster clash, surrounded by a maelstrom of energy.

Eager to aid, and unsure he could fire through the magical storm engulfing the circle, Mansur attempted to charge into the Formorian priest, entering the vortex, at which moment he was torn to shreds by the forces within, scattering shards of armour, fragments of bone and tatters of flesh across the field as a red mist briefly colours the storm, rapidly dissipating. 

Fighting inside the stone circle, the spy managed to wound for Formorian priest, forcing him back until he was nearly at the edge of the maelstrom. 

Meanwhile, while the Roman centurion distracted the maddened beast, Appius Hortensius managed to stick a spear into the pig, putting an end to her rampage.

The true terror of the battle lies slain

The ongoing melee saw Grawl cut down another Roman, oblivious to the fate of the two warriors by his side, cut down by the Roman blades. Meanwhile, Hetherin the Bound managed to inflict a telling blow on the skeleton who was attacking him, crushing bone and dispersing the creature. 

With Grawl outnumbered, the Roman Centurion and picked Principius stormed away to aid in the fight against the Formorian priest, hoping they could force a way through the storm around the circle somehow. Instead they ended up tied up in a fight with the last Formorian champion, while, having effortlessly cut down the remaining Roman archer who had charged into him, Sargessir was set on fire by the blade of the skeleton monster, suffering a wound in the process. 

The Roman leadership leaves the foot soldiers to their fate, possibly described in a more heroic manner in their report to their superiors.

With himself on his final wound, and his Chieftain down a wound, Athtaen attempted to cast the Regrowth miracle to heal them both. 

Gaius Nonius watched in horror as a pit of darkness opened beneath the creature he was fighting, grasping tentacles of darkness reaching up and wrapping themselves around the monster. For a moment he thought that this was some horrific spell about to be unleashed upon him, before he saw, just momentarily, a look of agony sweep across the creature's face as the tentacles swarmed over its face. And, a moment later, the creature vanished, dragged down into the pit, which sealed itself, leaving only a small patch of barren, blighted earth to indicate it had ever been there. 

With a very unfortunate Wrath of the Gods roll, the spell backfired, killing Athtaen, ending the Formorian chances of achieving their objectives, at which point we called the game for the evening.

The final result was a victory for the Romans, reinforcing the magic with the enchantment extracted from the Gallic druid, driving the monsters back into the sea, ending our little campaign as a human win overall, if a costly one across the games. In an amusing (to me) little aside, the magical spear over which so much of this blood had been shed was entirely fake, a scheme made up by the Roman spy to help improve morale, with no magical effect whatsoever. 

Gaius Portius Carbo led the handful of survivors back to the Legion's camp, the spy, his picked guard and himself being the only survivors, the ox-headed monster having slain the last of the soldiers in his force before being overcome by the energy radiating from the barbarian monument. As soon as he was able, Carbo was going to retire to the countryside, somewhere high upon a hill and far from the sea, and live out his day without ever having to raise a sword again. He feared, however, that no matter how long he lived his nights would ever be haunted by the monstrosities. 

Athtaen felt himself being pulled apart, piece by piece, in exquisite agony, reassembled, the fragments of his flesh being bound together by a magic that burned and coursed through his body, over and over, for what felt like a millennium, as he was dragged deeper and deeper, the faint light from where the pit he had been drawn into receding ever further. As the light faded from view, he looked down instead, catching sight of strange shapes emerging from the gloom, twisted faces, mud-crawlers, Beastmen, Sirens, and Formorians, each screaming silently, faces twisted into masks of pure agony. He landed on something soft, writhing, moist and foul smelling, the tentacles that had been peeling his flesh away releasing him for a moment before grasping his limbs and pinning him down. He felt the God of the Deep speaking deep within him, as shapes swirled through the darkness and mist, their eyes gleaming and keen, teeth sharp, bared in a heartless grin. "The price of failure is eternal." spoke his God, before severing their link forever. Athtaen could but scream.

The Romans in the game were from Crusader Miniatures and Warlord Games, while the Formorians were from Brigade Model's Celtos range. We played using the Broken Legion rules from Osprey. 

Where once there had been a monster, now stood nothing

A long time after the strange smelling people had left, and the terrifying noises had ceased, he had ventured out from home, following her scent. He followed it to a pile of something foul smelling. An experimental taste confirmed that this was not food. He trotted on, following the scent, now mixed in with the foul smell. 

Then he found her, curled up in a ball, but not warm as she had been the night before as they had sheltered together, but cold, unmoving. He cried out to her, but she did not stir. He cried louder still, getting no response. It broke his heart, but he finally realised she would never stir again. 

He nuzzled her one last time, fighting back his grief. "I will avenge you." he whispered. "It may take a hundred generations, but I will raise our kind to fight back against the creatures who took you from me. And we will be bound by a simple creed."

"Four legs good, two legs bad."

Game Report: Bag the Cat

22nd March, 1945. Somewhere East of Adendorf 0740

Gary Harmon had hoped the war would end before he got drafted, before he could be trained, before he could be shipped halfway around the world to Europe, before he could see combat. He had thought his luck had come good when he was assigned to guard the Battalion HQ, far from the fighting. He assumed he would be able to wait out the war and then go home, safe and sound, whenever this stupid war ended.

And now here he was, leading a group of men through the mud and rain, cold, tired and miserable, to try and hunt down a German tank that was rampaging around the rear areas, with nothing more than their rifles and whatever they could scavenge up from the conflict ravaged land. 

'War really is hell.' he thought. 

The Game

The game area, with the remnants of the Allied convoy whose ambush alerted command to the presence of the Tiger scattered about.

The game pitted a team manning a Tiger tank, tasked to rescue a German colonel with some vital documentation, against a team playing as US Army squads who had been scraped up to try and hunt it down. The US squads had their personal weapons only, and would have to scavenge weapons to bring down the beast, while the tank crew were in a different room, using a web cam to get a view of what their tank could see (with a cardboard screen that was used to further restrict their vision when the tank was buttoned down), so were operating with at best limited information. There was also a dummy camera to cause confusion on the American side too.

As a final complication, stragglers from both sides who had become lost or cut off after the fighting the night before were in the area (activating on random card events).

The Americans arrive, guided in by the columns of smoke from the burning tanks and the sound of an engine.

The Americans began advancing on a broad front, looking to loot the burning vehicles and stacks of supplies scattered about for some heavier firepower. Meanwhile, the Tiger's commander dismounted to check a building for sign of the Colonel they had been sent to rescue. 

No one appears to be home. Perhaps they're camera shy?

The early American attempts at salvaging useful equipment went poorly, the soldiers not being willing to approach the burning vehicles. Unfortunately for the players, they were convinced it was only the repeatedly poor dice rolls, rather than survival instincts, that were stopping them from finding useful equipment. 

Another team, however, found some abandoned munitions crates, and enthusiastically set to looting. They quickly racked up a good stash of grenades, two demolition charges and a single, precious Panzerfaust anti-tank weapon. 

It's not looting, it's surprise requisitioning.

Finally the US players worked out that burning tanks weren't a great source of supplies and began to head towards the other stashes of ammunition or fuel scattered across the field, while the German tanks slowly trundled forwards, narrowly avoiding bogging down as they entered a copse. 

The Americans suffered their first casualty as one of their soldiers entered the central manor house, gunned down by persons unknown. This immediately drew significant attention, with two US players' teams converging on the house from two directions.

US troops sneak up on the house where one of their comrades had apparently been shot and killed.

Meanwhile the third US player's forces had spotted the Tiger (which now appeared on the table), and tried to set up an ambush, with two two-man teams with demolition charges and grenades and a fifth man with the Panzerfaust moving into cover ahead of the expected line of advance of the Tiger and to its sides. Whichever way it turned, some of the Tiger's vulnerable side or rear armour would have to be exposed. 

The Tiger advances into a field, apparently unaware of the threats stalking it. 

The German driver noticed the nearest pair of American troops ahead to his right, and decided to deal with the situation directly. With a deafening roar, the Tiger mounted and then smashed through the wall of the field, directly towards the two American soldiers, who, thanks to some lucky dice rolls, managed to scramble out of the vehicle's way. 

A narrow escape for two GIs

With the tank distracted, the GI with the Panzerfaust took aim at the exposed rear armour, raised high in the air. 

A perfect chance to end the beast.

Naturally this meant that the dice roll was dire, and the rocket went wide, completely unnoticed by the German crew. Attempts to use grenades to damage the tracks of the tank also met with dismal results.

The Germans retaliated, using the coaxial machine gun to open up on a nearby American sergeant. The man, who had been sheltering from the threat in the house, was exposed, and went down.

MG34 fire cuts down another American, narrowly missing another further along the road.

Meanwhile, some of the Americans scavenging on the other side of the table came across an unexpected find, an apparently undamaged M24 Chaffee tank.

Who left this here then?

Despite the clear and present threat of the tank, a significant amount of the American player's attention was focused on the manor house, with several men clustered and ready to storm it. 

The storming party prepares itself.

As an opening gambit, Sergeant Nathaniel Trent tossed a grenade into the first floor window. Or, more accurately, near to the first floor window. The grenade bounced off the wall, landing at the feet of the US troops, killing two of them, but sparing the hapless Sergeant.

Events accelerated rapidly at this point, the scavenging troops who had found the Chaffee started testing it, finding that the cannon worked then they fired the round that had been sitting in the breach. Another man entered the house, sneaking up on a two man machine-gun crew whose attention was locked on the storming party at the front of the house.

Meanwhile, the Americans who had nearby been run down by the Tiger threw more explosives, both grenades and demolition charges towards the tank's tracks, doing some damage, but not yet immobilising the beast. The tank advanced, swinging round towards its attackers and the house, firing off a round at the two survivors of the storming party still out the front of the house, killing one, but again, not Sergeant Trent. While this drama played out up front, the lone rifleman in the house opened fire on the machine-gun team, killing both in a brief firefight.

In their buttoned down tank however, the crew had missed one American, hidden between the tank and the wall of the field, armed with the last demolition charge. He hurled the charge onto the engine deck of the Tiger, where it detonated, causing the beast to judder to a halt and catch fire. 

Man wins against machine

Appalling rolls by the crew saw only one man (the driver) make it out of the beast as ammunition cooked off and the fuel burned, ending the game as an American victory. 

The Colonel the tank had come to rescue had taken advantage of all the chaos to slip away from the area, avoiding the US squads, and skirting around the sounds of combat. He and all but one of his entourage would escape back to German lines, with the vital documents in hand. 

22nd March, 1945. Somewhere East of Adendorf 0910

The Tiger was still burning, regular explosions punctuating the crackle of the flames as individual rounds cooked off. Five men, lying painfully still beneath the blankets that covered them, were gathered in the grounds of the house around which most of them had been killed. Not far off, the bodies of two German soldiers who had been in the house had been dumped with far less ceremony. 

Sergeant Trent was sitting nearby, smeared in blood, a look of guilt writ large across his face. Harmon almost felt sorry for the man, pathetic and repulsive though he had always found him. 

Another explosion drew his attention, another round going off inside the burning tomb of the Germans who had brought him so close to death. But instead they were dead. Perhaps he would make it back home after all. 

Game Report: A Hill too Far

West of Tayasir, 8 Dhuʻl-Hijjah 608 AH

Munjid al-Zaher, Lord of Irbid, was tired. He had fought his way to his current position from the most humble, pathetic of beginnings, a fight that had seen friends slain, cost him the use of an arm, seen him far from home for most of his life, and now he was unable to even enjoy the fruits of his labours. Threatened on all sides by jealous enemies within and expansionist enemies without, he now had to march once more to secure his lands, and demonstrate his worthiness. 

Ahead, the sun was cresting over the hills around the village and citadel of Tayasir, the ancient ruins beckoning to him. Whether it was a call to glory or a mirage leading to failure and doom would soon be demonstrated. 

The citadel and village of Tayasir before the armies descend upon it

This game pitched two armies against each other as both attempted to exploit the recent demise of the local warlord ruling over the town of Tayasir, which had fractured the armies he maintained between his sons, who had thrown themselves into a fratricidal conflict with reckless abandon. Both the local Saracen and Frank ruler had decided that the chaos gave them the chance to push the borders of their personal fiefdoms and enhance their positions.

Each commander in their armies had their own set of private objectives above and beyond the official objective of the game, which their allies (and opponents) were unaware of. 

The Saracen Force:

Centre Battle:

Munjid al-Zaher

A peasant who arose to power, Munjid needs to secure his position and demonstrate his leadership. Victory is his path to survival.

Objectives:

Seize the town and citadel 30 Glory

Drive back the enemy 10 Glory

Strike down enemy commanders 10 Glory each

Force:

2 units of 4 stands of Infantry

2 units of 4 stands of Archers

1 unit of 4 stands of Mamelukes

Left Battle:

Bashhar ibn Masruq

Bashhar ibn Masruq has lost everything to the ravages of marauding Franks, and he lives now only to kill as many as possible. 

Objectives:

Shatter an enemy battle 15 Glory

Destroy more enemy units than you lose 10 Glory

Slay enemy commander 10 Glory each

Force:

2 units of 3 stands of Horse Archers

1 unit of 4 stands of Arab Tribal Cavalry

1 unit of 3 stands of Mamelukes

Right Battle:

Diya al-Hawami

Diya al-Hawami is a noble, his family have been nobles for generations. Subordination to a peasant like Munjid is an insult he will not let pass. His goal is to undermine his supposed leader, and demonstrate the superiority of his noble blood. 

Objectives:

Seize the town with his own troops 10 Glory

Seize the citadel with his own troops 10 Glory

Cause more morale damage to the enemy than Munjid's troops 10 Glory

Munjid fails to take Tayasir 10 Glory

Forces:

1 unit of 4 stands of Horse Archers

1 unit of 3 stands of Arab Tribal Cavalry

2 units of 3 stands of Mamelukes

The Frankish Forces

Centre Battle:

Jean Barbet, Baron of Nabulus

Recently ascended to his position, Jean needs to demonstrate his capabilities by achieving a victory, and the seizure of Tayasir would be an unquestionable victory, providing him with glory, income and, by expanding the Kingdom's borders, allies at court. 

Objectives:

Seize the town 20 Glory

Seize the citadel 40 Glory

Destroy the infidel army 20 Glory

Forces:

2 units of 3 stands of Men at Arms

2 units of 3 stands of Archers

1 unit of 3 stands of Arbalasters (crossbowmen)

Left Battle:

Guy de Roye

A disillusioned mercenary, who came to the Holy Land to seek redemption and found none, Guy now lives only to make his limited time on the mortal plane as pleasant as possible and to punish the world for his imminent eternal damnation. 

Objectives:

Loot the town 10 Glory

Loot the citadel 10 Glory

Loot the corpses of defeated cavalry units 5 Glory

Forces:

1 unit of 4 stands of Turcopoles

1 unit of 3 stands of Mounted Men at Arms

1 unit of 2 stands of Knights

Right Battle:

Guillaume Barbet

The quintessential resentful younger sibling, Guillaume's only motive is to better his situation, avoiding the fate of being sent to the Church or a Holy Order. If his brother is to fail or fall, he can take guardianship of his nephew and rule in all but name. Unless of course his nephew came to a tragic end.

Objectives:

If the Saracens do not take Tayasir and Jean dies 50 Glory

If the Saracens do not take Tayasir and Jean flees 10 Glory

The Barbets seize Tayasir 10 Glory

His troops seize the town or citadel 15 Glory for each

Forces:

1 unit of 3 stands of Knights

1 units of 3 stands of Mounted Men at Arms

The game pitted the two forces against each other on a constrained battlefield, with the town and citadel dominating the open space between two ranges of hills. Both sides chose to be conservative with their deployments, risking neither night or dawn marches or sending out harassing forces or leaving their baggage behind. As a consequence, both forces deployed without issue and close to the centre of the field of battle. 

Fighting commenced rapidly with the Frankish left storming forward to engage, smashing into their Saracen opponents, becoming slightly disrupted as they galloped forward.

The first blows are struck, neither side gaining a clear advantage

Fighting on the Frankish right continued, with the Saracen forces bombarding the oncoming mounted men at arms with javelins and bows, inflicting heavy casualties before they managed to charge into the Arab Tribal Cavalry. Again, the fighting was indecisive, both forces suffering, but neither yet at risk of breaking.

Fighting on the Frankish right expands to encompass more troops

In the centre of the field, the advance unit of Frankish men at arms took a beating from missile fire, being left with as much disorder as they had bases. The first loss of army morale looked imminent.

An enthusiastic advance leaves the men at arms exposed, and they are punished by missile fire.

Their pain was further enhanced when the remnants of the garrison of Tayasir started lobbing crossbow quarrels into their midst. While this achieved little, the announcement of the garrison's presence was an unpleasant surprise for the commanders. 

All across the field many units pushed towards the town, while archers scrambled for positions high on the hills to gain good lines of fire. 

The northern end of the battle

The southern end of the battle. Frankish forces sweep around the citadel, concentrating on their foe rather than the ancient ruin

Fighting around the town grew in intensity, with both sides throwing forces into the fray, with the Frankish men at arms taking a beating and being left on the point of routing. 

Exposed to fire from multiple directions, the men at arms begin to waver

On the Saracen right, the tempting target of the leading unit of Knights took a hail of arrow fire, disrupting their ranks and leaving them vulnerable.

Guy de Roy's knights are left in a perilous state.

On the Saracen left, battered by the Frank knights and men at arms, the Arab tribal cavalry collapsed, breaking and running.

The devastating blow of the knights' charge shatters the first Saracen unit

In the centre, the exposed men at arms took a further fire from the defenders of the town, and broke in a gory massacre, taking a fair chunk of the Frank's army morale with them.

Bombarded from all sides, the men at arms break leaving their dead and wounded behind.

The next turn saw something of a stalemate, with both sides concentrating on bring back units from the brink, with limited maneuvering around the town as the Saracens sought to exploit gaps where they could.

Mamelukes wrap around the Frankish centre's flank. 

The momentary pause in the battle passed suddenly, with melees breaking out across the field. The Mamelukes on the Saracen right charged down the Turcoples. gaining a slight edge in the fight despite being out numbered. The Frankish knights in turn stormed into the Arab Tribal Cavalry, not having a decisive impact but gaining the upper hand.

Melees tie up the southern edge of the battle

To the north, the Frankish men at arms broke and ran, leaving Guilliaume up to his neck in Saracens, and soon appealing for his brother's aid in knocking off the disorder of and keeping him in the fight. Repeated attempts by Frankish champions to save the situation by challenging the enemy to single combat merely resulted in several brave knights being dismembered by their opponents. 

Guilliaume prepares to make his final stand against overwhelming odds.

The other unit of men at arms and the knights swept into the unit of Mamelukes, the fighting being something of a stalemate, neither side scoring a decisive blow, although the men at arms were left in a dangerous state after the beating they had taken in earlier actions.

The Mamelukes hold their own against a concerted Frankish assault

In the centre, flurries of arrows swept across the ground between the two sides, inflicting loss, but no decisive blows were struck. The local garrison continued to remind their enemies of their presence, shooting at Frank and Saracen alike. 

In response, Saracen archers pushed into the town, eventually running into a brutal hail of quarrels, which broke them and sent them fleeing. 

 Further challengers from Guilliaume's command group met their end at the hands of their Saracen opponents, and once again he had to beg for his brother's aid in dealing with his mounting disorder.

Guilliaume Barbet's position becomes close to untenable, the desertion of enemy forces notwithstanding.

Throughout the battle, both sides had been bleeding morale points with units on the point of breaking. Entering the final turn, both sides had been reduced to single digits of morale. Everyone knew it was now or never to perform great deeds. 

The turn saw a Frankish archer unit utterly destroyed, fleeing in a gory massacre, and Guilliaume Barbet falling in battle, defiant to the last. With these losses, the Frankish force was broken and fled. The Saracens were barely in a better position, with only 4 army morale remaining they would lack the resolve to besiege or storm the citadel, leaving them in control of the field, but the warlord's surviving son in charge of the town and citadel. 

The models used were from Baccus's crusades range, and the rules used were the Soldiers of God wargames rules, as ever they were a pleasure to play with, their eternal conundrums making for an excellent game.

Munjid al-Zaher sat astride his horse, watching his army morosely pick their way across the battlefield, bringing comfort to their wounded brothers in arms, rounding up prisoners and dispatching the enemy who were too far gone to be of use. All were avoiding the area around the town of Tayasir, anyone foolish enough to stray close ending up perforated with crossbow bolts. 

While he had triumphed on the field, the town would remain beyond his grasp, a task to return to another time.

At the end of the game, two commanders Bashhar ibn Masruq and Diya al-Hawami, were both on 20 Glory points, leaving them as the victors of the game, with points earned for destroying more enemy units than they lost and slaying an enemy commander and having Munjid fail to seize the town and from inflicting more morale damage than Munjid's forces respectively.

Hasan ibn Karajuk looked down upon the plains and the retreating army heading east back into Damascene territory. His elite guard in the citadel hadn't even had to draw their weapons as the two enemy forces had battered themselves apart on the plains. Now his independence was ensured, at least for a while, he could turn his mind to rebuilding his armies to ensure the next assault would fail too. 

Father had been called the terror of the valleys. Now he, Hasan, would teach anyone who opposed him would soon learn that they had never experienced terror. The prisoners his men had rounded up, Franks and Damascenes alike, were herded together in the citadel courtyard. A message would need to be sent.

The next few minutes were filled with screaming and pitiful begging.