Far away and yonder east, a wind lashed the foothills of titanic mountains. The wind came whistling through sparse trees, rustling bushes and swaying grass. It was a northerly wind, frigid by the touch of cruel spirits in the distant lands of frozen earth. The wind struck out across ridges and whipped down in the shallow valleys between foothills. It was a cold wind that had howled among reindeer and enigmatic Elves clad in fur and skins, whirling up snow as the sky children danced high above in the north heavens. The wind now hurled itself against the towering mountainside, clawing and reaching for purchase, yet the steep walls defied it.
The wind tugged at the horned felt cap of Dun-Khan, Lord of the Storm, as he and his picked Tjubgob warband lay low behind the crests of two foothills, awaiting the signal to strike from their scouts. On the other side of the hills marched a gathering of sturdy Humans from the mountain realm of Zhiptyak. The Tjubgob interlopers had been bold indeed to ride, wander and sneak this far east, to the very toes of the mountains. This close to that soaring range, they were deep inside enemy territory, for the Zhiptyak were warlike and had their own designs on the trade routes and walled settlements on the eastern steppe. iIn other words, the Humans had scarce reason for caution as they marched straight into an ambush.
The cue to attack came in the form of skillfully faked birdsong, mimicking the calls of the honeylark, and warlord Dun-Khan stood up on one knee, beckoning to his fickle shaman ally with the bloodthirsty mace, Stormbringer.
“Smoke 'em out! Fulfill your end of the deal, and you will have their raw thumb-muscles for stew, just as we agreed upon. Get on it!” Dun-Khan spat to the gnarled Volsnik Smokebreath, maverick shaman and erratic madman.
Volsnik did not reply. Instead the shunned Tjubgob tie loose the string of a pouch tied to his hooked staff, and breathed in its powdered content in slow, deep gulps. These inhalations grew faster and frantic, as the shaman worked himself into a trance. Eventually, Volsnik Smokebreath turned from the open pouch and produced a squirming mountain vole from inside his tunic. Dun-Khan wondered to himself how the old crazybag had managed to snuck the rodent inside his garb without it escaping, and much less endured its panicked scratching on his skin.
The stinking mouth and running eyes of Volsnik were wide open as the shaman tilted his head backward and drew a deep breath. Then he bit the mountain vole in half, blood and guts hanging down his lower lip. After a disconcerting moment of dumb staring and drool dripping from his mouth, Volsnik hiccuped, then belched. Smokebreath proved true to his name, as thick, dark smoke billowed forth from his wide-open maw. It was an endless stream of smoke, pouring forth in great, dark clouds. The wind carried it quickly over the crest of the foothill, down into the little valley below.
“We strike. Leave none alive!” Dun-Khan roared, swinging Stormbringer. His hornblower stood up and let out a long bellow. Every single Tjubgob behind the two hills sprang into action, screaming a shrill warcry. Archers rushed forth, nocking arrows to recurved composite bows, and let loose, then drew arrows again. Spearmen and Tjubgobs armed with scimitars charged down the sides of the hills, right into the flanks of the surprised Zhiptyak Humans, while backstabbers ran hunched-over, taking a longer route in order to catch the Zhiptyak in the rear.
Blades flashed and banners waved as gleeful Tjubgobs charged downhill, their green faces split by sadistic grins. Volleys of arrows struck against the Human warriors, who were all stunned for the moment. And all around, the smoke spread and thickened, shrouding the ambushers.
Dun-Khan ran along and made sure to stay a little back from his underlings, to not risk himself at first impact. That was what lessers were for, after all. Filthy fodder for spears, yet nevertheless useful fodder who would feed his own soaring star. The warlord cackled like a possessed maniac and rushed into the combat, droplets of blood filling the air as he heaved with Stormbringer again and again, lightning crackling from his weapon. He revelled in the killing and maiming.
Everything smelled of blood, smoke and terror.
The true slaughter began.
And the wind swallowed the shrieks.
These 15mm Tjubgob infantry models are out now! Sculpted by @tjub