Grimgor and Crom rush to engage in single combat.

n a bloodthirsty flood from the north, the Kurgan came. They flooded into the Great Skull Land as locusts over crops, a massive horde seething and roiling like a dark tide - a host of wild-eyed Kurgan tribesmen following a single, mighty lord, savage and eager for battle. There was no doubt as to who this warrior was for his followers chanted his name as they marched, thousands upon thousands of voices howling his name to the sky so that the Gods of Chaos would know the progress of their champion. This was the army of Crom the Conqueror, Bringer of the Storm, Herald of Archaon.

The horde was relentless as it crossed the tundra. Greenskin tribes that were caught in its path were crushed, helpless before the inexorable might of Crom's host. At the head of the army, outriders and scouts rode down Dwarf Rangers, the lucky ones slain in battle, the unlucky ones sacrificed slowly to the honour of the Gods. Dwarf patrols were crushed, gyrocopters were brought down in smoke and flames; Crom's horde stretched as far as the eye could see and it seemed that none could stand against it.

There was one who would however. Before the tide of Chaos could break against the Dwarven defences to the west, an unexpected obstacle arose before it. As Crom led his army into the foothills below the High Pass he found his way blocked by rank upon rank of Orcs and Goblins. Unlike others who had opposed him before, these Greenskins appeared well-ordered and battle-ready. This was the army of Grimgor Ironhide who, having tired of the poor challenges offered by the raiding marauders of the north, had eagerly marched forth from the High Pass at the prospect of testing himself against a truly worthy opponent.

It was not yet fully light when the two armies met, the sun just rising from behind the Mountains of Mourn. Two great battle-lines stretched from horizon to horizon, threaded amongst giant skeletons of creatures long since forgotten, hundreds of warriors swarming like insects on the snowy plains. For what seemed like an eternity, Greenskins and humans stared at each other across the expanse of unbroken snow in eerie silence. Suddenly, as if by a pre-arranged signal, the warcries of both armies split the morning air, melding together in a cacophony of challenge. As the sound faded away into the chill north wind the two armies began to advance, the footfalls of thousands of feet echoing back from the mountains. The greatest battle ever seen in the Dark Lands had begun.

The 'Ardboyz charge forth to meet the Chaos horde.

The two colossal armies collided with a sound like thunder, their fury staining the snow with blood. The Kurgan warriors fought for their lord like men possessed, their frantic swings with axe and flail slaying Greenskins in droves. The Orcs were indifferent to their own casualties, wielding their rusty cleavers and blunt swords with brutal force, hacking down hundreds of humans in return. On the flanks the savage horsemen of the Yasuk tribe fought for supremacy with the Goblins of the foothills, slavering wolves and warhorses lashing out with fang, claw and hoof as readily as their riders hewed at each other with notched and primitive blades. Boar riders thundered deep into the ranks of the marauders, their snarling mounts trampling and goring as many men as the Orcs speared, only to find themselves crushed in a countercharge by the tall and brutal knights of the Tokmars, their armour shining like brass in the morning sun. Black-flighted Orc arrows darkened the sky, raining down on the shields of the Kurgan warriors. Chariots thundered between the bones of the massive skeletons, crushing them to powder under spiked wheels, their scythes cleaving men and Orcs in vast numbers. Huge Orc war machines hurled massive boulders deep into the ranks of the marauders, their impact tossing aside the broken and ruined bodies in a shower of blood and flesh, but it seemed for every Kurgan slain, another would take his place, and another, and another.

Crom hacked and raged at the very heart of the fighting. Leading his own tribe of the Kul, he carved a path through the Greenskin horde. He roared with laughter at the charge of the boar riders, cleaving them from their mounts with great sweeps of his sword. Taking up his axe he disembowelled a Savage Orc Chieftain and crushed his retinue with contemptuous ease. His challenges rang out across the battlefield, urging his gods to send him an opponent equal to his might and skill. As Crom felled an Orc Shaman his eyes were drawn across the battlefield, his gaze met by the steely stare of Grimgor Ironhide. In a moment of recognition both warriors knew that in the other was a foe worth fighting. They fought through the churning mass of bodies, each eager for a true challenge, and with roars of triumph they clashed in the very centre of the battlefield.

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