Bargain-Basement end times (Part I)

The armies stood silently at either end of the plain, silhouetted in the pre-dawn gloom. Every eye was fixed  on the figures between the armies. The first stood taller than any mortal man, wearing a cascade of bronze scales as if it were a simple robe. He inclined his head to his opposite number: A stalwart dwarf born  upon a shield by his bodyguard. The dwarf spoke thusly: "What's happened to Archaon then? Couldn't make his own End Times?"

"He's off sick with the 'flu. What about Valthern?"

"He double booked. He's off fighting Nagash in the next valley over."

Both ersatz champions shuffled their feet. This was how the world ended, not with a bang but a whimper...

Here are a bunch of Dwarfs that all look identical because I'm rubbish at taking photos. Crossbows and cannons on the right, assorted Axe-wielders on the left. Hammerers plus General in the middle.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I've played a game against another human being! I present to you this cringe-inducing narrative battle report to sate your thirst for fanfic!

This is the best quality photo I could find. Chaos knights in foreground, Infantry and Trolls in centre, Cavalry and chariot in the distance.

Bjorn Bennisson clutched at his aching head. They had all drank deep of the Bugman's xxxxx at the pre-victory booze up the night before, and now they were paying the price. Where the Dwarfs had hoped to get a few volleys in before the armies clashed, the Hordes of Chaos now raced across the plain unmolested. The Stout shields of the Warriors lead by their King in the plain, the miners holding the left flank, and the Artillery and Crossbows perched atop the hill. All suffering from the drink... 

"Fire the cannon!" came the order from the messenger. 

"Don't fire the cannon," Bjorn Countermanded "Until someone's fetched me a paracetamol!"

After my first turn: In a stroke of tactical ingenuity, I decide to move everyone forward as quickly as possible... 

Sir Rupert de Poncey urged his monstrous steed ever onward. They must reach the Dwarven gunline before- the world exploded into noise and fire. Terrible screams of men and horses rent the air as the dread war-machines of the Dwarfs spat death into the ranks. The vanguard of the knights was slain almost to a man, yet still they rode on, cool desire for revenge tempering their battle-frenzy. Perhaps their desperate mission to silence the Dwarven guns might succeed, Rupert mused...

...with the exception of my Marauder Horsemen, who are in perfect position to threaten the Dwarven flank.

Foredwarf Snorri Coal-face felt distinctly uncomfortable this far above ground, and worse, isolated at the extreme flank of the battle-line. He'd much rather be examining some interesting new strata or shoring up a gallery than watching light cavalry maneouver worrying in his face. As the horsemen wheeled ever closer to his rear, he decided that decisive action was in order: "Erm, shuffle back a bit lads, no sense in getting killed too early."*

That would do, he thought, time for a tea-break.

Curse you, dice gods! Paul's cannon misfires on the first shot.

The knights hurtled ever closer to the thin line of dwarves fumbling to reload their crossbows. The last few hundered paces rushed by in a moment as the remnants of the vanguard pounced upon the foe-in vain! At the last moment the disciplined Dwarves loosed a terrible volley and the cavalry were cut down before they reached the line. For a moment it seemed as if the storm had been weathered, when from out of the fog of war thundered a fresh host of cavalry.

The marksdwarves never stood a chance, their line was too thin, their armour too little, their weapons too slow. The frenzied knights slew all in their path, running down those who fled with terrible glee

Half an inch, half an inch, half an inch onwards, into the Valley of Death rode the Chaos Knights.

The battle was proceeding according to plan, or at least, as far as Lord Heckled Allbrass could perceive. The fragmented visions of present, past and future granted to him by his ensorcelled helm promised him by turns glorious victory and shameful defeat, and it taxed him to his limits to separate the threads of truth from the fog of lies.

His knights had overrun the Dwarven left flank, and the marauder horsemen were poised to do the same to the right. If they could reposition themselves quickly enough, the terrible strength of the Warriors of Chaos would surely result in victory...

End of turn 2: The Dwarven left flank is completely exposed, but the Chaos knights are badly out of position.

*Actually this was a rather cunning move by Paul which ensured that he wouldn't be flanked by my cavalry...