Pandemonium broke over the battlefield. The patchwork army was nominally under the command of Barak Breakbow, but as soon as battle was joined he flew into a rage and all the units were left to their own devices.

Rudderless, the Imperial Halberdiers formed a wedge and crashed into a slavering hoard of Abominated. Seeing the wedge about to be enveloped, the Dwarven Shieldbearers charged to reinforce them.

The sudden move saved the Halberdiers, but exposed the line of Elven Hawkbows they’d meant to protect. A line of Chaos Knights took notice. Upon their flame-snorting felsteeds they sallied forth, thirsty for slaughter. Though Breakbow’s Berserkers were close, the mounted Chaos Knights wore blackened helplate, their chargers wore wicked barbed barding. They did not fear footmen.

They were very wrong. With howls of delight, the berserkers wheeled on them and counter-charged. Without fear, the mad dwarves dodged beneath the flaming hooves and hacked upward. The captain of the Chaos Knights lowered his lance and charged at Breakbow. Breakbow never flinched, he launched himself into the air, caught the captain by his leg, and tore him from his saddle. The charge broke apart into a bloody melee.

Protected, the Hawkbows took careful aim at the Beastmaster. Five of their screaming arrows bounced off his scaly hide, but the sixth did the trick and took him in the eye. As the Beastmaster died, his aura of domination faded and his menagerie strained at their sorcerous bonds. The War Pigs broke first and rampaged through the Chaos lines.

Everything came apart at once. Gored, the ancient Cyclopean flew into an insane rage and attacked everything within reach of his massive club. Aided by the confusion, Prescote the Sage overwhelmed the triad of chaos sorcerers and incinerated them with a sphere of rainbow flame. Unstoppable, the orb rolled on and drove the mad boars away from Breakbow’s lines, towards the enemy leadership.

The summoner coven was trampled and their gate became a vortex, sucking in allies instead of summoning reinforcements. The Riftmaster screamed orders, but at last his entourage broke and abandoned him. The craven palanquin-bearers left his bloated body defenseless in the dirt.

Against all odds, Breakbow’s band of misfits carried the day.

As his rage subsided, Barak Breakbow stood soaked in blood. He turned about, looking for more foes but all were fled. The blood of fallen felsteeds burned like phosphorous. The Chaos Knights lay vanquished, their wicked armor cracked apart by berserk fury. With great care the other leaders edged closer to Breakbow, eyes wide with astonishment.

“What happened?” Breakbow asked. Rage had no memory.

“The Emperor’s grace preserved us,” said Gunag Doreson, Captain of the Halberdiers. He made the sign of the Holy Hammer over his breast.

“Was that what saved you?” Hilg Stonesthrow rolled his eyes. The leader of the Shieldbearers had no patience for mystics.

“I think we were simply too chaotic for the forces of Chaos,” suggested Cinabinathi, Purest of the Hawkbows. She favored them with a dazzling smile. It was her shriek-shot that ended the Beastmaster and started the chain reaction. Breakbow stared into her green eyes, captured by her tranquility. The elf stared back in recognition. Her task was done, her purpose attained, the archer’s trance slipped away and she as someone else. Breakbow could understand completely. Only in these blood-soaked moments after battle did he ever feel at peace.

Hilg Stonesthrow’s jaw moved from side to side and he snorted in disapproval.

“I don’t know what happened but I’ll tell you one thing, it’ll never happen again. We used up a lifetime of luck in a single battle. You’re no general, Barak Breakbow.”

“Never claimed I was,” Breakbow met Hilg’s stare. Hilg quickly looked away. “But, I agree with you. This ragtag band decided to follow me, but I can never lead. When the madness takes me, I take chances no force can afford. An army cannot be led by one destined for death.”

Again, Cinabinathi’s eyes found Barak and burned him to his core. He sensed his battle was not over.

“What of you, Prescote?” Hilg pressed the sage. The ancient wizard shook his head.

“It would be a mistake. I am too old. My mind is weighted down with the histories of a thousand defeats.”

They all turned back to Barak Breakbow.

“I cannot lead, but who among you can? Hilg knows only defense. Gungag would throw our fates in the hands of his absent emperor. The dwarves would buck under elven leadership.”

Cinabinathi raised an eyebrow, her smile flashed again. Hairs rose at the back of Barak’s neck.

Mercifully, Prescote the Sage broke the tension.

“Alliances such as this ours are not without precedent. Since the dawn of time, great hordes have risen and threatened to swallow the Arc. Always, those beset have combined forces to resist them. Three days north, there is a secret place, sacred to the elves. May I speak of it?” Prescote looked to Cinabinthi for permission.

“The tomb of the peacemaker, Abaxios Oslune,” she said, with reverence.

“A general?” Hilg asked.

“A diplomat. Long before there were dwarves, Abaxios wove together three kingdoms in the face of a tide of evil. But when the foe was overcome and the danger was done, the alliance crumbled into infighting. Heartbroken, Abaxios forsook the world. Our queens still make pilgrimage to his tomb to reflect on his lessons.”

“Sounds elvish,” Hilg snorted and turned to Prescote. “What do you propose? Negotiating with Clan Bla’Claw?”

“Of course not. But if our band were to unearth this tomb and recover a powerful relic, word would spread. Many warriors would join us, eager to be part of a legend,” Prescote said.

“Is there even a relic there?” Barak asked.

“There might be. There might not be. It’s not so important what we find. What matters is the story we create,” Prescote said.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

The leaders looked at each other and nodded.

Desperate times.

* * *

“No way. There’s NO WAY!” Vlad looked down at his dice in despair. The table broke into howls of delight. The battle was over.

“I can’t believe it!” Duncan shouted. He’d laughed so hard there were tears in his eyes.

Every other table was abandoned. Everyone in Duke Games had gathered around Robin’s table to watch the end of their battle. It was the absolute worst run of luck any of them had ever seen. First, Vlad’s charge provoked an attack of opportunity from Robin’s Berserkers. The Chaos Knights relied heavily on their Aura of Dread for defense, but Berserkers’ fanatical morale negated it completely. He rolled poorly and lost the entire unit. This triggered the First Blood perk, the Berserkers gained full rage immediately. This let them gain an extra attack die each turn, later in the battle they would be a major problem.

Vlad had scoffed when Robin’s Hawkbows targeted the Beastmaster. With his twin armor buffs from Dogs of War and March of the Pigs, it was highly unlikely the archers could even wound him. The first five shots had no effect, it seemed the volley was a complete waste. Then, Robin rolled the red die for the squad leader, Cinabinathi.

Critical hit!

A critical meant the Beastmaster’s armor was negated. Still, it had eighteen wounds. It should have been able to weather a single arrow. Robin rolled for damage and got a six. Vlad winced, sixes exploded on crit. Robin rolled again, another six. Vlad swore. That was the moment the whole room took notice. Robin rolled again.

Six!

Triple six, Beastmaster down on turn one! It was the worst possible time, with all his units still close together in formation. Roll after roll, the situation grew from bad to tragic. The Cyclopean going mad was just a risk one took by putting the powerful unit on the roster, but the rift implosion was the absolute worst result on the chart. By the end of turn two, the Cohort of Chaos had almost completely destroyed itself. The entire game room cheered when the Riftmaster’s entourage lost a morale roll and abandoned the general.

Robin looked around the room, stunned by the result. He’d expected to lose his first game, especially when he saw he was facing Vlad. The consensus was that Chaos was cheap this season, almost as bad as Goblins. Once the summoners got going, it was almost impossible to overcome the flood of demons. Some players thought it was a marketing trick to get people to buy tons of chaos figurines. Apparently, none of that mattered if the coven was crushed in round one.

If Robin was stunned, Vlad was in shock. He shook his head over and over, aghast at the ruins of his army. He’d never expected to lose a ranked match to Robin’s Remnants.

Robin was the only one who’d showed up for ‘new player Saturday.’ Because he didn’t have an army of his own, the other players had loaned him units to assemble his patchwork army. Many, like the Berserkers and the Hawkbows came from the store case. These were armies Duncan had painted and abandoned when the rules shifted and the factions fell out of favor.

“Screw this. I’m going home,” Vlad announced. He opened his flight case and began to pack the forces of Chaos away.

“Oh? Will Clan Bla’Claw be forfeiting their next match?” Duncan crowed.

“No, I don’t feel good.”

“I wouldn’t feel good either if I got wiped by a newbie,” said Chuck. Chuck was a Templar player, his Flammebeaux the Heresy Hunter was in Vlad’s trophy case. He’d been the first to sidle over to soak in Vlad’s undoing.

“You can’t just bail on the main event because your second army got trounced,” Bill spoke up. He was a short, pale boy with ginger hair. His Chaos Warlocks were #3 on the leaderboard and scheduled to face Vlad’s goblins in the second round of battles.

“Watch me.”

All around the room eyes rolled. Robin got the sense this wasn’t the first time Vlad had done something like this.

Duncan picked up the Riftmaster, a moment before Vlad could.

“What are you doing?” Vlad asked. “That’s mine.”

“Was yours. You lost.”

“That’s not even a regulation army! He doesn’t have a general,” Vlad hissed.

“He does now. You were happy enough to pick up a ranked match against a brand new player to pad your stats. Now pay the price.”

“No! You can’t get that model anymore. They’re sold out everywhere. You all saw that BS. It was a complete fluke.”

“By chaos undone. Kind of ironic, really.” Sandy piped up. He’d lost to the summoners just last week. His Imperials were ranked dead last, but they were the best looking army in the store. Both of his parents were artists. His rank and file were painted better than the other players’ generals. His banners were miniature masterpieces, painted on vellum aged in coffee. Every painting contest Duke Games held was just a race for second place.

“Hey,” Robin said. “It was just bad luck. You can keep your general.”

Every other boy in the room but Vlad shouted some variant of “you can’t do that!” Robin was startled by the outcry.

“Kid, you HAVE to take his general. It’s a ranked match, that’s the rule. He knew the stakes when he agreed to play you,” Duncan said. “Now if Vlad wants to trade you something to get it back, that’s between you two. Might be a good way to get your own army started.”

“I’ll give you five bucks,” Vlad offered.

“Hah! Don’t fall for it Robin. The unpainted Riftmaster set is $7.99. I bet Vlad spent three days painting the palanquin and general, probably another two for the retinue.”

“More like a week,” Vlad admit.

“The Riftmaster is out of stock everywhere, everyone’s trying to get in on the Chaos cheese right now,” Duncan poured on. He was loving every minute of this.

“Ten bucks,” Vlad offered.

Robin couldn’t believe it. Ten dollars! That was halfway to an army. But he had no idea how he’d get the other ten. He glanced down at the makeshift army.

“How about this? I’ll give your Riftmaster back,” Robin dangled, looking up at Vlad. Behind his thick glasses, his eyes bulged. He wanted it bad.

“In exchange, you give me Duncan’s Gorthar, Chuck’s Flammebeaux, and Sandy’s Skitterlord.”

“Three for one? No way,” Vlad scoffed.

“Well, the general’s pretty good right? And hard to get. Maybe I’ll just build my own Chaos army with it,” Robin bluffed.

“Be my guest.”

“Or, if you trade me those three, here’s what I’d do. I’d trade you guys your generals back for the units you loaned me. That’s the Berserkers, the Hawkbows, the Halberdiers, and the Shieldbearers.”

“Holy crow. What a swindle!” Sandy shook his head. “This kid’s out for blood.”

“I mean, you don’t use them anymore, right? They’re leftovers,” Robin added.

“I’d take that deal,” Duncan said.

“Same here,” Chuck added.

“Me too,” Sandy agreed.

“Well I wouldn’t. No way,” Vlad crossed his arms over his chest.

“I tell you what, I’ll give you twenty bucks for the Riftmaster,” Bill produced a crisp twenty dollar bill.

A few boys whistled.

“That’s nuts, Bill.”

“Small price to pay. I’ve been trying to find the model for months. That’s the only reason I went warlocks,” Bill explained. “If I can get the Riftmaster, his goblins are in big trouble.”

“I’ll take the deal,” Vlad said quietly. He thrust his hand over the table at Robin.

Robin reached out and shook. The game room burst into cheers. The boys applauded as Vlad repatriated each general.

Robin couldn’t believe it. In a single move he’d gained a fame and an army. Everyone knew him now. He returned the Riftmaster to Vlad.

“It was just dumb luck,” Robin admitted.

Vlad pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose and stared right at Robin.

“I won’t forget this,” Vlad promised.