Tuesday, 27 January 2015

Mines of Morag: Night Goblins vs Warriors of Chaos


Shroom peered over the cauldron, burying his face in the green steam like he was peering through a curtain. There were great disturbances in the outside world: old powers rising and new calamities in store. If the Word of Mork was to be believed, even their own underground caves would not be spared.

"Wocher, Shroom," Blacktoe sauntered up. "Got a cup a' fungus brew fer me?"

Shroom handed a beaker of viscous liquid to his warboss, who downed it in one gulp.

"Tintoof's lads say a bunch of humies fought their way into our mines," he said, wiping his chin. "Smashed through da western gate and chased off all da guards. Cowardly gits."

The warboss looked pointedly at Shroom for an explanation. Blacktoe might be sneaky and cowardly and possessed of many fine goblin virtues, but he relied on the great shaman for strategic insight. Shroom leaned over the cauldron once more and pinched the bridge of his long nose, sending out two streams of snot into the mixture.

"Dey are humies of da ruinous powers," Shroom examined the yellow trails in the mixture. "Same ones dat gave Bonekrunk's Waaagh! a good hiding a few weeks ago."

Blacktoe chuckled at the thought. Everyone south of Mad Dog Pass had enjoyed a good laugh at the Savage Warboss' expense. "Why have dey come 'ere?"

Three floating bogeys arranged themselves into a triangle and the truth was revealed to Shroom in strange words. "Dey want to capture da Well of Corruption."

"Wot? Da fountain in the vaults dat makes all the lads sick when dey get close?"

"Da very one."

"Well, if dey want it, so do we." Blacktoe hitched up his belt. "Let's wake up da squigs."


Mind the Stalactite!

It's All-Skype Fight Night!

In an attempt to hide from the hideous swathe of cynical money-grabs apocalyptic events that are sweeping the Warhammer world, we're heading underground! I am Stylus, and will be writing in this honest sonsie font.

Having already segregated my greenskins list into a Savage Orcs army, I decided my next assault on everyone's favourite Nurgle warband would be goblins-only. But why burden myself with devastating artillery and a half-decent Ld level? Not me - this battle is happening beneath the surface, so it's Night Goblins all the way!

Meantime, Slave to the Fluffness that I am, I'm sticking with the mess that Phlothos is leaving in his wake. 

Previously, his shaman Morag has been sucked into the Realms of Chaos, returned as a Daemon Prince and then been killed by Sigvald the Magnificent in person. Bereft of her nursing skills, Phlothos is looking to bury her with full honours in the Well of Corruption.


Orcs & Goblins - Night Goblins

As you'll see from the bases, this is an army in transition.

  • Blacktoe, Night Goblin Warboss (General) - Shield, Armour of Fortune. Potion of Toughness. Luckstone.
  • Shroom, Night Goblin Great Shaman - Lv4, Talisman of Preservation. Scroll of Shielding
    • Sneaky Stabbin', Vindictive Glare, Itchy Nuisance, Curse of da Bad Moon
  • Tintoof, Night Goblin WarbossLight Armour, Enchanted Shield
  • Dropstitch, Night Goblin BSB - Light Armour, Shield. Standard of Discipline
  • DipStik, Night Goblin Shaman - Lv1 Dispel Scroll
    • Sneaky Stabbin'
  • 30 x Night Goblin Spears - Spears, Shields. Netters. Command Group. 3 x Fanatics
  • 30 x Night Goblin Archers - Bows. Netters. Command Group. 3 x Fanatics
  • 24 x Squig Herd - 14 Cave Squigs, 10 Herders
  • 6 x Squig Hoppers
  • 6 x Trolls
  • Porcini - Mangler Squig
  • Chanterelle - Mangler Squig
Being a specific theme, the army was basically built around what I already had (although the Manglers were a nice Christmas addition). With a base Ld of 5, my biggest fear was running away, so I kitted out the leaders for survivability, added a second Warboss for some redundancy, and gave the BSB the Standard of Discipline (boosting my general to a massive Ld8!).

My plan was to sit back and let the Chaos Warriors come to me, making them weather the storm of Manglers and Fanatics until my two combat units (Trolls and Squig Herd) could take them on. The two infantry blocks are essentially character bunkers. I had no great hopes for the Squig Hoppers - they only made it into the list for thematic reasons. I reckoned if I could get them away from the rest of the army, so they didn't cause panic when they were inevitably destroyed, I'd be doing well.

Boast: Bodyguard. I didn't have great confidence in my general's survivability, but there weren't many better options (and if I lost my warboss, I'd be stuffed anyway, so to hell with it).

Warriors of Chaos - Nurgle

  • Phlothos Orgmeier, Chaos Lord of Nurgle - Mark of Nurgle, Acid Ichor, Enchanted Shield, Filth Mace, Talisman of Preservation, Palanquin of Nurgle
  • Ub Shudder, Exalted Hero BSB - Shield, Obsidian Trinket
  • 16 x Chaos Warriors - Mark of Nurgle, Shields, Full Command, Lichebone Pennant
  • 15 x Chaos Marauders - Mark of Nurgle, Great Weapons, Standard, Musician
  • 5 x Marauders Horsemen - Shields, Throwing Axes, Full Command
  • 1 x Gorebeast Chariot - Mark of Nurgle
  • 1 x Chaos Warshrine
  • Big Wurm, Chaos Giant - Nurgle

Morag died last time round, and for no reason other than pure suicidal adherence to fluff, I'm not taking any magic users. Goblins have several nasty spells, so a little MR and Ward to compensate, but I'm resigned to getting gently beaten up by the Little Waargh. The plus side is that I've got more to spend elsewhere, of course!

Phlothos got a decent number of boosts from the Eyes of the Gods last time round, so I've upgraded him to a Chaos Lord this time. Mammoth overkill, obviously (and not even a mammoth to use this against), but that's what happens when you free yourself from the shackles of spending points on a magic user. 

Goblins = fanatics, as every good chaos player knows to their cost. So I invested in some Marauder Horsemen, rather against character, to try and squeeze some of the nasties out ahead of the Warrior block. They could even take a fanatic down with throwing axes if the opportunity arose, or try their hand in combat against any spider riders or similar that came their way, hence the banner and champion. 

The warriors were going to mess anything they reached up in combat; the marauder unit was more of a distraction/ablative armour plate. Everything else would have to rely on their hefty toughnesses or ward saves. A Nurgle giant or a Warshrine could probably take a beating and still make it through. And once we were in proper fighting range, I was pretty confident it'd be plain sailing. 

It was just going to be getting there that would be the problem. 

Boast: Hold the Line. The goblins weren't likely to come all that way, so I reckoned that could be money in the bank. 


Nothing terribly exciting about this layout (I get a bit stuck when I can't use forests): a few impassable blocks of stone, a ruin with a mining track and a tower with a river leading away from it.

The real treat is in the centre - as this is a mission to resurrect Morag the Sorcerous Daemon Prince, we went a suitable centrepiece. The Well of Corruption will cast one randomly-chosen spell from the Lord of Nurgle (at Lv1, and the non-boosted spell if relevant) at the start of every magic phase, targeting the closest unit. Units with the Mark of Nurgle will be considered 'friendly', everything else will be considered 'enemy'.

So it gives a slight advantage to Kraken's Nurgley army, but since he's more likely to be in casting distance (as I'm going to avoid it like ... the plague), it should all even out.

Yes. Luck should do that, shouldn't it.


I'm after the Well (nominally, at least. Really I'm after the nice tasty goblins on the other side of it), and fully intend to risk the torrent of spells it'll be hurling in case I can catch some nice gobbets. A line that will roll forward, splitting round the fountain, with the Marauder Horse vanguarding in on one side.

I got the side with the tower! Ever since my discovery that greenskins don't suffer animosity in a building, I love a tower. I bunkered up Great Shaman in there, along with the spare Warboss and the Archers (with their devastating short bow fire).

I would have put my general in there too, but I really need his Inspiring Presence on everything, and some idiot put a river to the west of the tower, so I can't place units there. I settled for sticking him at the back with the Spears, along with the BSB and lesser shaman.

Trolls and Squig Herd - my two Fists of Gork - in the middle of the battleline, with Manglers in the gaps, ready to dash towards the centre, and Squig Hoppers bounding up the flank. What could go wrong?

Night Goblins - Turn 1

"Go get 'em, lads!" Blacktoe enthused. "I'll keep an eye on fings back here."

The Squig Herd wasn't listening. The spherical chompers had already bounced out of their handlers' control, trying to reach the enemy horsemen at an impossible distance. As the goblins prodded the creatures back into line, the Squig Hoppers bounced past them, manically heading for the same riders.

The giant Mangler Squigs were also goaded into action, albeit in opposite directions. Porcini stumbled over his own feet and stopped short before the Trolls. While Chanterelle, having no clear path through the mess of enthusiastic lesser squigs, zoomed off towards a distant corner of the cave while his handlers screamed something about "regrouping taktiks!"

With the enemy too far away, Shroom and Dipstik threw out a few meaningless spells, and practised stealing power from the enemy's winds of magic. Shroom then attempted to call on the power of Da Bad Moon, but just failed. The archers in the tower looked to be getting nice and comfy, not even bothering to check the ranges of their bows.

Blacktoe nodded to himself. His battleline was already a shambles. Just as he expected.

Warriors of Nurgle - Turn 1

Phlothos sat heavily in his throne, barely able to move. There seemed no point. The blackness of the cavern matched his mood perfectly. Without Morag, it was all worthless. Was it already three days since her death? Dragging her remains this far had nearly killed a team of horses. At least their owners had been sympathetic, poverty-stricken farmers who'd joined the band in the absence of better protection in these terrible times. 

They'd already consigned the putrid carcass to the depths of the well. Finding it had been easy, it was exactly where he'd seen it in his fevered dreams of the previous week. He'd wept as the swollen chunks of his old friend slithered out of sight. He still wept now. Something was leaking out of his eye, at any rate. 

The goblins had come chattering out of the tunnels before the respectful silence of the funeral had finished. Listlessly, Phlothos sent his men forward, ready to slay the tiny defilers. 

And then a great sonorous booming arose from the well. A squall of grey-green wind puffed out towards the rickety bulk of the warshrine. The smell of the stuff was ghastly, probably lethal, although the shrinemaster snuffed at it like a Brettonian with a good cheese. Where it touched the shrine's burning candles, the stinking plague wind flared and spat with yellow light. The air filled with an incense of burned hair. 

Phlothos blinked. What was this? This wasn't in his vision.

Curdal, one of his best Warriors, suddenly sank to his knees. Thick coils of the same gas billowed out of his armour like strands of rotting silk. As the cloud rose, it left the champion's armour empty. 

The gas snaked forwards, clotting into a great naked shape whose misshapen, pillowy feet left archless, pus-soaked footprints on the dirty cavern floor.

Morag reborn!

It was Morag. She'd come back. But she looked different, less composed somehow. More decomposed, perhaps? It was hard to be sure. Perhaps whatever boon had brought her back needed more time to work. The goblins needed to be driven off so that this miracle could be examined!

"Kill them!" Phlothos gurgled, waving feebly. The horsemen swept away on the far flank, throwing axes at the nearest goblins, but to no avail. The ball-shaped creatures they were riding were hopping about so erratically, it was impossible to hit them.

Night Goblins - Turn 2

What in the name of Gork's armpit was that? Blacktoe swallowed hard. Another monstrous creature had popped out of nowhere to join the already-monstrous army ahead of them. This didn't seem right.

"Fall back!" he cried, and that felt better. Retreat was the goblin's natural state. The Squig Herd obeyed, pushing and cajoling their beasts back into their original starting position. The Squig Hoppers spun in the air and went backwards, which took them directly into the horsemen.

By contrast, the Mangler Squigs had no reservations and bounded forward: Porcini coming level with the Well of Corruption, shrugging off the stream of effluent that gushed from it, while Chanterelle raced back to its starting position.

Having gained a sense of the magical energy, and digging out a good batch of fungus, Shroom spat out a pale spinning disc with the face of a grinning moon. It shot across the caves and leered at the oncoming humies.

In the cavalry combat, one of the Squig Hoppers was knocked from his bouncing mount by a rider's axe. The Squigs in turn gorged themselves and devoured every last bite of horseflesh.

Blacktoe chuckled to himself. He could never understand why humies rode around on those four-legged abominations rather than a nice trusty squig.

Warriors of Nurgle - Turn 2

It was her, wasn't it? Phlothos's eye was matted with gunge, he couldn't be certain. The dim mound of flesh jounced away into the dismal cavern, heading for the goblins in the patchwork watchtower. Roaring in delight, Big Wurm broke into a stride to keep pace with his old mistress, ignoring the rabid fungal monstrosity that was slavering towards him. 

"Crush it," Phlothos wheezed to the shrinemaster, indicating the beast. The holy man was gasping and pointing at the Morag-shaped apparition, too busy to goad his bearers into closing the distance. 

The nightmarish vision the goblin shaman had summoned abruptly changed direction, rumbling between the legs of the warshrine bearers before nudging the lip of the well and knocking a few stones loose. The well responded by erupting with a gout of septic filth that spattered the Warshrine, dousing some of the candles. 

Phlothos found himself grinning, although his eye still wept. There was glory to be had here. Morag would show them where. 

Night Goblins - Turn 3

Surprised and delighted to still be alive, the Squig Hoppers pulled their mounts away from feasting on the horse carrion and continued bouncing forwards. Chanterelle Squig joined their mad bouncing, and tumbled directly in front of the weaker humies and their funny chariot.

Closer to the Well, the handlers of Porcini Squig sensed their moment had arrived. Wrenching on the steering chains, they dragged the Mangler to one side, smashing through the diseased Giant who had been trying to sneak past and leaving him on the cold stone floor. Porcini wasn't finished: its momentum carried it forward until it struck the newly-arrived deamon, leaving it gasping for life.

Blacktoe was impressed. So much so, that he barely noticed Dipstik choking on a piece of mushroom as magic energy dripped from his nose and helpful goblins slapped him on the back.

In the tower, Shroom had more control over the Little Waaagh! He began by cursing the iron warriors with an Itchy Nuisance that even their diseased bodies couldn't ignore. The Great Shaman then turned his vindictive eyes on the wounded daemon, sending out blasts of Waaagh! energy that fizzed and crackled against the monster's hide until one, finally, found a mark.

Not pictured: a deamon prince.
Also not picture: a giant.

Adding injury to injury, the Bad Moon continued to float along the humies' back lines, devouring five of their lighter infantry but drifting past Chanterelle Squig.

The humies would have a hard time coming through that carnage, Blacktoe considered. But there was every chance that he had just made the surviving ones very angry.

Warriors of Nurgle - Turn 3

Morag dispersed in a grey whiff of spores. Madness fell on the warband.

"No!" Phlothos screamed. The word tore out of his tortured throat, splitting his scabbed lips and spilling black matter down his chest. Gibbering with fear, the demonlings under his throne chattered forward. 

His Warriors stumbled onwards, revelling in the hopping tide of lice the goblin had cursed them with. The lesser cultists ran screaming towards the nearest foe, falling on the bulging toad-like form with scythes and picks. It exploded violently, horny plates, tufts of flesh and fragments of riding harness whistling and clattering off the cavern roof. As the debris settled, nothing was left standing. 

Shying away from the noise, the chariot sighted on the hopping squig cavalry. Phlothos wanted them away from the Well, the driver knew. And he knew the best way to achieve that. 

Night Goblins - Turn 4

The battle had barely begun and already his lads were flagging. The Squig Hoppers bumbled along lethargically, tired from their earlier exertions. Even Porcini Squig, apparently aware that he had made his contribution, ambled towards the underground river to get a drink.

At least Shroom was still working hard. With a gesture, the Great Shaman popped the old Bad Moon out of existence, then immediately flung another one directly in front of the humies. They weren't looking too amused by that, or perhaps it was the renewed itchy curse that struck them again. Even the Well of Corruption seemed to be taking against them, spitting out a gushing ichor that washed over the decks of their rotting ship and wounded their banner-carrier.

Out from the slits of the tower, a few black-fledged arrows sailed lazily towards the enemy and fell short. The archers, Blacktoe thought, at least you can depend on something.

Night Goblins lead from the rear.

Warriors of Nurgle - Turn 4

The chariot ploughed into the goblin riders, bursting their steeds like decaying pumpkins under the wheels. 

Phlothos tried to jostle past the shrine. There was no room. Its master was still infused with some kind of blind holy fit, he was barely making any headway as he bathed in the chunky matter geysering from the Well. 

The Warriors were hardly any better, still enjoying the terrible itching curse so much they barely noticed as the second Bad Moon rolled through their ranks. The hideous face on the phantasmal summoning's side gaped as it swallowed a pair of scratching warriors, then guffawed. 

Faster! Why couldn't they go faster, Phlothos wondered. Was it really Morag at all? Had he been hallucinating? What did Nurgle want him to do? 

Night Goblins - Turn 5

The Squig Herd was misbehaving again. Clearly outraged by the slaughter of their fellow Hoppers, the Herders had decided to show the malingering goblin army how to fight. They spun to face the humies' portable shrine, ran towards it, then stopped short as they misjudged the distance.

It looked like they would be relying on the Trolls to save the day. The dumb brutes had sat patiently in the opening stages, calmly chewing gravel, and Blacktooth now ordered them into action. The Trolls smashed forward into the front of the Warshrine with such enthusiasm, they did not see Porcini Squig crashing through their flank, killing one troll and leaving another severely wounded.

Manglers don't do teamwork.

The Well of Corruption continued to fountain over the shrine, to no effect. From the tower, Shroom continued his magical interference: giving the Trolls Sneaky Stabbin' abilities, much to their bemusement, before switching his Itchy curse to the Warshrine.

It was on this last spell that the Great Shaman finally overreached his abilities, the magical winds flowed backwards into the goblin's hands, his eyes blazed red and two onlooking Archers were instantly turned into mushrooms.

In the resulting combat, both sides barely registered a couple of wounds apiece - the regenerative abilities of the Trolls proving as effective as the mystical protection of the shrine. The Trolls won, the Shrine held, and the rest of the chaos army had drawn ominously close.

Warriors of Nurgle - Turn 5

There was still no way for Phlothos to reach the enemy. A great spasm of coughing defeated his attempts to bellow with rage. He tried to contain himself as his palanquin lurched round the lip of the well. 

Finally free of their lice, the Warriors broke into a run and smashed into the trolls clutching at the Warshrine. Even as they did, another vile jet spurted out of the Well, splashing off the ceiling to fall in their eyes. Stumbling, they found themselves amongst the monsters' ranks. 

Phlothos could smell the fluid from where he sat. It stank like the finest miasmas of Nurgle, the kind Morag used to lull him to sleep with. Why was Grandfather scourging his own with such vigour? What were they doing wrong? 

Even slowed by the mucus, the Warriors were more than a match for the trolls. Ub Shudder scissored one of the brutes apart with a couple of quick sword blows, then staggered back as a pair of the creature's fellows vomited over him. Another loss, Phlothos thought, until Ub came slashing back, his verdegrised armour too ancient and pitted to yield to any new corrosion. 

The Warshrine juddered and lurched as the trolls yanked at it. And then they turned and ran, long loping strides carrying them back towards the goblin ranks. Phlothos yelled triumphantly - the Warshrine started lumbering after the fleeing monsters. 

Phlothos watched in dismay as the Goblin's leader gave the signal to release the fanatics. 

A trio of poison-crazed lunatics span out of the goblin army line, pushed directly towards the trolls by their cackling colleagues. As though trained for this very manoeuvre, the trolls grabbed the spinning freaks and hurled them over their shoulders towards their pursuers. Or two of them did, one troll fumbled the catch, the massy mace of the fanatic pulverising its head in a second before it caromed into a second troll and then on. 

One rebounding fanatic arced through the air and caught the Shrinemaster directly in the chest, smashing him first into and then through the deck of the shrine. Holed, the structure seemed to list like a foundering ship on the backs of its bearers, although it somehow remained upright.

And behind them, the warriors. Phlothos was powerless to do more than watch as the fanatics smashed through the armour of his loyal troops, pounding them into a floor made muddy by the acidic bile of slaughtered trolls. Limbs were smashed to paste by whirling blows, men burst like boils.

A mess. A horrific, horrible mess. 

Night Goblins - Turn 6

Were they winning? Blacktoe could scarcely credit it, and it was hard to see what was happening through that mess of chains, squigs and mad goblins. All the same, it seemed like they were winning.

The Squig Herd made up for its earlier failure and bounded into the flank of the tilting shrine. What remained of the Trolls loped to a halt, heeding their general's call. This might actually go well for them.

And then the Mangler Squig moved.

Porcini whirled around in a complete circle, smashing its way through the Squig Herd, over the Warshrine and into the line of freshly-launched fanatics. The first fanatic barely slowed down the squig as it disappeared into its maw. The second was more energised and smashed its ball and chain right into the giant squig's forehead, finally bringing the beast to the ground. The third fanatic, having escaped all such carnage, celebrated by flinging itself back into the Warshine and ripping its hull to pieces.

Basically, everyone killed everyone else.

Left without an enemy to fight, the Squig Herd overran into the flank of the metal warriors. Not one to let such a sneaky situation pass him by, Shroom blessed the eager chompers with Sneaky Stabbin', then threw in the curse of Itchy Nuisance on the warriors, just because it seemed to annoy them so much.

It was going well, Blacktoe thought, but... there was still that chariot and the enemy general out there, and looking angry. Why take chances?

"I'll just be supervising back 'ere," he said, nipping out of the spear mob and hiding around the back. "I'm sure you'll do fine."

Warriors of Nurgle - Turn 6

He had to clear the well. Kill at least one goblin, wash his mace in a bath of its blood. Take revenge for Morag.

A bounding pack of horrors leapt across the cave to crash into what was left of the warriors. Alone amongst them, Ub Shudder stood, gripping the ragged banner they'd made from Morag's broken wings. His sword fell once, twice, slaying where it fell. And then he was gone, pulled down by the frighteningly healthy vigour of the things. Still choked by slime and impeded by the broken remnants of their dead brothers, the rest of the Warriors fared no better.

Gettin' my squig on.

Phlothos couldn't breath. Even as his throne started to speed up into the trot that passed it for a charge, he was pushed back in his seat by another gale out of the reeking depths of the Well. It pelted him with fragments of bone and wet strips of skin. There was nothing to be done, the goblins already knew they'd won. 

Result: 17:3 to the Night Goblins!

(1335:307 in old money)


Phlothos raged blindly. Why was Nurgle fighting him like this? He was chosen! He was blessed! He had a holy mission, to revenge...

His revenge...

The Dwarves! He should be fighting the dwarves, using his last few breaths to try and pay them back for those long-forgotten wrongs they'd done him! He'd thought Morag was there to aid him, that without her he'd never live long enough. And he was wrong!

Chosen indeed! Blessed by Grandfather Nurgle! Cancerous, gangrenous, mucilaginous and sick! No nursemaid for him, just the disease in his blood and the fire in his stye! 

Everything dies, he remembered. Nurgle's greatest teaching. Morag, the Goblins - all of them. But Clan Garn of Karak-a-Karaz, they'd perish at his own hand. Phlothos knew Nurgle would let him live long enough to see it, he now knew. His faith had been tested and found wanting, but Grandfather was nothing if not forgiving. Even without Morag, he had his task. Set to!

Phlothos signalled the last of his band back, away from the goblin-infested mine. The greenskins jeered and sniggered the puerile curses of their kind. Their territory was safe, they'd driven off the invaders. 

And the Well of Corruption seethed and bubbled, an endless tide of contagion rising out of it to slowly fill and drown the mines...

The Eye of Gork

Fantastic battle! And a splendid debut for both sets of Squigs (Herd and Mangler). This must be the direct opposite of 'new model syndrome' (where your lovingly-painted model fluffs on its first time out). I had thought an all-Night Goblin list was setting myself up for a fall, but clearly there's a lot of potential for carnage.

(hell, even the Squig Hoppers out-performed, and I'd already written them off)

In fairness, aside from being lucky (good animosity rolls, fortunate random movement and nigh-on magical dominance), I think this list is very good against a particular type of foe: slow-moving elite infantry with no missiles or magic. So it's not that the army is over-optimised; I just happened to bring the rock to Kraken's scissors.

I enjoyed playing the Little Waaagh! deck more than the Big Waaagh! (mind you, I wouldn't say no to Hand of Gorking a Mangler Squig across the table). There was always something to cast, the stealin' lore attribute made for great attrition, and the mushroom die helped with the casting too.

I also quite enjoyed slipping into the mindset of a goblin general: deliberately throwing Fanatics into the Trolls to slingshot them into the Warriors; cowering at the back of the line; stealing, stealing, stealing power dice.

Say, we've never had an all-Night Goblin army at the WoffBoot before, have we...?

Ouch, A hilarious fight, and one that really made me re-evaluate goblins as a foe! 

Obviously without shooting or magic, I was always going to struggle. The only tactic I had was to walk slowly into a minefield of squigs and fanatics. My only consolation was that the same was probably true of the goblins themselves! 

In the event, I was too slow and cumbersome to close. Lucky for the goblins - nothing they had was going to beat my combat blocks. Even their premier trolls got a hiding from the Warrior unit, and the Warshrine once again proved its worth as a solid blocking device. 

I was maybe unlucky to lose a whole T6 giant to a single pass from the Mangler Squig. But those are some nasty (and cheap) beasts right there - with a little light cavalry screening to help protect them from missiles, and a second wave of larger, more reliable monsters to back them up, even a shooty army might struggle to stop an avalanche of squigs. That list's got teeth!

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