**Writer's Note: This was my submission as part of the the "Animosity Campaign" for Age of Sigmar in 2020. Animosity is a narrative/modelling/gaming campaign based on the world of Age of Sigmar that's running world-wide. This years campaign is set in the Realm of Shyish, next to Lake Bykaal. It's most noticeable difference from standard Age of Sigmar is that all of the armies are split into "coalitions". This is designed to split up the Order mega-alliance so that other factions actually had a chance of winning against the many and varied good guys. As such my Beastmen are part of a faction called "The Wretched" with Skaven and some Slaves of Darkness, while the opposing faction in the below submission is a group called "The Soulmuncherz" a grouping of Orruks/Ogors/Gloomspite Gitzs and Idoneth Deepkin. If you're interested my leader is "Bray-Shaman Moonhide" and the army is the "Misthorned".**

**Writer's Note: P.S. There's no Age of Sigmar tag that I can find on Fanfiction .net, only 40k and Fantasy. This is clearly closer to Fantasy than 40k, so here it is!**

It takes an extraordinary leader to keep a group of orruks from charging off into battle. This bellowing orruk boss had been charging round and round their gigantic camp bullying each mob of orruk and ogor under his command into staying put for days. Herds of ungor raiders had surrounded the camp and were losing arrows from a distance onto the impatient orruks. Whenever a mob of orruks or tribe of ogors charged off after the tantalizingly out of reach, spindly-boned ungors into the dessicated woodlands to the west or into the jagged rocks of Gali's Hooks to the east of the camp they would never be seen again.

With a snort of amusement Moonhide watched as another mob of orruks, blood pumping in their ears and weapons gripped tightly, charged off towards the distant rocks of Gali's Hooks. While the camp boss was on the far side of the assembled hide tents shouting at his ogor allies not to charge off into the dessicated woodlands this mob of orruks, having become frustrated with their bosses vicious command to wait, decided to take matters into their own hands.

Moonhide had perched himself on top of a wrecked supply cart like a malevolent bird, his keen eyes taking in all the comings and goings of the besieged camp as he waited. The ungors were cowardly enough to stay at least a bowshot away from the furious orruks and hungry ogors without needing to be leashed or ordered, and they were malicious enough to take great pleasure from firing crude arrows into the mass of tents where the orruk boss had made camp.

For nearly six days now, the grisly routine had continued, and the ravenous Ogors had taken to eating any of their allies who fell, sometimes they'd pick the arrows out first. Any convoy that tried to bring food or reinforcements to the motley gathering of tents had to travel through the vast wilderness expanse of jagged mountains and dead trees. None had made it past the savage attentions of the Gors and the cart Moonhide was perched on had been part of one such convoy.

It was with a bestial cunning that he'd order the supplies taken from any wrecked convoys thrown into a stolen cauldron he taken from one of the ogors who'd run a little too far into the forest. He'd watched as the bloodpelt ungors had gathered any chunk of meat they could from their previous ambushes to add to the growing broth in the cauldron. Great roaring orange flames licked the edges of the sickening and bubbling broth. The bloodpelt herd weren't skilful chefs by any measure, but after so many days without food the ogors were moments away from charging off into the forest after the intoxicating smell of bubbling meat to fill their rumbling stomachs, despite the orruk bosses assertions of dominance.

The boss knew he was trapped in an invisible net of arrows, strung across their make-shift tents from the shredding stones to the dried woodlands that bordered Lake Bykaal. He could feel the cunning of the beasts' siege, but there was little he could do without allies, and so on the second day he'd sent his best Gore-gruntas charging off into the distance to summon help.

Moonhide knew on instinct that orruks and ogors were not known for their patience and he'd watched with glee as the army was slowly bleeding away. As he picked the gristly remnants of his last meal out of his teeth he heard in the distance the ethereal sound of aelven horns floating on the heavy winter winds and he smiled a wicked grin.

The winter winds whipped against bare namarti flesh. None would stop their long-limbed strides for the sake of fire or comfort as they cut through the leafless forest. Their higher-caste brethren had decreed all haste must be made towards the camp of Boss Zoglok, and so the unsighted namarti had continued their mile-eating pace all the way from Poznyy.

The brutish snorting of the accompanying gruntas grated against their refined sense. Each namarti was aware that they were to be accompanied by the orruk messengers who had brought the dire news, but none had realised they would smell THIS bad after four days of hard travel.

The aelven reinforcements were led by noble eel-riding akhelians, whose mounts yelped and bucked against their reins as the scents of the bloody forest around them flooded their nostrils with exciting and tasty diversions. It was only as the assembled aelves had come within reach of Zoglok's camp had the eels agitated yelps become even more pronounced. The beast's simple minds had to constantly be reigned in by their riders with sharp yanks of their reins and soothing words, lest they charge off into the unforgiving wilds.

A clearing opened up in-front of them as they passed through the last of the wind-bitten trees. The light slaps of namarti sandels against the packed snow of the forest abruptly ceased. Their precise movements and orderly ranks of aelven bodies in sharp contrast to the chaotic mess that was the gore-gruntas who barrelled across the clearing to report back to their leader.

Talisedeia had come to expect Zoglok's camp to be unkempt, but where she expected filth and grime she instead only saw collapsed tents and distant flicking fires across the open clearing. Once before she had camped beside orruks and it had been a loud, smelly, and unpleasant experience, nothing like the sight that greeted her here.

The silence was unnerving. The fading sound of gore-gruntas charging off left the aelven ranks in nervous silence. She strained her ears for some sign of life, only to be greeted by the winds whipping through the leafless trees and the jangling of fangmora reins. She faintly heard the crackle of a fire laced with the bubbling sound of some sickening smelling meal being cooked in the distance. The quiet and familiar sounds of the ethersea's waves echoed uncomfortably amongst her warriors.

"Can you see what foul spirits have done this honoured Tidecaster?" Noyathua, the lochian prince, broke the eerie silence with the question on every aelfs mind.

"At least a hundred orruk and ogors were garrisoned here. I see now but a spent force."

As if in response to the question a sound started in the distance. First it was the scattered sound of distant horns being blown, almost indistinct from the wintry winds that buffeted this cursed place. As it grew it tapped into the deep well of discomfort in the pit of each aelfs stomach. Within a few heartbeats, the distant noise had become a deep rumble of uncounted cloven hooves racing towards them and the clearing echoed with the sounds of countless crude horns.

Reforming with speed and grace the namarti turned to face whatever this new threat was. They turned to see a pair of colossal humanoid monstrosities crashing through trees which reached up to their waists. Their muscular arms were as large as a fangmora eel and each held chunks of rune-carved stones the size of the largest ogors torn from the very fabric of magic-laden buildings in their meaty hands.

With a sickening feeling deep in her stomach, Talisedeia realised that both of these creatures only had one single glowing cyclopean eye each and both of those malicious orbs were unerringly staring at her, through the magical concealment of the ethersea which her host relied on. Her magic was a beacon to the ensorcelled eyes of the cygors and the magical ethersea merely guided their unending hunger towards their prey.

With an almighty grunt the first of the pair threw a rune-carved column like a javelin unerringly towards the aelven ranks. It dug a deep furrow through them scattering the broken bodies of namarti into the air like dolls being flung about. The column passed a hairbreadth from Talisedeia and with a vile crunch sped through the spot where prince Noyathua had been mounted moments before.

Only a heartbeat later a herd of monstrous taurine creatures burst from their concealed places in the woods, followed by a numberless horde of human-like figures with short, stumpy horns and patchy manes of fur which charged towards the aelven army with spears in hand and sadistic glee on their faces. The taurine creatures equalled the largest ogor in size Talisedeia had ever seen and even they with their horned frames barrelling towards the aelven lines were enough to shake the bravest hearts as they raised their viciously large axes in celebration of the battle to come.

The final group of monstrosities that emerged from the woods was a small group of monstrous eels, each as tall at three humans and all as long as a house. Each had two great chiropteran wing-limbs which excitedly flapped in a valiant attempt to propel each of the beasts forwards the fastest. Their grotesquely graceful body was clearly of aelven origin, but some demented sculptor had warped and twisted the beasts into something unnatural. The delighted beasts could sense some twisted kinship with the Idoneth arrayed against them, and their warped brains drove their many heads towards their unprepared cousins.

From his place of safety atop the broken cart, Moonhide drew deeply from the magic which surrounded him since he first ascended to his place as shaman. He drew the raw power he felt from the savage energy his plan had created and focused the scent of each act of violence and bloodshed that had been done upon these lands into its warping powerful energies. The minds of the charging bullgors were like arrows, focused upon their small prey ahead, but they eagerly accepted the images and scents of the magic he was imbuing them with. Moonhide's power drove the muscled bullgors to new heights of recklessness and savagery as they barrelled towards the aelven lines.

Warcries rose from the remaining namarti's throats as they charged towards the oncoming horde like sandcastles charging the rushing tide. Their cries were echoed by the fearsome howls from the fangmora eels and the warrior-nobles which were mounted on them. In the distance a second booming cry of Waaagh! could be heard from Zoglok's camp, the remaining ogors and orruks began their long charge to help their allies against the monstrosities that had emerged from the forest.

Like the tide crashing upon the shore, the two lines met with a sickening crunch.

Their aelven trickery and the strength of their brutish accomplices may have swept Moonhide's ratkin allies from the surface of Poznyy, but they had found out why this land was had been ruled by the beastkind for generations and they had seen with their last moments why a bored ratkin is something to be feared.