Lord of the Steppes at the Southern League, Bournemouth 2023
Hunnic vs Medieval Hungarian
Game 3 Hunnic vs Medieval Hungarian
The swift termination of the second round game had at least given me enough time to properly peruse the treasure-trove of goodies that is the Entoyment gaming store.
This resulted in a dozen Crusader Minis 28mm gladiators being bought, to give me the two units of Gladiators in the ADLG Triumverate Roman army for which I'd just picked up a load of 2nd hand unpainted Foundry Legionaries, as well as some Warpaint grass tufts which came in a handy "three different colours in one pack" blister
Of course, a couple of paints were then added to the mix - a replacement Holy White from Warlords Speedpaint range, as I am finding it a really useful paint to use as a basecoat for doing "cheaty layered" white.
My current dropper bottle hasn't run out, but dates back to their pre-fixed Speedpaint range that bleeds into other paints really easily, so needs matt varnishing before anything can be painted on top of it. With colder weather nixing outdoor varnishing this has become too much of a PITA hence investing a couple of quid in an upgraded version.
I also picked up another GW Contrast purple for my Argyaspid pikemen, as the two I have are too watery or too thick - so attempt #3 will be Shyish Purple.. we'll see how that goes sometime soon
So, with shopping and refuelling done it was time for the final game of the day, this time against a Medieval Hungarian army helmed by Mr Littleton-Grey and featuring some classic Minfigs models who were no doubt grateful for the opportunity to emerge blinking and mewling into the light for the first time in possibly decades as part of this heavy metal steppe-dwelling Empire's army
The Hungarians are a great toolkit of an army, coming with the usual caveat that all such toolkit armies have in that many of the best toys are rather expensive in points terms, so if you try and shoehorn all of the cool stuff into it you can end up with a rather tiny, but exceedingly stylish and impressive force that is almost inevitably less than the sum of it's parts.
In terms of Steppe themed events, there are ways to construct the army almost entirely devoid of infantry and instead stack it full of bow-armed Magyar and surrounding areas cavalry such as the Szecklers, Cumans and others.
This then gives you an option for a Mongol-style force with a cutting edge of either Medium or Heavy Knights, and the option for both bow armed and solid spear-equipped infantry formations.
So, in terms of guessing what it might comprise, your opponent is entirely in the dark until it all lands on table really.
The lists for the Hunnic and Medieval Hungarian from this game, as well as all the other lists from the games at Southern League R3 at Entoyment can be seen here in the L'Art de la Guerre Wiki.
As the mists lift, a battlefield almost entirely devoid of terrain emerges much to the relief of the Huns having had to deal with a load of mountains,and then a table-narrowing river in their previous two outings.
In a rare example of actually learning something from their previous games the Huns have also set up in an unconventional fashion, heavily stacking their strike force to the right flank and leaving only a token force to screen off much of the Hungarian army.
In turn the Hungarians have proved to be a traditional mix, with a centre of stoic spearmen, and a load of Heavy full-plate knights sequestered from the Italian principality of Padova on their right.
The main body of Huns is facing the Hungarians own Medium Knights - far better in combat than the Huns, but also rather outnumbered.
The Huns in Europe
Before anyone has barely had a chance to finish off their early afternoon sugary snacks, the Hunnic riders surge forward like a living tide towards the Hungarians own knights, all of the weight of Atilla's fury seemingly intent on crashing upon the enemy with the force of a cataclysm.
Infantry bowmen rush to keep pace with the combat-crazed Heruls and archery-intent Huns themselves, two legs pistoning furiously as they seek to match steps with four.
The opposite flank is a vision of the Steppes, open to the four winds (or possibly 5 if the effects of the Huns own fermented product based diet are included).
Space and time seems to expand into infinity before the Hunnic riders, who cut through the air with an almost ethereal elegance as they tease and taunt the Padovan knights from a very safe distance indeed.
Manes and cloaks billow in the rush of their advance, a visual crescendo of motion that befuddles the heavily-armoured Italians, unsure as how best to proceed in their mission to bring an impending storm of knightly fury to the battlefield.
The Huns are flooding forward on the right in huge numbers, sliding out to the edge of the battlefield with densely packed ranks of now-enthused horse archers intent on showing the effect of maths and mass to the much thinner skein of Hungarian skirmishers deployed against them.
The Heruls can already see a date with Knightly destiny in the near future, but their role will be to blunt the Hungarian nobles attack while the real damage will be done by the marauding horse archers of Atilla's own forces
My Hunnic Army List
Command 2
Ordinary Included Commander
1 Noble, Heavy Cavalry Bow Elite
1 Horse Archers, Medium Cavalry, Bow Elite
1 Horse Archers, Light Cavalry Bow
1 Horse Archer, Light Cavalry Bow Elite
Almost a textbook Hunnic "3rd" command, small enough to deploy first and not give anything away, but with the extra punch of the Included Commander giving the Elite Noble HCv some real cutting edge, making them almost an Impact Cavalry proxy. The command is also - only just in this small army - small enough to send off on a flank march.
The army also has a rare Fortified camp - really useful in a Steppe period where Light Horse of both sides will fancy their chances of capturing camps, something a fortified camp renders impossible.
Hunnic light cavalry sweep around the back of the outnumbered Hungarian skirmish screen, preventing the Magyar horse archers from evading from the charge of the Heruls.
Suddenly the air, already thick with arrows, resonates with the clash of steel, a crescendo of battle where each swing of a sword or thrust of a spear becomes a stroke in a grim masterpiece of Herulic fury
Like wolves among sheep, the Heruls carve through the enemy ranks, their blades leaving trails of devastation in their relentless wake.
Elsewhere, as if on a different battlefield entirely, the Paduans (erm.. isn't that a Star Wars thing?) decide to take matters into their own hands and surge forward as one.
As if defying gravity, Atilla's horsemen evaporate away with a fluidity that defies the chaos elsewhere on the battlefield, leaving the enemy in a state of bewildered frustration far, far out of reach.
A symphony of war drums accompanies the riders as they retreat, the rhythmic beat underscoring the grim determination not to actually get into a fight with Knights etched upon their Hunnic faces.
But, the Hungarian knights will not be denied. They charge home, having been peppered with archery from Hunnic infantry and saddle-borne archers, swords gleaming like avenging stars in their hands, each stroke a declaration of defiance against the encroaching tide of enemy bowfire.
Shadows of war on horseback, the Hungarian nobility paint sword-strokes of fear upon the hearts of their rather squishy infantry adversaries, who in turn start to realise that if you don't have a horse in Atilla's army, you may well find yourself expendable in his overall strategy.
The battlefield becomes a maelstrom of chaos and clashing metal as the Hungarian nobility seek to execute a deadly ballet of death among the Hunnic forces arrayed against them.
But, with archery having blunted their initial impetus the Hungarians are not having things all their own way enemy - Hunnic mettle has met Hungarian steel and fought it to a standstill in several places, with one of the infantry bow units holding firm while the other is simply ridden down.
As Huns flow round the flanks of this surprisingly prolonged combat the balance of success teeters alarmingly for both sides.
The Heruls, having quickly despatched the Hungarians skirmishers, now return to the fray, and the battlefield quivers beneath their relentless gallop, their horses' hooves a heartbeat echoing through the very core of the conflict.
Feral shouts echo through the tumult as the Herulic warriors charge home into Hungarian flanks exposed by their rash aggression, the Heruls gleefully exploiting every vulnerability in the enemy's defence.
Like avatars of evaporation, the Hunnic riders in the centre fall back with a singular purpose in front of the slowly advancing Hungarian spearmen, their dexterity on horseback a testament to a lifetime of honing the art of mounted warfare and of course, cowardice in the face of some rather adverse combat odds.
How Dangerous Was Atilla?
The clash of cultures continues apace and swirls around the Hungarian knights as they continue to struggle to gain a decisive upper hand against the remarkable resistance of the Hunnic infantry.
Units flow around one another like croutons in a particularly greasy goats-cheese fondue as the battlefield reverberates in the metallic clash of swords and spears, as the Hunnic and Hungarian horse warriors meet their foes in a visceral dance of combat that goes in all directions at once.
Can the archers hold out until many more Hunnic horsemen can come to their rescue, or are they destined to be trampled beneath the hooves of Hungary's finest as a mere sideshow to the broader tapestry of this battle of the wide open plains?
Having started the battle thinking they were the Four Horsemen of The Apocalypse, the Hungarian Knights now realise that they are the three, soon to be two or perhaps even one Horsemen who are filling in a Hunnic sandwich
Atilla's riders descend upon their enemies from all sides, leaving a trail of shattered medieval armour and broken bodies in their wake.
But not all of the interest in this battle lies in close quarters combat. The baggage camps of both armies are replete with treasure, cheese and high end German-made fermenting vessels which are highly coveted by both sets of camp cooks and cheesemakers
And, perfectly positioned to capitalise on this are The Heruls who are are - amazingly - still alive, and chasing everything that stands in their way.
Attila's orders bark out and he leads some of the almost-gothic charging cavalry directly toward the enemy camp, cutting through the enemy ranks with a surgical precision that mirrors the swift, unyielding strokes of a deadly blade cutting soft, over fermented saddle-cured cheese.
The Padovans (that's better surely?) are also inexorably advancing on the Hunnic camp, perhaps keen to secure some loot to pay their mercenary fees given the fact Hungary's own noblemen who are supposed to be their paymasters seem to be on the point of immolation and destruction at the hands of a mob of unruly Huns.
With every leap and turn, Hunnic skirmishers seek to distract the single-minded Italians, the nomad horsemen demonstrate an intimate understanding of their mounts, teasing the knights away from their camp in a choreographed ballet of war.
Who is Atilla?
Across the open expanse the true scale of Hungarian devastation starts to become apparent as the last of the Hungarian nobles are despatched, blunted on the unlikely anvil of infantry archers and surrounded and picked apart by horse warriors who have finally become a living manifestation of speed and skill, their charges an indomitable force of nature
In the heat of battle, the horsemen have become an indomitable force, their blades a storm cutting through the ranks (and more importantly the flanks) of the unprepared Hungarian soldiery.
The Heruls have been distracted from their baggage-looting mission by pestering Hungarian horse archers, and very ground quakes beneath their thunderous gallop as the Heruls turn and charge them away.
But, with the Hungarian left wing now totally eviscerated the Hunnic riders now move with a predatory instinct toward the now-vulnerable spearmen, a blur of fury and purpose as they move into position to exert the telling blows.
The two armies have become scattered and spread out across huge distances, with barely any groups of more than 1-2 units still in play. This in turn necessitates the two opposing Commanders to take careful positions on the tabletop, such that their missives can still reach the far flung outposts of their respective armies. .
Amidst the chaos, a rare moment of chivalry as Atilla and, erm, Harry the Hungarian, both find themselves in the same spot, alone and without bodyguards
The two leaders nod sagely at one another, a glance of mutual respect, and briefly exchange a sachet of paprika for a cube of only slightly out of date fermented goats cheese in a touching display that prefaces the famed WW1 football match on Christmas day by many centuries.
The camp falls! Hungary has had its baggage looted, as the countless numbers of Hunnic horse archers` flowing unopposed across the right hand side of the table eventually, inevitably results in one of them discovering a path to the enemy camp
The relentless assault of the Hunnic horse warriors finally reaches the infantry in the heart of te Hungarian army, transforming the middle ground of the battlefield into a theatre of carnage to match the tattered remnants of the Hungarian left. As horsemen descend on them from all sides, the survival of the spearmen ebbs away under the swift thrusts of Herulic lances, and the quick stroke of a Hunnic blade.
As the dust settles and the last echoes of battle fade, the Hunnic horse archers ride away, leaving a landscape of ruin—a chilling reminder of their merciless prowess.
The Result is a chunky win for the Huns.
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
Hear me, mighty warriors of the Hunnic horde! Today, we stand victorious, our arrows swift as the wind, our horses thundering across the plains like the very wrath of the gods! Let it be known that our enemies tremble in the face of our prowess, for they have witnessed the unmatched skill of the Hunnic horde!
Ah, my valiant comrades, you have proven yourselves on the battlefield, mastering the art of the hit-and-run like no other. We struck like lightning, concentrating our might upon one flank, leaving our foes bewildered and utterly confounded. Their cries of despair were like sweet music to our ears, drowned out only by the thunderous hooves of our steeds.
As we revel in our triumph, let us not forget the feast that awaits us! Behold, the bounty of fermented vegetables, the nectar of milk and cheese that shall flow like rivers! Tonight, we shall dine on the finest horse offal delicacies, fit for the champions that you are. Our celebration will be legendary, a testament to the indomitable spirit of the Hunnic horde!
But let us not be humble, my brothers! No, let us bask in the glory of our own achievements! For today, we have written another chapter in the annals of history, a chapter filled with daring feats and unparalleled skill, although perhaps we will gloss swiftly over the two previous games in which our army broke and ran away defeated. The gods themselves must surely be toasting to our success in their celestial halls!
TSo, my brave warriors, raise your goblets high and let the merriment begin! Tonight, we feast like kings, for we are the conquerors, the scourge of our enemies, the very embodiment of unstoppable might! To victory, to glory, and to the absurd abundance of flatulence-inducing fermented delights that await us!
Hannibal's Post Match Analysis
Oh, what a pitiable spectacle dost mine eyes behold! Atilla, that stumbling fool of the Huns, hath stumbled upon a semblance of victory against the Medieval Hungarian army. A lone triumph in a cacophony of defeats, akin to a blind bard finding his lyre amidst the rubble of his own missteps.
Yet, let us not unleash the fountains of unbridled praise upon this wayward commander. Nay, for even in this flicker of success, the flames of his inadequacies burn bright. His archers, like frightened hares before the oncoming hounds, were run down by Hungarian knights. A commander who cannot protect his own ilk is as a shepherd who leaves his flock to the wolves!
And what of the enemy camp, a tempting morsel dangled before Atilla like a ripe fruit ready to be plucked? Did he seize the opportunity with the ferocity of a hungry lion? Nay! He dallied, hesitated, as if unsure whether to dine or merely admire the feast from afar. A commander who lacks the appetite for swift victory is as a glutton who stares at an untouched banquet, his hunger unsatisfied.
As if these blunders were not enough, behold the risk of Italian knights from Padova, those opportunistic scavengers, threatening to pilfer the Huns' fermented cheese stores! Atilla, in his arrogance, celebrates a lone triumph whilst his precious cheese, the lifeblood of a conquering horde, teeters on the brink of thievery. A commander who cannot safeguard his dairy treasures is as a king who cannot protect his crown jewels!
Now, let us delve into the broader tapestry of Atilla's failings – a campaign riddled with missteps, a recruitment strategy as effective as a sieve holding water. The lack of armor for his riders, a near-fatal folly that exposes the soft underbelly of his horde. A general who doth not learn from his past blunders is as a fool who repeatedly stumbles over the same pebble in the road!
Oh, and the lamentable Hunnic diet, fermented sustenance consumed in the saddle! Verily, they know not for hundreds of years the manifold delights of Paprika, that wondrous spice that transforms even the most humble fare into a feast fit for kings. Alas, the Huns' ignorance, despite it being a mainstay of their Hungarian ancestors, denies them the culinary joys that could elevate their steppe-Nomand diet from flatulence-inducing mediocrity to a symphony of flavours that rival the finest feasts of kings!.
In conclusion, Atilla, this lone triumph doth not erase the stain of thy previous failures. Thy campaign is a tragicomedy, a play in which the leading role is played by a blundering buffoon. Oh, that I, Hannibal, should witness such a spectacle! A grumpy old general such as myself cannot help but scoff at the notion of celebrating a lone victory amidst a sea of defeats. Thou art but a shadow, a pale reflection of true military genius – a mere hiccup in the annals of warfare!
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