Description

Ambush on the Border — Skirmish Box

Eastern Scrublands

The Eastern Scrublands are a place where silence has shape. Mahmoud feels it first — the dust‑heavy stillness, the way the wind forgets to move, the earth humming with a warning older than any banner. His scarred frame shifts, the mahout murmurs a steadying command, but Mahmoud’s attention is already on the trees, on the quiet, on the faint trace of bowstring oil drifting through the brush.

He knows what comes next.

So do the Ivory Boughs Rangers.

For them, the world has narrowed to heartbeat and bowstring. They lie in the scrub, shaped into the land, faces streaked with ash. They’ve tracked the Desert Kingdoms column for two days — smoke from a burned farmstead, stolen water from a northern well, the confident march of warriors who believe the frontier belongs to them.

It doesn’t.

Not while the Ivory Boughs still draw breath.

The signal comes — a birdcall that isn’t a bird — and the first arrow leaves the string. The mumak pauses. The land holds its breath. And the Crown Wars tilt toward open conflict.

Box Contents (13 Models)

Desert Kingdoms — Vanguard Relief Force

8 Random Tribal Warriors
4 Eastern Dragon Warrior Mercenaries
1 War Elephant Model Kit

Total Models: 12 Plus the War Elephant Kit

Scale: 15mm Heroic

Material: Resin

Assembly: Multipart Elephant kit, glue required.

Infantry Random monopose. no glue required.

Add‑On Pack — Ivory Boughs Ambush Force

Seven 15mm Heroic Scale Models

1 Ivory Boughs Ranger Champion
2 Ivory Boughs Rangers with Spears
4 Ivory Boughs Rangers

ENCOUNTER LORE

The Eastern Scrublands sit at the edge of two worlds: the quiet frontier held by the Ivory Boughs Rangers and the sun‑scarred marches claimed by the Desert Kingdoms. Most days, the border is nothing more than dust, wind, and the long patience of men who know how to listen. But today, the silence carries shape.

Mahmoud, oldest of the Desert Kingdoms’ war‑beasts, feels it first. The ground hums wrong beneath his feet. The wind forgets its path. The woods ahead hold their breath. His mahout senses only unease; Mahmoud senses intent. The last time he felt a silence like this, arrows found the soft place beneath his jaw. He remembers the sting. He remembers the steam of his blood on the earth. He remembers the fear — not for himself, but for the men who trust him to be unstoppable.

Hidden in the scrub, the Ivory Boughs wait. They have tracked this column for two days: a burned farmstead, a stolen well, laughter on the march north. They do not hate the invaders. Hate is loud. Hate gets you killed. What they carry instead is duty — quiet, disciplined, shaped by the land itself.

Their captain lies still as stone, listening to the same silence Mahmoud tastes on the wind. The Rangers know the moment has arrived long before the Desert Kingdoms realize they’ve stepped into a kill‑zone. A birdcall that isn’t a bird drifts across the brush. Every Ranger hears it. Every bowstring tightens.

The mumak pauses. The forest tightens around the moment. And the border erupts.

This encounter captures the exact heartbeat where the Crown Wars begin to tilt — a single ambush on a forgotten road, where silence becomes weapon, duty becomes action, and the fate of two nations pivots on the first arrow released.

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