With Sir Ulric off recuperating while overseeing the construction of a new mine, the Mad Monk was despatched to assault Mount Bloodhorn. With plenty of artillery in tow he planed to batter the fortress walls to the ground, and any that remained standing would be subject to the attentions of Arthur Brown, the Fire Wizard who had been bribed into joining the campaign with a shiny Doomfire Ring. As the army marched on the fastness, they found themselves facing off against an unexpected enemy.
A hasty gunline was deployed upon the hill they had just crossed when they saw the enemy arrayed against them. As the enemy advanced a few arrows peppered down amongst the ranks, though against such magically charged opponents the men of the Empire were fortunate that the winds of magic were blowing tamely. It was then the Empire turn to volley back and show those pointy ears the peril of remaining in the dark ages of the bow... welcome to gunpowder!
As the cannons and mortars roared the elves were decimated. Half the spearmen, half the corsairs, half the crossbowmen... reaped like wheat in the field. The bolt thrower was obliterated in a shower of splinters. The return fire was again desultary at best, and the winds of magic again failed to blow into life. The remaining spears attempted to charge the Empire lines, though the fire from the handgunners perhaps made them check their charge. The flaggellents roared out in counter attack, along with the Steam tank. They cut through the enemy with ease. The spearmen realligned and Arthur went to cast a flame cage around the cold one knights. The feeble winds decided at this point to turn. The flame scorched a few nights, but the magical backlash obliterated a third of the Spearmen and left just a pair of smoking boots in Arthurs spot.
Not to be stopped now, the Empire artillery continued to make the Dark Elves pay. A cannon shot left a very poorly Hydra, and as the steam tank moved in to engage the remaining corsairs and the flagellents came round for a second charge, the Dark Elves realised the battle was over and fled the field.
As powerful a show of force as this had been, a lot of the ammo for the siege had been expended. They would have to try again next week... but then a message arrived from Sir Ulric. They must make haste to the coast immediately. Now it was odd that he'd written in very poor English and had written it on a leaf that smelled distinctly of swamp water, but orders are orders, so sending a message to send supplies to the coast to rendevous with, the Mad Monk marched away from Mount Bloodhorn and northwards.
Three days later, a very scorched and very naked Arthur stumbled upon the army. They hastily threw some robes around him. He seemed catatonic... right up until the point that they started waving shiny trinkets under his nose. That got him to snap right out of it...