The players of the Third War Guild, "Father of Greenskins," had been unhappy these past three days—extremely unhappy, from top to bottom!
Three days ago, they had discovered an Imperium of Man bastards' outpost. Thrilled, they had dispatched a full eight hundred fully armed Iron Rider players by truck, along with two engineering tanks, certain they could take that Imperium of Man outpost in one decisive push.
But just as they had beaten the Imperium of Man's Astartes Space Marines and mortal auxiliary troops so badly they could barely raise their heads, and were about to storm the outpost, slaughter everyone inside, and enjoy the fruits of victory, the enemy had deployed a Dreadnought?
After that, the players really did not want to think back on what happened.
In any case, that night, the Third War Guild, "Father of Greenskins," had fled in disgrace after leaving behind more than three hundred corpses. Over a hundred of those had been killed by that Dreadnought boss alone.
By the next day, the players grew angrier the more they thought about it. How could they possibly swallow that humiliation?
So!
They gathered over a thousand fully armed players once more, then launched a second offensive during the day while visibility was good, intending to flatten that tiny outpost in one wave!
But that damned Dreadnought came out again. The players suffered another crushing defeat and retreated in disgrace once more, leaving behind nearly six hundred corpses.
And did you think that was the end of it?
No!
Of course it was not over. They were players, after all—the beings known as the Fourth Calamity. How could they admit defeat so easily?
Thus, on the third day, they assembled over a thousand players again and launched another fierce assault on that military outpost!
And