TVC II Chapter 2 - A Distraction

[The Raven Lord]

"Pull back towards the wizards, without them this Storm of Magic will wipe us all from the face of the Earth," replied Peter, as he rolled under a halberd blow aimed at his head. He lashed out with his blade, taking the Skaven's leg off above the knee. It fell squealing to the ground, only to be trodden into the ground by the claws of its fellows. Another Storm Vermin tried to take Peter's head off. He parried, and punched the Skaven in the stomach, shattering its chest and crushing its internal organs.

"Look out," he shouted to his fellow warrior as a triad of black-cloaked killers leapt from the ranks of the heavily armoured Skaven. The Clan Eshin assassins each carried a pair of long knives that dripped with an acidic vemon. Despite their Undead constitutions, Peter had little doubt that the tiniest cut would no doubt prove to be unbearably painful. Each assassin weaved and bobbed between his fellows, making it hard to focus on a single enemy. At some unseen signal, the trio launched at the pair of Vampires in a whirlwind of blows.

 

[Dark_Wolfen]

Nimrais wasn't really sure what was happening. Everything seemed so blurry.. so dark. The sounds of battle were but distant, almost relaxing drones. Dozens.. hundreds of red eyes glowed in the darkness. She wasn't sure whose they were, but they felt strangely.. comfortable. She stumbled a bit in her place, trying to keep balance, when out of the distant, a hellish shriek was heard. It started softly at first, but became more intense as it went on, even piercing her dazed state and hurting her ears. Groaning and hissing, she slowly got back to her senses.

Some odd vials where on the ground. Nekhlior had thrown them there and apparantly wanted her to drink one of them. Reaching down and opening one of the vials, she gulped some of it's contents into her mouth. Coughing ang gurgling, she spat it out almost immediately. This certainly wasn't blood, atleast not normal blood. The odd taste had caught her off guard, but even the tiny amount made her feel stronger and more fresh again. Sighing, she swallowed the rest of the liquid with an odd grimace. "Gah, hope I won't have to drink that again," she said distastefully.

Looking up, she saw a dark, almost familar figure leaning over her. She was about to greet it as Nekhliors mysterious potion seemed to kick in. The battleground became much clearer again and the preying eyes faded. Looking rather sheepishly at the figure above her, she realized it was Kavok. "Always good to see you, sir knight," she said to Kavok. She grabbed his hand to straighten herself and leaned on his shoulder, closing her eyes for a second to regain some strenght.

 

[the hidden one]

Igor was cruising, baiting groups of skaven to the woods, and then slaughtering them easily. However, this would have to stop, as he saw that the forest was quickly going alight, and the fire was spreading towards him. He quickly jumped to the ground and sprinted toward the clearing, reaching it just as the rest of the trees were lit. This was no ordinary fire, but created by a warpfire thrower. These had to be dealt with quickly, or the battlefield would be lit on fire. Igor hid under his cloak, still favoring one arm, and moved swiftly toward the skaven fire throwers.

 

[The Dread King]

Morturion gaped in wonder at the chaotic worm writhing around in the air.

Morturion stepped up beside Nekhlior. He outstretched his hand, and a vial was drawn up into the air, before it reached his hand. He swigged the whole thing down, and grinned, restraining from gagging due to the horrible taste. One might be able to see the disgust on his face if they looked closely enough. "Tastes like chicken," Morturion muttered. "Here's a bit of magic for you, Nekhlior," he said, before sending dark entrails into Nekhlior's body. "But if you'll excuse me, I have another method to practise."

Morturion drew out a strangely shaped jar that seemed to have a suction of its own. "I just want to have myself a present after this battle, that's all," he remarked to the vampires. He unstopped its lid. "Right, you maggot," he shouted at the thing in the sky. "I'm going to show you that pain doesn't stop at death!" He lowered his voice. "It would be nice to store that thing's life energy after it dies. I can't wait to conduct experiments on it. I've never seen its like before!"

Morturion breathed into the jar, and darkness clouded it. Well, that's that dealth with. Back to helping Nekhlior... Morturion sighed. He didn't really want to be helping a traitor, but, then again, at some point in their life, one had to do things that they didn't want to do: it was inevitable. Morturion put his hand on the necrarch's shoulder, and power flowed through his arm and into the ancient magician standing next to him.

 

[Bounce]

Elanor also took one of the dark red vials from Nehklior and hesitantly swallowed some. It was foul. Like full strength red cordial left out in the sun with flies all day, however it seemed to work and she felt some strength in her arms and legs again. She stood up gingerly but felt much better. Her precious sword was still firmly grasped in her hand.

"All right, enough lying around, time to proud buttock" She exclaimed enthusiastically.

She didn't have enough magic left to help Nehklior but she could fight again and holding her sword high strode towards the rear where the skavenslaves were quickly advancing in a furry swarm. Maybe the least dangerous enemy but still a threat needing dealt with.

She attacked with a low sweep causing a mass of squeaking. The slaves did not particularly want to fight and were a mix of terrified and relentless. The ones at the back driving the ones at the front forward. One darted towards her, unarmed except for its teeth and claws and she plunged Starfang straight into its chest. Lighting the whole rat on fire. Before she could remove it another came at her from the otherside holding a wooden stake and Elanor felt a tinge of fear. It lunged with glee thinking her defenceless but she grabbed it by the throat and slowly squeezed it to death, her fine hands deceptively strong. She managed to free her sword in time to cut down a third slave but a fourth cut her across the shoulder with a rusty blade. Though the cut wasn't deep or threatning it was a clear sign of the futility of this fight. Sooner or later one of them would get her. There had to be a way to make them flee. Then suddenly it hit her.

"By your bones, I call you back to fight for me. Serve me in death." She called out in a deep, chant.

At first nothing happened and she cut down two more slaves with quick slashes. Then the ground around her began to shake and from the dust rose her skeletal bodyguards which had been left behind at Drakenhof castle. With their ancient swords they cleared a small space around her and their captain, the eldest one, his bones a pure white but still adorned with armour of a style not seen for two centuries presented her with her other prize treasure.

She grinned toothily. This should do it.

 

[Sweeney Todd]

A forest of halberds stabbed at Kenshiro as he faced the Stormvermin alongside Shah. Flowing into the space between one polearm and another, two quick strikes resulted in two crushed throats, the victims' squeaks becoming wet gurgles as they drowned in their own blood. Dancing aside from another, another jab to a furry arm induced a malfunction in the nerves within, causing some disruption to the Skaven formation as its owner was helpless to prevent himself swinging his weapon wildly in any and all directions.

As more of the enemy stepped in, Kenshiro's hands darted out again and swiftly plucked out both eyeballs from one of the rats, leaving his victim to squeal in terrified pain. The press thickened, and Kenshiro's patience withered ever so slightly. Minor cuts and scratches began to appear on his frame, even as a row of Skaven were sent flying away with crushed skulls. Then the pressure began to reduce, long-dead hands rising from the earth to grasp at Skaven limbs as the dead of ages past began to rise to a pale shadow of life with Esmerelda's invocation.

A war cry from the west drew Kenshiro's attentions. Another halberd flew towards his face, to which he responded by somersaulting into the air. For a moment, the Skaven stared comically at Kenshiro as the vampire from the Far East balanced lightly upon the very head of the raised polearm itself. The Jade Blooded used the vantage point unwittingly provided by his foe to take a quick look at what had transpired upon the left flank. A single glance was all it took to discern the truth of the matter: the left flank had fallen. Kenshiro hopped lightly off the Skaven's blade, in the process kicking the ratman in the face with enough force to send shards of its shattered nasal ridge into its brain.

"The left flank has fallen, I must attend to it immediately! Apologies but please make do!" Kenshiro shouted to his comrades as he momentarily extricated himself from the battle. Turning around, he broke into a sprint. He had seen the Skaven teams manning their flaming contraptions behind their front line and knew that speed was of the essence should he want to plunge into battle without first being burnt to cinders. They would not find him lacking. Kenshiro slammed into the advancing Skavenslaves with the force of a cavalry charge before the flaming webs could halt to ready their weapons, simply bowling over those he first crashed into like a humanoid meteor. The slaves were much easier pickings than the Stormvermin, and were soon acquainted with Kenshiro's fists.

 

[Get of W'soran]

The assassin's leapt at the blood dragons.

Dieter parried the blow from two and kicked on in the chest, knocking the rat-man back, the second he swung at with the swiftness befitting a vampire.
It, however, was too slow as the Skaven dodged behind a few Stormvermin which Dieter cut down as soon as they stepped forward.

The first assassin was on him again, stabbing quicker than Dieter had thought the little beasts capable of.
Calmly parrying another few dagger thrusts Dieter waited his moment and then, as the assassin slowed down a fraction, caught the Skaven by the arm. Grinning viciously Dieter once again kicked the Skaven in the chest but at the same time pulled on the arm.
The result was a satisfying tearing sound as the Skaven was thrown back into the horde of it's kind whilst Dieter held onto it's right arm.
Although the Blood Dragon could no longer see it he could hear it's cries of pain, even above the sound of the battlefield.

If that one doesn't flee it will either bleed to death or attack with a much lessened ability. he decided.

But it wasn't that assassin which bothered Dieter, nor was it the third one which Peter was no doubt dealing with.
It was the second one that now hid amongst the Stormvermin and lesser Skaven waiting for it's chance to strike.

------------------------------------
Nekhlior felt the influx of power as Morturion lent his magical aid to the Necrarch.

Nekhlior growled angrily under his breath and thrust the bottom of his staff deep into the ground and began channeling all his strength through the artifact of W'soran.

The Storm of Magic had lessened greatly but it was still difficult to control and so Nekhlior decided to take another path.

Focusing on Shyish, which was the strongest of the winds in this place, Nekhlior willed it to be calm but of course still flow strongly. Almost immediately it became so but then again that was almost always going to be the easiest for the undead to control.

Shifting to the next wind the Necrarch began to smooth the fog of Ulgu, it was hard to grasp in the chaos but Nekhlior managed it and no sooner had he touched it than he felt his focus diminish.
Wh...what was I... he thought as a feeling of bewilderment washed over him.
Suddenly a jolt of power from Morturion banished this feeling.
Nekhlior growled softly but this time managed to ensure that the Shadowy wind became a slow moving thick fog.

Nekhlior gasped feeling exhausted but he moved on.

Reaching Skyward to Azyr, the insubstantial blue wind was easily calmed, it was a power that inherently strove for balance.

The next wind was one of two that Nekhlior could not wield on his own but he could influence it. Summoning Dhar to himself, all the winds forced into one, and using it like protective gloves the Necrarch grasped a hold of Ghyran. He wrapped the wind in dark magic to shelter himself from it's touch but even so he could feel strands of the life giving lore tearing at his undead flesh and plucking at his unbeating heart. Luckily in Sylvania this wind flowed weakly and soon he was done with it.

Taking no rest Nekhlior immediately commanded Chamon to be still and it immediately did so, the heavy magic of metal being too rooted in the physical world to become overly chaotic.

Nekhlior hesitated for the next challenge was far more dangerous than any before.

Clutching his staff tightly Nekhlior summoned up shields and wards of Necromancy to protect himself.
Like with the life magic he used Dhar to envelope his touch as he reached out for Hysh.
The effects where instantaneous. His atheyric based sight became awash in light, as it seared at his empty eye-sockets. His mind was saturated in the unforgiving white wind and he could feel his flesh burning but he knew his wards and shields where still in place for he was still alive and even through all this pain he could feel Hysh begin to weaken at his command.
Desperatly before the magic of Light completely overwhelmed him the Necrarch channeled all the power of shadow, it's complete opposite, at it.
After a few moments the painful effects of the white wind where gone and it's strength had abated.

Nekhlior collapsed to his knees, he knew that he still had to deal with Ghur and Aqshy but he was so very tired.

 

[Mello]

Alastor's normal half of his face looked serene, almost peaceful to a bystander as he slumbered. His mask was on the floor next to him and the other half of him, the one that had ruined his life was laid bare to the world for all to mock. Yet ironically no-one cared to see it.

His otherwise white skin was charred, and not only grey, but a sickly crimson that seemed like burnt flesh had been feasted on my fungus. There was a sickly black tinge to the crevice and his cheek was hollow, held together by morsels of flesh, exposing his brilliant white teeth. Although this side had no eyelid it still seemed so angry compared to the other half of him, which was innocently lost in dreams. It was always angry, hurt in the way the world treated it.

Alastor lay on the floor, half frowning in his sleep.

 

[Bounce]

Elanor took the black wooden bow from the captain of her guards. He watched her with grim humour but then he always looked like that nowadays. Much better than the smug superiority he had shown whilst alive.

Taking a black fetched arrow she knocked and then drew. She didn't really need to aim as the slaves were everywhere. With a grim determination she released the arrow which shot forward like a black dart and one slave sprouted feathers however that was not the power of the bow. As the arrow flew there issued a deep, mournful dirge. Like looking at your reflection in a deep pool and what looks back at you is eternally disappointed and saddened. It was haunting and it's power rippled through the slaves who now stood motionless. Reflecting on who they were and what they were doing. Like a glass of water poured on sand they dispersed and no shouting or abuse of the skaven leaders could convince them to return. They cared not for their own lives only to get away from this place, away from themselves which they hated and loathed and away from this sorrowful music which crept deep into the mind pointing out flaws and errors and the ugliness of their souls. Within minutes the Southern flank had vanished leaving only Elanor's skeletons who too would have crumbled to dust if her will binding them was not so strong.

Elanor herself was silent for a long while locked inter memories. Everything she had done playing before her eyes. All the blood and death and pain. How could one handle it and not go mad? Bloody tears trickled down her cheek and onto the bow which she held loosely. The tears seemed to flow into it and satisfy its broken soul for the time being.

Looking up she felt the winds of aqshy burning through the night air. Rolling flames that were losing control and forming sudden balls of flame which baked skaven and skeletons respectively. She felt the grief within her and poured it forth into the air. Letting it subdue the passion and anger and hatred. Bereft of oxygen the flames died and went out. Leaving only embers which too then went cold. It would take a very mighty mage indeed to rise fire magic in this area for sometime.

High above in the sky the clouds began to pour with rain.

 

[The Archivist]

As the skaven slaves ran from the battle, Flametail Began to cackle madly. He, and the other warpfire teams, began to pelt across the rapidly thinning battlefield towards the vampires. One or two fell in the rush, but Flametail found himself directly behind one vampire. He grinned and pulled the trigger...

Nothing happened. Eyes widening in panic the warpfire-throwers failed one by one to ignite their machines. Their squeaks turning to panic, they fled towards the net-throwers, whose fires still flickered, albeit with a stuttering manner. Then the heavens opened. Water extinguished the flames of the net-throwers, leaving them with non-deadly weaponry. They fired off one last volley and scarpered too.

The warpfire inferno seemed to try and hide from the rain as it fell, but soon the wood was left sodden and charred.
The western flank paused for a moment as their eyes readjusted and they built up the courage to begin the attack anew

 

[The Raven Lord]

As Dieter finished his opponent, Peter battle in earnest against his. The creature moved like quick silver, weaving under the Blood Dragon's blows. The creature managed to score a hit against the Vampire, the beast's poisoned blade scratching along his breastplate. The liquid metal of his armour flowed to repair the damage, a Peter offered a silent thanks to Nightwere for his cunning, and hoped that he could repay his debt by curing Jason of his current madness.

Peter grabbed the Skaven's outstretched arm, and threw him to the ground in the style of the wrestlers he had seen in Tilea. He slashed at the prone Rat man, but it had already rolled away, tossing a throwing star in Peter's direction. It flashed passed his face, grazing his cheek. The tiny wound blazed with venomous fire, but thankfully the wound was not deep enough to counteract the Blood Dragon's super human constitution.

The Skaven was on the back foot now, and Peter pressed his advantage. He slashed his weapon two-handed, copying Dieter's fighting style. Always more of a duelist, the strike felt clumsy. However, the power was undeniable. The Assassin tried to parry, but its blades were shattered. He caved in the Rat-man's skull, its foul brains spilling on the floor.

Peter looked around, and saw another assassin lying broken on the floor.

"The third?" asked Peter, but Dieter shook his head, as the pair were once again rushed by the Storm Vermin.

 

[the hidden one]

Igor was about to turn and jump up over the warp fire throwers that were behind him, when it began to rain. This suited him fine, as it would allow for his footsteps to be muffled by the noise of the rain, even if there wasn't a battle going on. He saw a group of skaven gatling guns, and decided that they should probably stop firing.

Igor was sneaking, invisible towards jezzials. He was getting close, and the skaven hadn't seen him, even with the rain nearly ruining his advantage. He was walking slowly, when he heard a beep. Followed by three more beeps, all getting louder and louder. Igor saw hundreds of discs fly three feet into the air, and without thinking, threw himself to the ground.

He saw flashes of light as all of the mines exploded above him. He saw the skaven turn, to find who had set off their trap. They could not see anyone, as he was still invisible to them. Igor rolled, his whole body seeming to have been cut and scraped, even though only his leg was severely hurt. More troubling though, was that his cloak had a tiny hole in it. This would need to be fixed later.

Ten minutes later, Igor had started to inch himself toward the gatling guns. It was grueling work, exhausting and painful, but he could not get up. His leg would not support his weight, and it had just started to heal. It was excruciating to have the bones in his leg mend themselves, shifting back into position. He was now only twenty feet from the skaven, and he continued to inch forward.

 

[The Archivist]

With the sudden detonation of not one but all the mines on the left flank, the rattling guns panicked. Their position was dangerously close to the front lines, and they had been satisfied that the mines were going to provide them an effective buffer. Now... there was nothing left to protect them. With the sudden dissappearance of the western flanking attack, they weren't too hesitant in scampering off over the ridge, taking their precious guns with them.

 

[The Dread King]

Morturion observed the lores of magic die down. He saw that the lore of beasts was still running rampant, and what with the beast in the sky, this lore was going to be particularly hard to calm. The drain of his power left him temporarily weaker than before. Drawing upon caches of magic, he threw more energy into Nekhlior, and offered an outstretched hand to help his tutor up.

"I think we'll be able to calm Ghur," Morturion shouted over the din of battle, "but it will be hard to do so with that huge, bestial fleshworm lurking up there in the sky, and, for goodness' sake, you can't possibly hope to calm the entire storm. We use necromancy to keep ourselves animated, and that use will soon reverse your calming of Shyish. With one wind unbalanced-" he looked at his teacher, "-all related winds will return to power, and it is quite possible that this will make the storm even more wild and powerful. Still, at least our side will be the ones with the best knowledge of how to use Shyish and the winds similar to it."

 

[the hidden one]

Igor saw the gatling guns flee, and sighed in relief. He was now only a foot from where they were, and had propped himself up against a tree, tending to his leg, which was definitely broken in several places. He fashioned a makeshift splint, and waited, observing the battle from afar.

 

[Get of W'soran]

Dieter frowned and looked around at the Skaven surrounding them.
"I don't know." he muttered angrily trying to find the Assassin amongst the other soldiers.

Dieter felt more the butcher than swordsman as he hacked and slashed at the Rat-Men but there was no room or time for anything more complex than basic cuts.

Dieter had just parried a particularly viscous looking halberd when the Assassin suddenly revealed itself leaping towards the Blood Dragon with his venomous daggers.

Dieter started to raise his blade but he knew he wasn't going to be quick enough.

-----------------------------------------------

Nekhlior nodded silently at Morturion's words, dark blood running from the Necrarch's nose, his flesh still smoking from the damage done to him by the wind of light.

Taking his former pupil's hand he managed to regain his feet.

"We...we need not to ensure that the winds are fu...fully calmed." he explained haltingly, his voice hoarse and weak "Necromancy...u...uses Dhar...it will be all the stronger for some imbalance...we need only to ensure th...that the storm abates."

Nekhlior sagged for a moment before standing tall, the winds roaring around him as he summoned all but one lore to himself.

The Necrarch chanted, speaking in the arcane tongue as he instructed Ghur to calm down but the Beast Wind was by it's very nature a wild power and it was merciless in it's quest for freedom.
It attempted to tear itself from Nekhlior's grasp, sending painful shocked throughout his entire body, but the vampire held on grimly unwilling to release it.

Nekhlior's opened himself up to the power Morturion was giving him, drawing on the Necromantic power of the man to rejuvenate himself.

Like he had done with the white wind Nekhlior decided the best way to weaken the madness of Ghur was with it's opposite.
Summoning Azyr to him the Necrarch empowered the calm magic of the heavens and channelled it at the wild wind.

The Necrarch's acute witchsight saw the brown fade and come into alignment with the others winds, all eight where of various strength now, with Shyish being the greatest, but none where so great as to throw the arcane into chaos anymore.

"It is done." the Nekhlior muttered.

For the moment the vampire was weak but now he could easily touch the eight winds at once and they where rejuvenating the Necrarch even now.

----------------------------------------------------

The battle looked poor for the Vampires, for all they had done they where still outnumbered.

Then the sounds of horns came from the walls of Drakenhof and the city's gates where pulled open.

A great host left the city.
First came the Skeleton's, the weak undead making up the majority of this army, after which came three orderly regiments of the Drakenhof guard, they where Wights and the greatest of their kind amongst the von Carstien armies having been crafted with great care and outfitted with enchanted weaponry.

There where mortals too of course, mostly men carrying crossbows and rifles, but the Sylvanian humans where proud to march alongside their undying lords.

Throughout the forces there where scattered less physical beings, Wraiths, Banshees and ghosts flowed around some screeching some silent.

And of course Necromancer's could be found standing alone and in groups throughout the von Carstein army.

Above the Drakenhof army huge bats where gathering, drawn by the power of the living dead.

And at the rear of the force came Drakenhof's lord.

Lord Regent Karl von Carstein sat upon his steed amidst a group of Blood Knights.
Beside him sat the mortal Lukas.
Alongside these vampiric knights where the Black Knights and the Hexwraiths.

And last came the small regiment of the Regent's guard, each one worth a dozen of the strongest mindless dead, ready to come to the aid of their captain.

The force left the walled city and swiftly found itself in battle formation at the edge of the battlefield but it did not come to the council's aid.

Lukas glared at Karl but before he could speak the Regent looked at him with a smile.

"We do not advance yet, we're waiting." he said calmly.

After a few moments of silence a huge shadow overcast the entire area, all present felt the urge to glance upwards at this unexpected darkness.

Karl was one of the few who did not, instead he merely smiled.

"Waiting is done, now we attack."

 

[The Archivist]

The storm vermin had broken through once more and were advancing on the scattered remnants of the council when Drakenhoff responded. With snarls, the Krack-N teams began a fighting retreat, putting the clansrats between them and the army as they walked slowly backwards towards the artillery and the tunnel back into the Great Underpass.

 

[the hidden one]

Seeing the host of drakenhoff arrayed against the skaven, igor realized that he needed blood to speed the healing process.

He started to walk, a shambling, limping, ugly gait, sometimes hopping, others limping horribly, to find a skaven. He saw a block of skavenslaves that were fleeing, and grabbed one, drained it of blood, and sat down, savoring the taste.

 

[Disciple of Nagash]

As the battle had raged, so did the fight against the twisted Chaos Wyrm. As before the Ushabti leapt to attack as their master watched on, blades whistling through the air, lashing and lunging with immense skill and grace.

Pirouetting on one foot Ramon curved upward with his immense double handed blade, runic power blazing like miniature suns, carving chunks from the Wyrms flesh. His next step blocked a strike intended for his brother Ushabti with a discordant clash, the five working together as one. They had trained together for so long it was second nature, even with one of their number missing they had adjusted effortlessly.

A band of men would have been quashed in moments, but with their blessings they would dodge the creatures attacks, block its powerful blows, and still manage to strike back with devastating force.

Following the next step in the dance Ramon brought his blade whistling round, only to have to swiftly duck at the last minute. A sliver too slow he felt a shallow scratch on his shoulder. It was nothing, he had been hurt more in training, and he took it his stride, continuing to deal death. Yet at the back of his mind, he knew something was not quite right.


It is still changing, mutating.....adapting.

"I know," Rowhaine spoke out loud, a frown on his face. It had appeared this new beast would die as fast as the twisted Skaven had done, gobbets of flesh being torn from its new body every second, chunks of metal raining forth. The powerful Ushabti were truly showing their worth, their godly gifts shining forth......but then something had changed.

The only way Rowhaine could have described it was like listening to one note being off key in the middle of musical masterpiece. Everything was flowing as it should, and then something jarred, the Wyrm moved not as expected. Again and again it happened until the trickle of unanticipated movements became a rush. The Ushabti reacted magnificently, adapting time and time again to the shifting nature of the beast, yet it was changing faster than they could adapt.

New limbs burst forth, lashing out with power that dwarfed its previous blows. Strikes that were hurtling one way reversed in an instant, the Wyrm moving at unholy speed for its size. Finally one Ushabti feel to his knees, a bloody gash across his chest. His brothers moved in to protect him, yet even fighting defensively they were being overpowered.

Phahotep's khopesh flittered back and forth, faster than they eye could follow. He was the strongest, the fastest of the Ushabti, yet he felt a growing pit of despair. With a roar he willed his limbs to move faster, batting away one strike, then another.......but out of the corner of his eye he could see that would be his last. In slow motion he saw the muscled limb spurt forth from the mutated Wyrm, a razor sharp talon the size of his leg at the end. It blurred round in a decapitating strike that neither he or his brethren would be able to stop.

A glowing khopesh stopped it effortlessly, flickering forth to sever the appendage.

"Retreat," Rowhaine commanded, blade flowing back and forth as blocked every strike the monster made. For a moment Phahotep could only watch in awe as he finally saw his master in battle. The rush, the struggle that had been there moments ago was gone. Rowhaine faced the beast, stock still except for his right arm as he stopped every blow made against him. It was too fast for the Ushabti to truly follow, all they could see were the afterimages of the blurring blade and the howls of pain and fustration of the Wyrm as the holy blade bit into its flesh.

"I do not expect to repeat myself." The tone of Rowhaine's voice cut through, kicking in the ingrained training of the Ushabti. The fact that he could keep track of them at the same time did not escape Phahotep's attention, and it was with wonder that they fell back and left their master to finish what they had started.


It is still learning.....it is adapting my love

'I know,' Rowhaine thought, 'but I am just getting starting. I intend to finish this.......abomination before it can adapt much further.'

 

[the hidden one]

Igor sat watching in semi-awe as this Rowhaine fought the worm. His blade moved faster ten his eye could follow, and it slashed and cut the beast, even as the thing changed. Hoping that he would kill it, Igor gingerly moved his leg, as it had healed enough to stand on. He returned his attention to the battle, and knew that one the armies of Drakenhoff came, and the worm was destroyed, the skaven would be crushed.

 

[The Dread King]

Morturion felt inward relief with the knowledge that the winds had been calmed sufficiently. He was starting to feel very tired when he spotted the host of Drakenhof. So those damned Carsteins decided to finally show up. It's about time they did some work; I had feared that they were going to let us all die. The arrival of the Carstein troops reassured him that the battle would be over soon, but then he saw what the fleshwyrm was doing. He marvelled at its display, and saw the man who could only have been Rowhaine singlehandedly facing it off. Much as though Morturion would like the wyrm to devour the Nehekharan, the necromancer knew that he was probably going to die, or, at the very least, lose the battle, if the beast was not destroyed, and from what it had shown already, the council didn't stand much of a chance without Rowhaine stopping the monster.

Morturion picked up the clouded jar beside him. I wish that annoying human wizard hadn't broken that machine of mine earlier, or I would be able to use it on that wyrm now. I'll have to adapt, he thought in irritation. "Let's see how it likes this," Morturion snarled; he shot dark energy into the jar so that it was almost overloaded with the strange fog. Beads of sweat massed on Morturion's brow like a burning army, but thankfully, no-one could see this, as he was wearing his helmet. The jar made a whoosh noise and the wyrm moaned in pain as invisible arcane tendrils pulled on its soul, trying to rip it out of its living, mutated body.

 

[Count Darvaleth]

Sweat was pouring from Kraskor's brow, his gilded black armour covered in blood and gore. The blade he held in his hand was about the sixth, now; he had recovered it from a Stormvermin's corpse. It was crude, but sturdy, holding up well against the onslaught. The tide was turning, however; the magical storm was calming, allowing the superior Council soldiers to press their advantage. The arrival of the Lord Regent and his army truly tipped the scales, and many areas of the Skaven line fell into full retreat. Kraskor took this moment to press his advantage.

"Onward! The Skaven are close to breaking, push on and we can finish this!" he cried, hoping others would join his charge as momentum was gathered by the Council attack. He leapt forward, his crude blade singing a dance more elegant than its previous owner could ever have hoped to emulate. Kraskor's blood roared as his sword descended, swiping a slave's head straight off. A second slave leapt at Kraskor, scrabbling on the back of his armour. Snarling, Kraskor reached back with his free hand, clenched his taloned gauntlet over the Skaven's head, and pulled him over onto the floor, curb-stomping its head into a bloody pulp.

Banespike let out a gasp as a sickle of green energy spiked into him, shards of warpstone penetrating his armour. A strange kind of Skaven approached, a smouldering pistol in its outstreched hand, bearing an odd assortment of cumbersome armour and a gleaming blade. Kraskor moved forward as the Engineer fired again, a second shard embedding itself in Kraskor's flesh. As Kraskor moved to run the creature through, it moved fast, faster than it should've been able to, and blocked the blow. The armour wasn't slow at all; it was mechanical, powered by a whistling backpack, lending strength and swiftness to the Skaven's blows. Kraskor barely blocked a return-swing in time, the magical blade shattering Kraskor's scavenged one.

Cursing, Kraskor doubled backwards, one eye scanning for a weapon on the ground. The pistol came up again, and two more warpstone shards slammed into Kraskor. The Blood Dragon could feel their magical essence bleeding into him, poisoning him.

It's not poison if you can control it.

Kraskor looked up; the rat hadn't spoken, and was raising its pistol to fire again. The warpstone shards were thrumming, raw magic seeping into Kraskor. Snarling, he raised his arm, lightning arcing along his gauntlets before ripping outwards, blasting the pistol from the Skaven's hand. Moving faster than normal, Kraskor stepped inwards, his gauntlet pummeling the Skaven, ripping the power-pack from its back. Immediately the Skaven's armour grew dim, slowing it immeasurably. Kraskor grabbed the glowing blade from its flailing body as it fell to the ground.

Suddenly, Kraskor whirled on the spot, his blade cutting through the assassin who had only appeared there that instant. The glowing blade cut right through its flesh, a gasp of surprise guttering from its dying mouth as it collapsed. Kraskor looked at its body in wonder: how had he known it was there? Before it had even struck?

Kraskor turned back to the Engineer, finding and tearing out the warpstone shards from his armour as he held the blade to its neck. The battle raged on around him, but Kraskor had to know. He couldn't let the opportunity for knowledge pass.

"Tell me what I need to know, and your life will be spared," he snarled, drawing blood on the rat's sweat-covered neck.

"Yes-yes! No need to hurt us!" it scrabbed in reply.

Kraskor paused, considering his question. "Your kind make powerful weapons. Very powerful," Kraskor lifted up the glowing blade he held now, as if showing it as an example. "Tell me, how is it that you make such weapons?"

The Skaven gurgled, blood running from its mouth. Kraskor lunged, lifting it upwards by the neck, only to realise it wasn't dying. It was laughing.

"I cannot tell you how," it cackled, "Skaven are best-best forgers of them all. We made-made the ultimate weapon, and keep it safe in our holes," the laughter turned to true gurgling, as the beast began to drown in blood. Looking down, Kraskor saw the Skaven had stabbed itself with a small dagger, denying Kraskor the knowledge he sought. Cursing, the vampire threw the Skaven back to the ground, holding the glowing blade aloft.

Looking up, Banespike saw Rowhaine had engaged the Wyrm. He showed true martial perfection, parrying the monster's blows and rending its flesh with every strike. As mighty as Rowhaine was, Kraskor could not find it within himself to be impressed. As perfect as every blow was, Kraskor knew there was someone better.

 

[Malochai]

Markus had fought through the ranks of the Skaven, and his armour was now dented and scratched by numerous blades, and glazed with the viscous black liquid of vermin blood. His Claws danced skillfully, slicing throats and stomachs with consummate ease, and yet he could not defend against all of the blows coming his way. A change in the enemies around him caused him to glance around during the quick lull in the attacks on him, and the thump of many feet on the ground drew his gaze inexorably back towards Drakenhof.

A grim smile crossed his face. ‘So ... Lukas accomplished his take ... Impressive,’ he told himself, before the thin skein of thought was whisked away by the chittering around him and more blows to his armour and he fell to fighting again.

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Lukas was pleased to be riding with the host of Drakenhof, although his face was set into a grim smile, and his close presence to Karl was almost overwhelming; even for a strong-willed mortal such as he who would willingly disobey his own masters wishes, just being in the vampires presence was enough to cow his own wishes.

He looked about and was amazed by the size of the army he was currently in; Carrasville had never amassed a host even a quarter of this size whilst he was alive - the largest formations there were the Watches, fifty strong. The immensity was almost as overwhelming as the aura exuding from the Regent. He could only force himself to send a reproachful glare at the vampire when they stopped.

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Out of the corner of his eye, the Lion saw Rowhaine showing off his military skill for the first time. He was quietly impressed, but right then he instinctively blocked the wild swing of a rusted sword. The razor sharp Claws sliced through the poor excuse of a weapon in four different places, leaving only a hilt and a jagged sprout of metal sticking from the end of it. Squealing, the verminous scum leapt at him, scratching at his armour with wild abandon, attempting to find a weak spot in his armour. He scoffed silently; the ancient armour of Nehekhara had prevailed against more fearsome foes.

He roared, and the sea of bobbing heads seemed to freeze before him. With dispassionate surety, he drove the wicked blades of his weapons into the ratman’s sides, and he kicked the dead body with disgust when it hit the floor. Within seconds, he was being attacked from every side again, but these were poorly armed workers pressed into armour and battle; despite the bloodlust that filled them all and pressed them to fight, they had little skill and The Lion became surrounded by dead or dying bodies, but found himself unable to press on any further towards the artillery throughout the horde which was seemingly without number.

He closed his eyes momentarily, and hoped for Lukas and the Drakenhof army to rout the skaven quickly; even his inhuman, extraordinary strength was beginning to wane - his blows were fractionally slower, a fractionally less powerful, although still plenty strong to kill ratmen easily enough.

His eyes opened and seemed to burn with an inner fire, hotter than the deserts of Araby under the noonday sun, and he killed with cold malevolence. The vampire was determined that he would not leave the field of battle before all was done.

 

[Ghouly]

Graveclaw leaned against a tree along the Councils eastern flank, watching the war raging before him, the old Strigoi had no desire to bloody his claws to the Carstines benefit, the events of the previous council burned in his mind “Sssssstupid puny Graveclaw, never again!” The Ghoul king snarled ferociously, jaw clenching with such force that his teeth groaned.

 

[Disciple of Nagash]

A tentacled limb whipped out lighting fast, the puckered edge flashing inches in front of Rowhaine's eyes as the sliced in cleanly in half.

It is getting closer

As much as it annoyed him to admit it, Rowhaine knew she was right. The beast was moving faster and faster, and whilst he was far from struggling he knew that if current event's continued, there could become a time when even he would not be fast enough.

But for all his devastating blows, the thing simply would not die! His khopesh was having the usual effect, blacking the unholy flesh and tearing through skin and bone with equal ease. Yet even as these rotting chunks fell to the earth, more flesh ballooned forth faster than could be cut. The beast twitched for a moment as a magical force ripped into it, tearing at the soul, then something unexpected happen. What was left of the skaven souls left the monstrous form, a putrid stream of corruption that slammed into the Morturion with debilitating power.

As they left the warpstone still embedded into the Wrym pulsed with power, something much more powerful forcing it's way into the flesh puppet. Not wasting a moment Rowhaine took the advantage, unleashing a immense blow to the monster's midriff. However no one was more surprised than he when a blade of bone parried his strike with amazing skill.

Another limb struck to Rowhaine's left, followed by a flurry of attacks that backfooted the Champion. The Wyrm seemed to have taken on the aspect of a man, two muscled arms flickering in a martial style that was eerily familiar, made even more so when eye sockets opened further up the beast, burning with purple fire.

YOU HAVE BEEN PRACTISING CHAMPION

The word were said mockingly, in a twisted booming voice.....yet Rowhaine still could not shake the sense of familiarity. What he did know however was that the fight had changed. The.....thing....he fought was extremely skilled, though how that was possible he didn't know. Whether it was stronger that he Rowhaine wasn't sure, however from the twitching and movement of the man-wyrm it seemed that something was still happening. If forced to guess Rowhaine would have said the new owner was still trying to gain full control of the body, and if that was the case, he did not want to see what his new foe could do once he fully had control.