Savage Orc Tournament, Day #2: Fools Rasher In

vs Ogres 

This was more promising, Skullfink thought. Ogres weren't like those other sneaky armies: they got stuck in for proper bashing, orc-style. He was so pleased to see the brutish mobs lumbering towards them, he dropped the Foot of Gork on the Ironguts as a welcome.

The surviving Ironguts took fright at this, but just to show there were no hard feelings, the other ogres responded with a couple of cannonballs that peppered the boarboyz and felled a few Big 'Uns. Marvellous fun!

After the formalities were over, it was time to get to the real business of the day. Da Bone 'Eadz were set to dance with the Bruiser-led Bulls, and Skullfink would hate to arrive underdressed. With a swift prayer to Gork, he acquired a pair of monstrous fists that fitted over his mitts like outsize gloves.

The Big 'Uns crashed into the Bulls and started thumping away. Skullfink's massive fists wielded a pair of delicate fencer's blades (long-since looted from an elf corpse) to cut a bloody swathe through their enemies. To his left, a unit of boarboyz also tried to charge down the cannon-wielding ogres, only to disappear in a cloud of grey smoke, leaving only the smell of gunpowder and barbecued pork.

What remained of the ogres quickly gave up the fight and were run down, but Skullfink did not have to look far for more dancing partners. The rhinox-driven cannon smashed into their front, just as the recently-rallied Ironguts thumped into their side.

In a frenzy of attacks, the savage orcs beat down and chased off both units, before calling down Gork's wrath to crush the remaining Leadbelchers.

Skullfink lifted his ramhorn helmet and wiped the sweat from his brow. Now that was a battle!

WoffBoot VI - Ogre Kingdoms vs Lizardmen

M'grash, at camp, picked the last of a morsel of food from his teeth with a rat femur. They were a little stringy, and not much meat on each one, but thankfully the general of the Skaven had thought to bring so many that the ogres had fed well.
A worried K'mang entered the butcher's tent and explained that the supplies were running low. The ogres had feasted well, and were getting restless. There must be more of the meat out on the field of battle, so M'grash picked up his crown and spiked glove and stormed out of the tent.
"Right boys, we is 'eading back to the field o' battle; thoz runty rats tasted alright, but there werent much on 'em..."
K'mang picked up her beard and strapped it to her face, preparing herself for battle. She prepared a potion just in case she bumped into any more of those pesky vampires; and readied herself.
M'grash led his boys back to the earlier battlefield but there other interlopers who had perhaps found the same find.
Hideous blue skinned reptilian creatures skittered and picked at the corpses.
"OI! Thems my pickings lizard boy"
That was enough of a battle cry that was needed for the hungry ogres, and the bulls moved forward. The mammoth followed up ponderously, tusks swinging as its heavy feet shook the ground underfoot. The belchers, still conscious to prove themselves after their defeat with the spiders earlier were careful to lag back, loading their cannons.
As soon as the lizards considered moving the belchers lit their fuses and aimed roughly in the general direction of the bigger lizards and closed their eyes and hoped... KABOOM!
When they opened them again, two of the cavalry were falling down the hill cripped with axeblades and other weaponry embedded in them.
K'mang, passed one of M'grash one of her brews, who necked down the tasty brew and the hardy gruel tasted good.
The cavalry charged down the hill towards M'grash; and crashed into the ogre.

WoffBoot VI - Orcs and Goblins vs Lizardmen

Gnashbad moved the boys later that night, heading along the edges of the Howling River and deeper into the foothills of the World's Edge mountains. Dawn found them marching through a valley on the fringes of a little wood.

As the morning sun lit the low hills opposite them, Gnashbad realised they were not alone.

"Wot da Zog are dose?" he asked. The black-cowled shaman at his side squinted furiously against the rising sun. Several well-organised of blue-skinned, scaly warriors sat quietly there, basking in the early light. Bronze glyph plates gleamed in the rosy dawn.

"Big lizzids, innit, boss," the mushroom-addled magician said, confidently.

"Wot? Lizzids? Don't muck me about, ya little runt. Dey's too big."

"Nah, not ordin'ry lizzids. Big magic ones. Dey come out of da stone rings round 'ere sumtimes."

"Ain't urd o dem," said the black orc, dubiously. But he'd decided, he was going to take the shaman seriously now. If the fidgeting gobbo said they were big lizards, that's what they were.

"You'll like 'em, boss," said the shaman. "Taste like chicken."

"Chicken, eh? Right! Bashmad! Drum us a marching choon. Time for fightin'!"

A raucous cheer rattled up from the orcs. More fighting! Gnashbad was alright, past his stuffy black orc exterior. Four fights in two days! That was... that was more than Bashmad could count!

WoffBoot VI - Dogs of Empire vs Lizardmen

On the second day, the Enterprise of Campogrotta found the Lizardmen.

None of the mercenaries, even those who come from beyond the Old World, had seen foes like this. Masses of amphibian javelineers, backed by scaly titans. Mighty winged steeds with neither quill nor feather. Vicious reptile-beasts riding savage bipedal lizards.

The strange army gathered at the far end of the valley, aping the Tileans' own military formations. Two solid blocks of javelineers, one either side of a small copse. The lizard-knights on the left flank, the winged monsters circling behind.

Commissar Pendleton narrowed his eyes. He reckoned he could get five gold crowns for every turquoise feather headband, and two-dozen good quality handbags if he could get the big ones back to a decent leathermaker.

He gave a sharp whistle through his teeth. The Riders of Udolpho galloped forward, circling around the lizard-knights and unleashing a deadly hail of bullets. The reptile steeds loped forward, heading for the main battle lines through the clearing gunpowder smoke. They didn't even seem to know they had been fired upon.

Seeking easier prey, the pistoliers discovered a little newt-creature, skulking by himself at the rear of the lines. Laughing and joking among themselves, the bravos who had yesterday felled a giant took careful aim. The slimy thing just stood there, blinking slowly, flicking its tongue and ruffling its frilled crest.

SHAZAM! A shock of mighty thunderbolts crashed down upon the Riders. When the dust had cleared, every horseman was dead or fled.