Fiction The Least Successful Dark Elf Invasion In History

People are all excited about the new Dark Elf book but worry not, while History’s least successful Skaven invasions are well documented, the least successful Dark Elf invasion happened to occur on Lustrian soil.

Fifrar lead his massive raiding party through the jungle. Four weeks and no sign of any enemies or treasure, and the men were getting restless. Too much longer with no spoils or blood, Fifra worried he’d have to deal with a mutiny. He was surprised Thrildar was acting unusually well-behaved. A scout emerged from the foliage ahead of him.

“Dread Lord, we’ve located one of the Lizardmen.”
“One regiment?”
“No one lizard. About five minutes march ahead. It’s somewhat odd, sir.”
“Let’s take a look.”

The party emerged into a jungle clearing unexpectedly. There was a hill with only low vegetation. In plain view looking was one of the Lizardmen. He was no bigger than a Halfling (if said Halfling was starved for weeks). He carried a single javelin had a small blade tied on a rope on his loin cloth. Fifrar could only guess at reptilian expressions, but he figured this small lizard seemed bored.

“The Lizardmen sent a child against us!” one of the soldiers joked.

Most of the soldiers were chuckling. All the Druichi had eager expressions. They loved torturing outnumbered helpless people and never had the chance to break someone cold-blooded before. Their reverie was interrupted when the reptile stood up, brandished his small kiddie sword and spoke to them in heavily accented Elven.

“One SSSkink can kill any Druccchi!”

The men were all laughing. Fifrar wondered how the…Skink it called itself, could speak the elven tongue. Perhaps he didn’t understand the words he was saying. If he truly understood them, he surely would have realized how ridiculous he sounded. Fifrar looked at Thrildar and nodded. Perhaps tossing his lieutenant this amusing morsel would prevent the hot head from causing trouble for the next week or two.

Thrildar roared in exhilaration and drew his serrated scimitars before charging up the hill. The Skink’s eyes grew wide then he bolted down the other side of the hill. The watching Dark Elf soliders all laughed. The little Skink’s bravado clearly didn’t last long under pressure. Shortly after Thrildar was down over the crest of the hill, the Dark Elves became silent.

Over the ambient noises of the jungle, they heard the sound of blades crashing, then a wet thump. The Dark Elves smiled. It was over.

The Skink marched up the hill holding Thrildar’s head. He threw it forward and it rolled down the hill stopping at Fifrar’s feet. No one was laughing now.

“One SSSkink can kill TEN Drucccchi!”

He thought of getting the crossbowmen to shoot the Skink, but he had to save face in front of us of his men. Even weaklings get lucky from time to time. Thrildar was a hothead and clearly was just acting sloppy. Time to make the lucky Skink choke on his words. He pointed to ten soldiers and then pointed at the Skink.

They charged up the hill. Again, the Skink fled down the other side with a panicked expression. Shortly after the Dark Elves were past the crest of the hill, many sounds of clashing weapons were heard. Not long after that the Skink crested the hill again spattered with blood. He held a decapitated elf head in each hand. The Dark Elves didn’t know that rapid head bobbing was a signal for a challenge, but they figured it out from the context.

“One SSSkink can kill A HUNDRED Druccchi!”

Fifrar REALLY wanted to just plug him full of crossbow bolts, but his men would be trembling before every Lizardmen soldier from here on out if they had to resort to that cowardly means to kill one Skink. He ordered two regiment commanders to take fifty troops each up different flanks of the hill.

The Skink disappeared over the hill with the elves hot on heels. The sounds of battle persisted for several minutes. They heard battle cries, the clash of weapons, and the screams of the dying. The sounds of battle became silent and the elves waited with baited breath.

“Hold men, this skirmish is finally over!”

Minutes later the Skink trudged up the hill breathing somewhat heavier than the other times. He was covered in enough blood to impress a Witch Elf. From the way he moved, it was clear that none of the blood was his own.

“One SSSkink can kill A THOUSAND Druchii!”

The men waited in silence. Fifrar wasn’t going to count out a thousand men, he was planning to just send everyone he had up the hill. The silence was broken by a raspy cough as a heavily wounded dark elf crawled up the hill.

“No lord! It’s a trick! There are TWO of them!”

 

I have good friends here. No one is mad I recycled an old joke.

 

So I was doing research on Death Tropes (because you know I like killing characters in my stories) and I stumbled across the answer to your queries. Turns out I created a Bolivian Army Ending despite not being familiar with the trope. I am that good of a writer I guess.

 

I am a natural, but I must keep expanding my repertoire or I will stagnate...like a zombie.