Invasion of Eataine

Having bypassed the sea-gates of Lothern by the simple expedient of sailing beneath them, a fleet of Skaven-wrought submersibles, in XI, 236, beached upon the shores of Eataine. Hordes of vicious ratmen scrambled from the corroded hulks, only to be met upon the bluffs by the unwavering spear-tips of the Lothern Sea Guard. The Elves were greatly outnumbered, yet they knew the Skaven had to be stopped there. Once the ratmen went inland, they would surely vanish into the caves and forests, and Ulthuan would not be free of their kind for many long decades to come.

Skavenslaves scrambled madly up the beach, but those that were not felled by arrows died against the bristling spear-walls. Warlord Skizratch of Clan Rictus had planned his assault well and, when the Skavenslaves of the sixth wave had been slain, he launched his main attack. Clan Moulder Beastmasters goaded scores of monstrous Rat Ogres up the beach, the cracking of their whips drowned by the beasts' roars. In their wake marched regiments of Stormvermin. The Sea Guard's archery was sporadic now, for most of their arrows were spent. All along the cliff, shields were locked and sears braced -- a thin line of white and silver against the verminous horde.

Alas, this too had Skizratch prepared for. The ranks of the Stormvermin parted to reveal Warpfire Throwers, which now spewed their fury directly into the Elven ranks, the tainted flame immolating dozens. It was against these weakened sections of the spear-wall that the Rat Ogres attacked. They drove forward onto spear and sword, lashing out with claw and fang, caring naught for the wounds they took in return. Even before their fearsome assault, the Elves held firm, their blades flashing and darting in the dawn-light. One by one, the Rat Ogres fell, but they left behind a trail of battered and bloodied dead.

It was as the Stormvermin advanced that the Elves began to withdraw -- they were now too few to hold the line, and knew that they must withdraw or else be overwhelmed. Yet not a single Elf broke step with his fellows. Even when Skizratch himself joined the fight, his black-bladed halberd cleaving the helm and skull of many an Elf, the Sea Guard held true.

Only when Skizratch fell -- one of the last precious arrows buried up to its flights in his right eye -- did the Elves withdraw once more, taking advantage of the momentary panic that swept through the Skaven lines. For a moment, it seemed like the Warlord's death might end the battle, but a vengeful chittering broke out amongst the the Skaven ranks, and the ratmen thew themselves forward once more.

Many leagues across the Sea of Dreams, standing atop the highest rampart of the Shrine of Asuryan, keen-eyed Caradryan of the Phoenix Guard had caught sight of the Sea Guard's plight. By silent command he mustered his warriors, and called the Flamespyre Phoenixes from their roosts -- no ship could deliver salvation so swiftly as their wings.

One moment, the skies were clear; in the next they burned with the wrath of scores of angry Phoenixes. Each firebird bore a half-dozen elves upon its back, yet the burden slowed them not at all. The phoenixes swooped across the battlefield, their outstretched talons gouging bloody furrows through the tight-packed ranks of Stormvermin. As holes were torn in the Skaven lines, the firebirds skimmed low, landing just long enough to allow the Phoenix Guard to dismount. In grim silence, the chosen of Asuryan formed up shoulder to shoulder. As one, they raised their halberds high in salute, so that Asuryan might notice their deeds that day, and charged into the fray.

Now it was the Skaven's turn to know doom. Not one amongst them had ever encountered warriors so grim and deadly as the fell-handed Phoenix Guard, and those ratmen that did not fall beneath their keen-edged halberds shrank back in fear. As the weight of Skaven slackened from Lothern shields, fresh hope filled the bone-weary warriors. With a song upon their lips they went down into the battle once more, for they had many good friends to avenge that day. Yet, as the Elves surged forward, an unearthly roar shook the battlefield, and a Hell Pit Abomination surged through the ranks of Stormvermin, thick green smoke billowing from the warpstone braziers set within its flesh. Mad with torment, the beast tore through Skaven and Elves alike, hurling broken bodies from its path, or crushing them beneath its gruesome bulk.

It was then that Caradryan joined the fray, swooping from the skies on the back of the great Frostheart Phoenix, Ashtari. Chill air sparkled in the Phoenix's wake as it dove to the fray, and where its talons struck, the Abomination's skin blistered with cold. The mutant beast roared once more and attempted to swat the new attacker from the sky, but its limbs were numbered, and the frostbird spiralled safely out of reach. On its next pass, Ashtari swooped low, and Caradryan held his blade ready. As the halberd cut into the creature's tainted flesh, its enchanted blade burst into flame. A dozen strikes in all did Caradryan deal, each deadlier than the last, and soon the Hell Pit Abomination was naught but a blazing pillar flesh.

This last was too much for the ratmen, who fled for the relative safety of their beached vessels. They were much too late. As Caradryan had led one group of Phoenixes to rescue the Sea Guard from their plight, he had sent another to attack the Skaven hulks. Now the ships blazed furiously on the shore, great gouts of green-black smoke belching from their innards, as the Phoenix-flame reduced the craft to smouldering ruins.

With their craft destroyed, the panicked Skaven scattered, but their desperation made them easy prey for High Elf blades. No more than a hundred made it off the beach, and those that did ran straight into reinforcements from Lothern who, sour-hearted at having come too late to the battle, determined to compensate by hunting down the survivors with stern vigour. So ended the ill-fated invasion of Eataine.

Source

 * Warhammer Armies: High Elves (8th Edition) -- pg. 32