Lord of the Steppes at the Southern League, Entoyment 2023
Hunnic vs Timurid
Game 3 Hunnic vs Medieval Hungarian
After a quick bit of important shopping (a sausage bap and a cup of coffee) downstairs at the well-stocked Entoyment store we were pitched into the next game, which for me would be a repeat of the previous competition matchup against the very literal Mr Nice of the Southern circuit, Stephen Nice. Although last time out at Warfare when we met he'd beaten me, so I guess he still had scope to be a little nicer?
Either way, this would be much more of a wide open Steppe battle, with a Timurid army facing across the table at the mighty Huns
Timurid is ostensibly pretty similar to the Huns, but with harder-hitting cavalry and usually an option to bring along some elephants - however at this competition elephants had been banned (probably to stop everyone bringing a Timurid army) so this all-cavalry option may well be played very aggressively indeed. The Hapless Captives (Mediocre Levy) can be a handy expendable terrain piece that the Timurids can move around the table to block and delay any enemy for a couple of turns or more - but in an all-steppe competition they might find themselves looking for opponents in the wide open spaces of the empty battlefield
The lists for the Hunnic and Timurid from this game, as well as all the other lists from the games at Southern_League_Bournemouth can be seen here in the L'Art de la Guerre Wiki.
As the two armies deployed for battle it was immediately apparent that this might not end up being the whirling fiesta of horse warriors riding around with a synchronicity that bordered on the supernatural that one may have expected. .
The Timurids had managed to drop a fairly paltry river along one edge of the table, narrowing the battlefield sufficiently that they could mostly line up their Heavy Cavalry horse archers and Elite Khans Guard Lancer/Archer units and do a pretty good job of filling all of the available space.
The Huns, their usual tactics a testament to a lifetime spent in communion with their steeds (oooh-er missus!) were used to wrongfooting their opponents with a swiftness that defied mortal comprehension, peppering them with arrows and leaving in heir wake only despair - but these Timurids were tougher in combat, and as good if not better in shooting, and there was no real way around them that was immediately obvious either - a tricky conundrum for the normally tricky Huns.
Fear danced in the eyes of the Hunnic Medium cavalry as they advanced towards the line of mostly better-armoured Timurids.
The slight advantage in numbers the less-well-armoured Huns enjoyed might well prove decisive in the end, but this was little comfort to the unarmoured Hunnic horsemen who already anticipated being on the receiving end of a relentless rain of arrows that threatened to turn the battlefield into a harrowing tableau of suffering and cohesion markers.
The Heruls were barrelling down the middle, eager to make amends for their all to brief appearance in the first game. These almost-Gothic horse warriors' unkempt appearance and unique aroma spread all around as they charged forward, becoming a signature aspect of the battlefield, a sensory experience that anyone who got too close to them would find lingered long after the clash of arms had subsided.
The Heruls were in charge range of the enemy almost immediately, and instantly decided to charge - well, Atilla had only classified himself as Brilliant, and so with some poor pips he simply didn't have a chance to hold onto them, so off they trotted, driving back the Timurids in a hasty evade back toward their own camp.
The disruptive bowling ball approach had already been deployed - would it work any better this game than in the first round though?
My Hunnic Army List
Command 2
Atilla, Brilliant Commander
2 Heruls, Heavy Cavalry Impetuous
3 Horse Archers, Medium Cavalry, Bow Elite
2 Horse Archers, Light Cavalry Bow
1 Horse Archer, Light Cavalry Bow Elite
Another textbook Hunnic army command, with the added bonus of a bowling ball of Heruls to throw at the enemy and seek to disrupt them - or run over any unwisely appearing infantrymen.
The Brilliant commander is needed - in theory - to keep control of the Heruls until the opportune moment.
The Heruls may have rather jumped the hun (see what I did there?) with their wild an unprovoked attack, but they were now deep in the Timurid lines, and that sort of opportunity needed to be followed up or it would all be wasted for sure
A relentless tide of Hunnic horse archers flooded in after the Heruls, proving for weaknesses and forcing the Timurids to throw their own troops into the breach to plug the gap.
Timurid bowmen then tossed out their caltrops and hammered stakes into the ground, anchoring themselves in position to unleash a tempest of arrows toward the Hunnic troops, darkening the sky, blotting out the sun and plunging the battlefield into a surreal twilight of agony in which each release of the bowstring was a loud proclamation of impending disaster, a veritable symphony of doom-laden notes played by the archer's hands
Both sides are now closing one one another at pace, with the better-equipped Timurid warriors keen to get within cheese-breath-smelling distances of the Hunnic army wherever possible to start the short range exchange of arrows, daring the Huns to evade away and risk getting caught in the rear in the process
Like shadows in a fevered dream, Hunnic horse warriors move up through the clouds of dust kicked up by their steeds, galloping forward as their riders prepare to unleash a flurry of arrows toward the heart of the enemy's cavalry formations.
Whoever delivers the telling blow with the next round of shooting will be well set to follow up and sweep the opposition from the field
L'Art de la Guerre hint - If you evade from an enemy charge, there is a variable dice roll which determines how far you move - and the same is true if you charge at enemy who all evade. Basically you can end up going go "short" or "long", or you can go your standard move distance.
If troops with identical standard move distances are less than 1 MU apart when the charge/evade thing happens, there's a pretty high chance the evaders will be caught in the rear by the chargers - making evading a bit of a mugs game in this situation
The impetuous charge of the Heruls has however disjointed the Hunnic lines far more than it has the Timurids.
This in turn allows the Timurid horse archers to move around the overextended Huns and Heruls like wraiths, disappearing from in front and and reappearing to their flanks and rear amidst the chaos, peppering the puzzled Huns with a blistering barrage of shooting that saw the Huns pick up a game-defining 9 hits in a single round while inflicting only 2 themselves in return !
With the Huns still reeling from the barrage of highly accurate Timurid archery, the post-Mongol horsemen swarmed forward, with each stride the Timurid riders demonstrating an unspoken pact with their mounts, a union of speed and instinct that defined the essence of Ghengiz Khan and his descendants.
The surrounded, shellshocked Huns found themselves ensnared in a deadly dance, caught between the relentless gallop of hooves and the relentless rain of Timurid archery.
As they rode hither and thither, the Timurid horsemen carried with them not only the scent of imminent victory, but also the unmistakable fragrance of fermented cheese and saddle-tenderized biltong, a scent that would no doubt soon becomes a badge of honour in the drinking taverns of Tamerlane's kingdom.
The Huns plans to fall back and yield ground were now rapidly falling apart too, even that simple task seemingly beyond them as the fast-paced enemy cavalry overtook the dawdling Hunnic evaders and clattered into them in their feigned flight.
The tabletop, once a firm Rafa-bought cloth surface, now became a quagmire of fallen bodies, an unyielding testament to the devastation wrought by the Tmurids brutality, speed and lethal archery-based artistry.
The Heruls barely had time to be overrun and surrounded as the man tasked with finding a big enough bell to ring out the death knell of the Hunnic empire prepared to do his Mongolian master's bidding.
Attila's warriors had been outshot, outfought, and even though they had gotten agonisingly close to doing a bit of baggage looting, even those prizes seemed destined to slip from their grasp as the Timurids unquenchable hunger for conquest drove them forward towards a looming and inevitable finishing line, their arrows even now sowing seeds of desolation in the hearts of any who dared oppose them.
Spears thrust forward, arrows fly and a deadly dance of lethal intent unfolds as the Timurid horsemen and archers skewer their foes with the merciless accuracy of hunting falcons.
And, with barely a whimper, that is that.
The Huns of Atilla are wiped off the map by the Mongols of Tamerlane, and the army with almost a thousand years of history to improve upon Atilla's template reigned supreme
The Result is a crushing defeat
Click here for the report of the next game in this competition, or read on for the post match summaries from the Generals involved, as well as another episode of legendary expert analysis from Hannibal
Post Match Summary from the Hunnic Commander
My esteemed warriors, today, we find ourselves in a moment of reflection, a moment to ponder the twists of fate that led us to this unexpected turn of events on the battlefield. Let it be known that the gods, in their infinite wisdom, have chosen to test us, to challenge our strength and resolve in ways we could not have foreseen.
As we regroup and lick our wounds, let me assure you that our defeat is not a reflection of our skill or prowess. No, it is a cosmic jest, a trick played by the fickle deities above. They have conspired against us, shifting the winds of fortune in favour of our adversaries. Clearly, the gods must have been preoccupied with some celestial matter, for they neglected to bestow their favour upon the true champions of the steppe – us, the mighty Hunnic horde!
Now, I understand that questions may arise regarding the choice of our tactics on the battlefield. Some may wonder why we did not employ our signature hit-and-run tactics, the very essence of our martial brilliance. Well, my comrades, let me dispel any misguided notions. It was not an oversight on our part but rather a strategic decision, a plan beyond mortal comprehension. The ebb and flow of battle are like the unpredictable dance of the constellations, and we merely followed the cosmic choreography.
And now, let us address the matter of the fermented delicacies that fuelled our spirits before the battle. It appears that there was foul play afoot – perhaps an enemy plot, a conspiracy against our digestive fortitude! The abundance of fermented vegetables, milk, cheese, and horse offal may have unwittingly unleashed a gaseous malfeasance upon our ranks. Yes, my warriors, it was not the fault of our tactics or the might of our foes but rather a diabolical plot to rob us of our battlefield grace!
In the face of adversity, we shall rise above the cosmic jest and the digestive misfortune that befell us. Our true strength lies not in the whims of the gods or the side effects of fermented feasts but in our unwavering unity and indomitable spirit. Let us learn from this experience, adapt our strategies, and emerge stronger, ready to face whatever challenges the gods and our digestive systems may throw our way!
To the future, my gallant warriors, where victory awaits those who persevere, no matter how cosmic or flatulent the obstacles may be!
Hannibal's Post Match Analysis
Hark! What tragic tale of ineptitude dost thou bring before mine ancient eyes? A battle where Atilla's forces crumbled like a stale loaf beneath the onslaught of the Chinese nomads? 'Tis a farce, a pitiable display of incompetence that would make even the most hapless minstrel weep!
Atilla, that bumbling leader of the Huns, hath proven once again that his mind is as barren as a winter's field. No attempt at manoeuvre or strategy, a commander without a wit to fathom the intricate dance of the battlefield. 'Twas as if he led his men blindfolded, stumbling into the waiting jaws of doom.
And let us not forget the sorry state of his men, clad in naught but scraps of leather, like ragged jesters in a grotesque carnival. Did Atilla believe his warriors were impervious to harm, that the enemy's arrows would part before them like a curtain drawn for a royal spectacle? Alas, his lack of foresight rivals that of a one-eyed Cyclops stumbling through the dark.
The Herul lancers, a band of ruffians charging forth without a modicum of strategy! Did Atilla mistake them for a flock of headless chickens, their minds addled by too much fermented horse milk? A general without control over his own forces is but a puppet in the hands of a cruel puppeteer.
And what of the infantry archers, the forgotten harbingers of death in Atilla's arsenal? They stood idle, as if attending a tedious play, when they could have unleashed a hail of arrows that would make the very heavens weep. A commander who neglects his assets is as a miser who hoards gold yet starves in the streets.
Now, let us turn our attention to the culinary calamity that is the Huns' diet – fermented fare consumed in the saddle, a gastronomic travesty! Compare it to the delicacies of the East, the flavors of Chinese cuisine, where fermented wonders grace the table like jewels adorning a noble's crown. Even in the realm of sustenance, Atilla is found wanting.
In conclusion, this battle, this woeful spectacle, is a testament to Atilla's dearth of imagination and his utter failure to grasp the basics of warfare. The gods themselves must surely be rolling their eyes at the comedic tragedy that unfolds under his lacklustre command. Verily, a grumpy old general such as myself cannot help but shake his head at such an egregious display of incompetence and look forward in amusement and fear to the next game
Click here for the report of the next game in this competition
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Game 3 Hunnic vs Medieval Hungarian
