It was after the War of the Ring. Gandalf and King Elessar drove deep into the Ephel Duath to cleanse evil from the land. As their Gondorian soldiers trudged across a hollow amid the mountains, a force of orcs gathered. A harsh cry rent the sky and gleaming, threatening eyes glowed in the distance. The men recognised the Orc leader as the feared warchief, Shagrat, with his diminutive confederate of cruelty, Gorbag. A shadow of evil trailed in the gloom behind them.
It was another 700 points battle. Cirith Ungol against ... I don't know the name (Men of the West?) The scenario was randomly chosen ... it was the kill the leader one.
The Orcs moved forward, creeping around the rocks. The shadow of evil was soon revealed as Shelob, the scuttling horror of the mountain tunnels. The few Orc archers scrabbled up the rocks to gain a vantage.
Driven by hunger, Shelob searched for a route to outflank and threaten her foe.
The gloom clung over the battlefield split only by the glowing raiment of Gandalf - whose power could not be diminished in those days. Elessar shuffled his line of troops across the battlefield, looking for a place that offered defence against the, seemingly, ever growing number of orcs.
The orcs mimicked their enemies maneuvers, looking for a chance to surround then sink their curved and rusted blades into their ancient foes.
Despite the dark, and the enemy, King Elessar was undaunted and his courage filled this men with hope. They were impervious to terror while their King stood.
The orcs continued to march, the men of Gondor had found their place of defence before an ancient spring, long defiled by Orcs.
More Orcs scuttled forward.
Battle was almost joined beside the ruins of a once great Numenorian lord.
Elessar ordered the charge, while he and Gandalf guarded the flanks. Warriors of Gondor hewed their foe before the flanking forces could arrive. At this courageous act, the gloom was dispelled. Sunlight scythed through the dark clouds and glanced off steel armour and seemed to make the Gondorian sword blades more keen than before.
Orcish blood splashed forth and limbs were hacked to the ground. Many of the shield wielding front line Orcs were chopped down in the charge. This exposed the less well armoured, but more fierce, Uruks of Mordor. The Gondorian shieldwall was impenetrable.
As yet, Shagrat and Gorbag could not enter the fray.
Gandalf slashed at Orcs, tempting Shelob to attack. Her natural fear of the light, and inability to pass through woods, prevented her attack. With his deep reserves of power barely tested, the wizard was too much for the dark creature.
The Orcish centre was badly rent before any of the flanking forces could arrive. Shagrat howled in anguish wishing for even a small troupe of warg riders or a pack of ravening wolves, fast enough to turn a flank.
Now, with many gaps open, Shagrat and Gorbag leapt forward. if they could kill enough Gondorian soldiers, even Gandalf and Elessar would have to retreat.
Shelob descended but with both heroes of good unengaged, any attack from her would result in gouts of black blood and her certain death.
The larger right flanking force struggled to enter position. A sizzling blast of arcane fire felled the Orcish banner bearer.
Elessar had grouped his soldiers into a tight 'u' shape prefect for defence. His very presence resonated courage and bolstered his men's prowess. Both he and Gandalf were placed perfectly to fend off any attempt to outflank. While Elessar held the line, Gandalf lanced out slicing away threatening knots of Orcs who encroached on this tight knot of steel.
Ah, Orcish reinforcements ... sadly no for the forces of evil. This mass of Orc corpses had mostly been felled by warriors of Gondor. While the heroes helped, the rank and file of the White Tower felled their foe with unerring accuracy and frequency not usually expected from warriors of their characteristics. In return, the Orcs had killed but 3 or 4.
The cloud parted further stinging the eyes of the foul Orcs. The brutes piled into the Gondorian line again and again. Their twisted bodies formed heaps and stinking blood made the earth slick and sick from its sheer volume. More than 12 Orcs surged around the flank struggling to slow the assault of Elessar and Gandalf. The King dictated the battle, continually seizing the initiative while the blessings of the Valar made Gandalf unassailable.
The enormous bulk of Shelob could not penetrate this scrum and engage with any significant number of men. She seethed and screeched as hatred, and a consuming sense of futility, burgeoned within her.
And then the Valar, possible Orome himself, guided the arrow of a single Orc archer. It slammed into another Orc, releasing the foul creature from life, and the wizard from the ring of foes encircling him.
Now Gandalf attacked Shelob, driving her back after his defences spurned all her venomous attacks - even when he was ringed by foes and barely able to move. Elessar was indomitable - heedless to any foes. His example thrilled the Gondorians who fought without fear overcoming their foes in duel after duel - themselves almost careless to whom they fought.
Shagrat and Gorbag had forced their way only a very little into the press of melee. Their impact was blunted. Shagrat barley escaped a baleful wound against but two lowly ranked swordsmen of Gondor. Gorbag's attacks were spoiled again and again.
Their hateful voices now croaked hoarsely from urging their warriors forward. Whatever luck or fate that was assigned to them from Morgoth was spent. Despite the Orcs pressing in on all sides, Elessar and Gandalf now took a frightful toll of their foemen.
Everywhere Gondorian blades sparkled and danced, heroic voices roared while the black hearted Orcs could only envisage defeat. Soon their hearts would quail ...
Before this end drew nigh, Shagrat ordered the Orcs, and Shelob, to scatted into tunnel and rocky crevice. It was clear the day was lost and the warband of evil dispersed. Orcish blades were bent, armour rent and confidence leant by hate stolen.
Their heaps of dead would succour the raven, vulture and wolf.
After long thought, I decided to describe the battle in this narrative manner. This is the way I wished I had perceived it while playing last night. Alas, I didn't at all.
(What follows below isn't worth reading and only for my sanity ... stop here!)
No-one wants to hear a wargamer talk about luck ... so I won't. It is dull and boring. In any case, we are all playing a dice game so (at this risk of being trite) ... roll with it.
I clearly like MESBG as a rules system but it can, as with so many GW and fantasy/sci-fi systems overall, produce the 'feel bads' during and after a game. This is primarily achieved when a player loses his (real or perceived) agency in a game. When their choice or control over events is lost or taken away without any recourse. This definitely occurred for me in this game - as I faced two characters that were ... unstoppable for me. A massive supply of might, especially free might each turn, enables one player to irrevocably control the game in a way that remove agency. Add this to free will for unlimited casting, massive stores of fate and immunity to courage tests (even if broken) to complete the effect. A considerable mismatch in the effectiveness of army bonuses is not beneficial either.
The heroes overwhelming attacks outmatched my offensive ability and countless layers of defensive measures protected them securely.
My army felt like a blunt tool selected for the wrong task entirely.
So, I hereby rename Cirith Ungol as ... the Tower of the Flaccid. A horde of low courage scum, without the speed to flank, the FV to properly fight, heroes that struggle to act with any independence, a obfuscating army bonus that is barely relevant and an overall defence value so laughable it feels like you're running a force of flabby nudists. Oh, and feeble magic ability and arcane defences...
Despite this, I've already considered my future tactical choices for the next battle so this army clearly suits someone with an undefined mental instability and/or learning deficiencies.
(Alternatively, as the little voice in my head is yelling at me, ... go back to historicals, grognard!)


























































