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TVC II Chapter 5 - The Wastes

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Disciple of Nagash

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#26
I have not seen such a portal before. I am unsure if I will be able to communicate with you whilst you are in there

Rowhaine was somewhat surprised to hear the tone of concern on Asaph’s voice. It was almost as if she did not want to lose contact with him, even for such a short length of time.

‘My gifts should not be affected should they?’

No. I anticipated long ago that there could be occasions where contact would be blocked or broken. Your connection to the divine is innate, it does not require my constant presence

‘Then there is nothing to worry about’

No…..no, of course not

The Goddesses tone was still somewhat…off however before Rowhaine could query it further he saw the rest of the Council were waiting.

“Apologies,’ he said as he realised his silent communion had distracted him, “I am keeping you all waiting. If we are all ready, then we shall proceed.” Rowhaine gestured to the Ushabti who spaced themselves around the Council. Whilst in truth most of the Council needed little protection, it was a gesture that showed Rowhaine valued his allies wellbeing as much as his own.

“Master Nekhilor, if you will lead the way.”
 

Malochai

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#27
"I am sure there is no reason to apologise, Lord Rowhaine. We are just about ready to depart, I think," Shah returned to the Champion, noticing that the Ushabti surrounded them. He felt his Claws flex, curving inwards, and hen relaxed. No doubt the mortal just wished them to be safe, but he felt it demeaning to be surrounded by mortals - chosen by the gods or not - of a foreign country whom he could probably outfight, given the correct circumstances. A growl started to build itself in his throat and he cut it off before anyone could hear.

"Master Nekhlior, by your leave. I believe we have quite distance to travel."
 
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#28
The Twins gave a small parting snicker to Markus, and flashed toothy, canine smiles, before shifting back to bats and darting over to Nehklior's shoulders once again. That one was so easily overbalanced when he was angry...and he always seemed to be angry. Perhaps he and Mr. Almost-a-Liche....

A deranged sort of giggling interspersed by whispers emanated from the Necrarch's shoulders, and the ancient vampire himself heard mutterings of schemes both diabolical and comedic.
 

Get of W'soran

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#29
Nekhlior smiled almost fondly at the two bat-vampires on his shoulders as they plotted.

Then looking up at the group he nodded.

"Let's go then, the portal will shut after us so there's no turning back. Stay close to me and remember Do Not Leave The Path or you may become lost." he growled.

Raising his staff with both hands Nekhlior hissed an incantation, purple light leapt from the staff to create a small dome to envelope the party.

Chanting continuously Nekhlior led the group through the rift.

----------

Eternal Darkness surrounded the party the only light coming from the burning bright silver path which was only just wide enough for two men to walk side-by-side.

The path seemed to stretch out forever.

Nekhlior still chanted his warding spell as he led the others onwards.
 
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#30
"Let us have a tune! It is dark and boring in here, and maybe it will frighten away the gloomy spirits."the Twins suggested, and without waiting for an answer, jumped directly into song, turning the unwitting Necrarch into a sort of musical mount.


"I'll tell you a story that happened to me
One day as I went down to Youghal by the Sea
The sun it was bright and the day it was warm
Says I, "A quiet pint wouldn't do me no harm""



"I went in to the barman, I says, "Give me a stout"
Says the barman, "I'm sorry all the beer tis sold out
Try whiskey or vodka, ten years in the wood"
Says I, "I'll try cider, I heard that it's good""



Oh never, oh never, oh never again
If I live to a hundred or a hundred and ten
I fell to the ground and I couldn't get up
After drinking a pint of the Johnny Jump Up



After lowering the third I headed straight for the yard
Where I bumped into Brophy the big civic guard
"Come here to me boy don't you know we're in the law"
Well I upped with my fist and I shattered his jaw



He fell to the ground with his knees crumpled up
For t'wasnt I hit him t'was the johnny jump
And the next thing I met down in Youghal by the Sea
Was a cripple on crutches, and says he to me



"I'm afraid o' me life I'll be slain in a war
Would you help me across to the Railwayman's Bar"
And after three pints of that cider so sweet
He threw down his crutches and he danced on his feet



Oh never, oh never, oh never again
If I live to a hundred or a hundred and ten
Cause I fell to the ground and I couldn't get up
After drinking a pint of the Johnny Jump Up



Now I went up the Lee Road a friend for to see
They call it the Madhouse in Cork by the Lee
But when I got up there, the truth I do to tell
They had the poor bugger locked up in his cell



Says the guard testing him, "Say these words if you can
'Around the rugged rocks the ragged rascal ran'"
"Tell them I'm not crazy, tell them I'm not mad
T'was only six pints of that cider I had"



Now a man died in the Stirland by the name of McNabb
They washed him and placed him outside on a slab
And after the coroner his measurements did take
His wife took him home to a bloody fine wake



'Twas about twelve o'clock and the beer it was high
The corpse he sat up and he says with a sigh
I can't get to Morr's Land, they won't let me up
'Til I bring them a pint of the Johnny Jump Up



Oh never, oh never, oh never again
If I live to a hundred or a hundred and ten
'Cause I fell to the ground and I couldn't get up
After drinking a pint of the Johnny Jump Up

Oh never, oh never, oh never again
If I live to a hundred or a hundred and ten
'Cause I fell to the ground and I couldn't get up
After drinking a pint of the Johnny Jump Up

Oh never, oh never, oh never again
If I live to a hundred or a hundred and ten
'Cause I fell to the ground and I couldn't get up
After drinking a pint of the Johnny Jump Up
 
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#31
Rolling his eyes, Igor nearly shouted at the twins. Restraining himself he simply said "Your singing is not half bad-it is all bad. If you want to distract the others, and possibly even Nekhilor, then I suggest you shut your mouth."
 

Malochai

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#32
The Lion was pleased when Igor interjected into the Fools' song - he had been about to reach forward and pluck them bodily from Nekhlior's body where they perched.

"He is correct. The singing is ridiculous; it could distract our one chance here, or draw attention to our presence here. The last thing we need are scores of dead attempting to breach this shield .. Which, whilst I admire the skill of our guide, I do not trust fully. This is a realm of magic, who knows what magic could be brought to bear in an attempt to breach it.
"Now, shut up! When your opinion is wanted, we will ask you. Until then, keep in mind the fact we do not yet care about your opinions!"
 

Get of W'soran

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#33
Nekhlior frowned at the annoying sounds the two shapeshifters where making.

Still chanting under his breath to keep the shield strong the Necrarch wordlessly summoned up some black lightning to momentarily run over his body, the charge was not intense enough to cause any real harm just enough to shock the two singing immortals.

Nekhlior smiled faintly, he could not tell the childish vampires off verbally so this would do.
 
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#34
The Twins took the consternation of the skulking vampire and the Kitten of Araby in stride, and though the others could not likely see it, their tongues waggled in defiance at their detractors.

That was, until the dark arcane jolt shocked them into the reality of the situation. They had, of course, sensed the immense power surrounding the Necrarch, and assumed that the wizard could easily manage the shield. Muttered and bashful apologies followed their realization, though they decided to continue their harassment of the two who had insulted them when it was less likely to get everyone well and truly butchered.
 

Get of W'soran

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#35
Finally the darkness ahead broke to reveal a faint break in the black, a glowing portal of light at the end of the silver path.

The group continued in relative silence mostly broken by Nekhlior's chanting.

Soon the group where stepping through the portal, bathing them in blinding light, then they where standing in the barren Wastes.

Nekhlior allowed the warding spell to fade away and broke his connection to the Nagashi Tome at his belt that he had used to augment his arcane strength.

Nekhlior looked back to see that the rift they had passed through was indeed invisible to the naked eye, it was even difficult to see with the Necrarch's witchsight.

With a muttered word he closed the rift and then turned back to the group.

"This is as far as I could safely send us, any deeper and the winds of magic would have blown to strongly for a stable gateway."
 

Disciple of Nagash

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#36
Impressive

Rowhaine had to agree. Carrying such a large group through the winds of magic so far was an immense feat, and one that very few mages in the world would have been able to do with the apparent ease that Nekhlior had. It was a stark reminder that there were potent powers other than himself.

As he opened his mouth to speak Rowhaine turned his head quickly, distracted by a shadow in his peripheral vision. Seeing nothing he once more prepared to speak, only to stop as he heard giggling.

Beware my love. Enemies approach!

Even before he Asaph spoke the champion was shouting a warning, sensing the incursion moments before the others.

Drawn like months to a flame, the daemons had scented the powerful magic used to sustain the portal and come seeking prey. It was rare that arcane power other than the taint of chaos was tasted in this region, and their curiosity was peaked at who or what this new toys could be. Feeding off the residual energy before it fully dissipated the chittering creatures quickly took shape. Light coalesced into arms and legs, dancing horrors that laughed with mirth. Next to them twisted entities spat forth multi-coloured fire as disc shaped animals flashed through the air.

“Denizens of the Changer of Ways,” Phahotep rumbled, the Ushabti closing ranks around Rowhaine, “and not just them…….”

For the remaining power, a fiercely fought battle seemed to be taking place between the flickers of light, streaks of different coloured power arcing back and forth. Suddenly there was a bright flash followed by an enraged howl as the victors claimed their spoils, and lithe half naked creatures strode into being, clicking their claws in a seductive fashion as they licked their sharpened teeth.

The two daemonic forces seemed to regard one another for a moment, before turning the group assembled before them. Evidently deciding that working together would prove more fruitful the combined creatures began to stalk forward, outnumbering the Council more than ten to one. With an eerie screech they flung themselves on the attack.
 

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#37
Shah looked around as they exited the portal, and even he could feel the magic in the air. The hair on the back of his neck bristled and he couldn’t shake off the sense of being in an otherworldly place, but he tried to not let his anticipation, possibly even nervousness, show in his body language. He noted Rowhaine’s quick turn of the head and followed it, but saw nothing. He narrowed his eyes and glared at the Wastes around them, scanning. His fingers twitched, resulting in his Claws musically tinkling against each other like breaking glass.

As the creatures coalesced in all of their beautiful, alluring horror, Shah took a ready stance, slightly crouched and Claws extended to left and right, the blades flexing slightly as he moved his fingers. His golden eyes flitted between enemies and a faintly recognisable sensation clutched his undead heart in its grasp. ‘There are so many...’ he thought to himself in silent shock.

The vampire recognised the daemons facing them only from vague descriptions in ancient tomes he had scoured in his younger days; the Daemonettes and Horrors, alongside stranger, crueler looking daemons. His eyes were immediately drawn to the Daemonettes, but he felt an overwhelming loathing for their sinuous forms. Crude copies of female heads filled with razor sharp teeth and black, hollow eyes surrounded by long, greasy hair billowing in the Aethryic winds. He locked eyes with one, and a long, glossy pink tongue extended from the gaping hole, licking it’s lipless face. The creature pawed at the ground with a back-jointed leg, and repeatedly clicked it’s crab-like claw threateningly. A petrifying smile formed on the daemons face, and then it started to advance, slowly to begin with and then increasing in pace.

The creature had a strangely mesmerising gait, and Markus found himself staring as it drew closer, and only when a burst of eldritch fire seared itself against his retinas, forcing him to blink and clear his vision, did he once more ready himself for the oncoming fight. The Daemonette was mere paces away when he stepped to the left, swiping fast and strong with his right Claw. It dodged aside lithely, claws clacking and tongue flicking out as if to taste the air. The black eyes shimmered with a strange mix anger and desire, and then the grey-skinned face had gone, dancing around him, and he felt a powerful force attack the back of his armour, sending him stumbling forward slightly and leaving him off balance. Shah frowned and spun, slower than he would have liked, Claws flashing in the sun of the barren land about them. The humanoid daemon blocked his blows easily, and spun about, and slammed into his right hand side. Staggering away, he cursed and took a step back, reassessing the situation. A realisation sunk in. More daemons had piled in, and another Daemonette was closing in on him. Feet planted, he bent his legs and leapt forward, weighed down only slightly by his armour, and thrust his Claws in front of him. The weapons, razor sharp, pierced flesh and he wrenched his hands in different directions, Aethyric guts steaming as it hit the air, which rushed in towards the tear in the daemon’s flesh. The smell of burning brimstone touched his nostrils and, with a wet pop, the daemon imploded on itself, sucked back into the Dark Prince’s Realm. Markus had less than a second to dwell on his victory before the second Daemonette was upon him, a snarl on her bestial face, made even more horrendous by runes which burnt the eye emblazoned on her forehead and tattooed around her eyes. His eyes narrowed once more, and he stood ready to react as she danced about him.
 

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#38
Kraskor sniffed the air as he exited the portal, his smouldering eyes scanning the barren landscape for any threats. He could pick up no trace of any scent, except for the distant aroma of dried blood, which was probably a result of the magic which blew through this realm anyway.

Rowhaine had noticed something, however, and for a few moments Kraskor couldn't tell what it was. Suddenly, flickering lights spontaneously appeared, flickering and dancing before a surge of magic ruptured the witchflames into fully-fledged beings of Chaos:

Daemons.

Kraskor snarled, pulling the von Carstein sword from his waist and and into his right hand. The ridiculously ornate wolf hilt glinted in the flickering fire of the daemonspawn all around him, but the blade was sharp; that was all Kraskor needed. Unworldly bundles of flesh and limbs leapt forward, multiple flailing arms surrounding a fanged pink mass. The creatures had huge maws, with rows of sharp teeth, golden bangles and rings jingling completely out of time with the harsh cackling sounds emanating from their unnatural stomachs. Multi-coloured fire burst into life in their palms, great sunken eyes staring out from deep pits as the creatures readied to hurl their daemonfire at the group. These were the denizens of Tzeentch, the followers of the Changer of Ways.

Horrors.

To Kraskor's rear, the Lion had engaged a second group of daemons; he seemed to have the situation handled, so Kraskor concentrated forward. Two of the Horrors had lurched forward from one of the larger packs, and each held an arm outstretched as they combined their daemonflame. Quickly, Kraskor thrust out his left hand, conjuring a basic magical barrier as he had been taught as he ran forward. Kraskor's black armour clinked as the plates interlocked and pulled apart with the motion, his crimson cloak billowing out from behind him as the stale air of the wastes pulled the hood back from his pale features and ash-white hair. The Horrors hurled their fire at the Blood Dragon; Kraskor grimaced as the impact stalled him, robbing him of his momentum as he tried to rebalance. The protective ward had absorbed the fire's magical heat, but not its force, briefly staggering the ancient vampire. The two Horrors leapt forward, taking advantage of the situation; or so they thought. Kraskor laughed as he snapped out of the feigned-disorientation, lunging forward with his sword at the first Horror, the blade sinking into its great maw and exiting the other side. The Horror burst into aetherical fire as the second one faltered. Kraskor took the opportunity, turning his lunge into a full pirouette, the blade sweeping round into a vicious slash. The Horror was rent in two, the severed limbs and ruined maw falling to the ground in a bundled heap before disappearing in a flash.

Kraskor took stock, his black heart pulsing as necromantic energy flooded his veins. The light from the fallen Horror's death recoalesced into a smaller version of itself, scrabbling forward at Kraskor's armoured boot. Banespike lifted it, before bringing the meteoric steel boot plummeting back to earth, the muted impact crushing the Horror's head beneath an avalanche of unrelenting contempt. Kraskor readied a magical charge in his left hand, the smouldering energy matching the dark glimmer in his eyes.

"This is all the Dark Gods can send at us? They're being too kind!"
 

Disciple of Nagash

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#39
With an indrawn gasp the twisted flamer of Tzeetch sucked in the foul air of the wastes, its skin pulsing as it changed colour from pink to purple. A second later it expelled and a torrent of multi-coloured flame spat forth, covering the ground between the daemon and the Ushabti in the blink of an eye. In perfect synchronisation the trained warriors held their various weapons in front, the runes glowing bright as they fought the inferno. Instead of dissipating the blaze only grew as another flamer, and then another added its strength to the attack.

“Hold steady,” Phahotep barked, eyes slitted against the glaring heat. The other Ushabti showed no signs of wavering however, each wearing the same grim resolve. Rowhaine shifted as he saw the flames beginning to die down, hand instinctively going towards his blade.

Restrain yourself. You have already fought too much, and too much have I overlooked. Do not forget our pact my love.

‘You would have me watch whilst they die? Whilst Nehekharans die when I just stand?’ Rowhaine snapped back mentally. He sensed a quiet shock at this outburst, before the goddess surged back into his mind.

Do not forget with whom you speak! The tone was harsh, like a dagger into his mind and only a monumental feat of will stopped the pain showing on the Champion’s face. They know this as well as you. They do not fault you for it, and are ready to die if needs be. Asaph paused, her voice softening as she spoke once more, You are not immortal my Champion. You may be stronger, tougher, faster than most. Yet you can be defeated and you can tire. Even without those reasons you have been given immense power, power that should not be given to mortals. You know this, and what will happen if you use it too much.

‘I know this, but I can fight without using the gift’

Without the gift that chance of your death is all the much higher. Should your comrades and the Ushabti look to be defeated only then may you assist. Until then you must rest your hand.

The internal discussion happened in a heartbeat, and by its end the flames had guttered out.

“Now!” Phahotep roared, rushing forward. His blade smoked from the stress of driving back the flames, leaving behind trailing black arc as he drove it through the flamers right shoulder, down and out on the left. Normally daemons flesh was like steel to mundane blades, but to the holy craft of the Ushabti’s weapons it provided as much protection as mist. Two of the blessed warriors instinctively stayed back as their training dictated, ready to protect the champion with their life. Even so they weren’t idle as the swarm of daemons surged forth. Horrors scampered around, lashing out randomly with bolts of twisting flame. At times they seemed to work together, causing stronger magical strikes. Each time the Ushabti worked to deflect the bolts with their weapons, thanking their gods for granting them enhanced reflexes than allowed them to stay alive.

As the daemons drew closer they were met with deadly force, yet for each that was destroyed another quickly took their spot. Phahotep’s sword cleaved through a second flamer in quick succession, and it was only his long experience and instincts that allowed him to raise his guard in enough time to block a strike to his right. An immense black claw clanged back, clicking in annoyance as the daemonette effortlessly danced out of each of the counterstrike. In stark contrast a sultry smile spread across its oddly alluring face, as a surprisingly normal hand stroking its one bare nipple.

Phahotep glared at his new foe, grunting as he subconsciously fought the allure of the beast. Then with a blur the two opponents struck once more.
 

Get of W'soran

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#40
Nekhlior was annoyed.

He had done a tremendous act, right now he should be getting showered in the praises and admiration of the others, instead these accursed creatures had decided to come along and distract everyone from the Necrarch's wondrous feats.

So not basking in glory but instead feeling sick with fear at the sight of the creature of Tzeentch, the Slaaneshi beings were a mere sideshow in comparison. All Nekhlior could think of was his past near escapes from the Architect of Fate's servants.

However Nekhlior's view of the ongoing enemy was somewhat different than the others. Instead Nekhlior saw their aethyric echoes and the mess they where making of the winds of magic, making any attempts at the use of the arcane difficult, however on the positive side the Necrarch was utterly immune to whatever allure the servants of Slaanesh had on the others.

Nekhlior briefly considered unleashing an offensive spell but with the arcane as unstable as it currently was due to the daemons he knew it would unwise.

"Another plan then." he thought to himself.

Nekhlior swiftly moved behind the other's allowing Rowhaine's warriors, Shah and Kraskor to deal with the actual fighting.

Taking up position behind the others the Necrarch sat cross legged on the ground.
He placed his staff on the ground and took out the Book of Nagash, flicking it open to the relevant page and sat it on his legs.

Softly the vampire began to chant, readings the incantation aloud from the tome.

The air around Nekhlior plummeted as the ground around him froze, with a slight layer of ice covering the necromancer himself.

Nekhlior could sense the veil that separated life and death beginning to thin but he was careful, a neophyte would just tear it down and loose the raving dead who escaped into life whilst trying to grab control of them.

A master however was much more careful, instead Nekhlior kept the barrier strong enough so the spirits would only be drawn to the weakness but incapable of freeing themselves.

The vampire could sense them gathering.

"Nekhlior the Unfading Scholar demands your obedience!" he sent telepathically into the spirit world.

The silence stretched out for what felt like an eternity

"We come." the multitude hissed in return.

Blood sweat ran down Nekhlior's forehead as he concentrated on maintaining the veil at it's current strength, with the winds of magic as wild as they were he did not dare attempt a controlled summoning yet, instead he waited and abided his time.

Eventually there would be a lull and then he would strike.
 

Malochai

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#41
As the Daemonette leapt forward once more, Shah spun on his left foot, narrowing his silhouette, and it looked like she had overstretched herself, leaving her unarmoured torso vulnerable to his agile weapons. He snarled, his fangs growing and tearing rivulets in his pale bottom lip, bringing ruby red beads of blood to the surface, slowly running down his chin, hidden by his mask. Gathering all his power, the Lion of Araby threw his right arm forward, intent on skewering the daemon-woman, but she merely laughed and lithely danced away, the tinkling sound of her scornful mirth incensing him further. The vampire took a step backwards and used the opportunity to take stock of the situation before she reappeared in front of him. He grunted as he saw Rowhaine, his guards and Kraskor engaging the enemy, but then Shah scowled angrily; here, in the Wastes where the connection to the Aethyr was strongest in the world, Old or New, Nekhlior was was simply sat on the ground. Despite his inept magical skill, he attempted to draw upon Aqshy, dodging bodily left and right as the Daemonette lunged at him. He felt the instability of the Wind almost instantly, but not quickly enough to let go before his hands were burnt. As he gasped from the pain, he didn’t notice the claw streaming towards him, only feeling the impact as it pushed him backwards. He spun again, and this time when she thrust an arm forward, he kicked out, smashing the daemons leg to pieces, leading to it crumpling on the ground, changing between vehemently mewling and hissing in the few seconds before he pierced the creature through both eyes simultaneously. Blood swelled and bubbled, a faint hiss hit the air and then the daemonette began to decompose rapidly.

Momentarily free from combat, he sprinted towards Nekhlior and then recognised the aura around the necrarch, before cursing himself. A chittering sound drew his gaze above the frail, withered head of the vampire before him and he saw two Horrors lolloping towards him in their strange, off-tempo gait, long, lolling purple tongues glistening wetly in the harsh northern sun. Their large mouths, unnaturally distended, seemed to be grinning and manically giggling at the same time. All eight of their arms, long spindly limbs, were raised towards him. Darting around the necromancer, Shah was encompassed in a world of coruscating blue flames which sought to sear him in his armour until he dropped low, jabbing his left leg forward towards the Horror’s leg. He was rewarded with an indignant squeal and the magical bombard ceased. Markus regained his feet and sprung forward in a pirouette, his blades tearing through the closest Horror before it had time to react. A semi-scream erupted from the other’s throat and it summoned eldritch powers, casting lightning forwards in a panicked attack, but the daemon hadn’t aimed and it’s magics slammed into one of the two pools of plasma which were all that left of the first. An ephemeral scream pierced the vampires ears, but he tried to block it out. A soft sound, which grew to a deep whine, behind him alerted him to the presence of another enemy, and he looked over his shoulder just in time to see a small, blue blur launch forward and grapple his ankle.

The Lion growled, a sound befitting his name, and stamped his foot against the dusty ground, sending a spray of fine grit and sand into the air. A throaty laugh came from his ankle, and he could feel the slightest suggestion of movement as he returned to looking at the more immediate, dangerous threat. The daemon was too far away to combat directly, and he couldn’t hesitate too long without risking that the smaller creature on his leg would devise some way to attack him.

“Dammit!” he cursed, and expertly unhooked his right Claw, letting it drop point-down into the dirt where it embedded itself in the ground, quivering, and drew his faux-ancient sword. He hefted the blade back, then threw it point-over-pommel at the Pink Horror, spinning with the force. His aim wasn’t brilliant, and the sword not weighted for throwing, but he managed to get the pommel, decorated with the head of a lion, to soundly hit the creature in it’s stomach, winding it slightly. As he spun, he leant forward and grabbed the Blue Horror in his now-empty hand, tossing it into the air in front of him, so that he could slash up with his left hand, the Claw blades easily slicing through the unarmoured magic-thing and spilling ecto-plasm over the ground in sludge-like clumps which the ground seemed to absorb slowly. The daemon banished, he stuck his hand into the Claw and managed to reattach it so he could wield both again.
 
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#42
"Quickly Alexios, support Shah Al-Hamid." The Get nodded and dived into the fray, kopaes whirling as they struck at the Arcane horrors. Esmerelda began an incantation, shadowy energies coalescing around her limbs.

Arli, Amoshti khai, sintida hagai...

A Daemon lunged at her, its claws carving trails of ethereal energy through the air, breaking Esmerelda's concentration. The Daemonette was fast, but the Queen was faster, dancing out of the Slaaneshi abomination's path, weaving herself around the frenzied strikes. The Lahmian then carried out a flip kick, sending the fiend flying, granting her enough time draw Feysilver from its scabbard. Arcane energies coursed through Asrai steel causing the blade to burst into amethyst flames. Esmerelda circled her opponent and then leapt, thrust the blazing sword into the She-thing's bosom. An unearthly scream scourged the Queen's ears as it faded into nothingness. Content ther quarry was sent back to where it came from, she continued her incantation. As she finished, shadowy energies intertwined with her blade and her comrades weapons as Okkam's mindrazor took effect. However she began to feel dizzy, a result of the fight with the Skaven; if her stomach still functioned she would have regurgitated her last meal.

Another sight emerged from the corner of her eye. A Daemon of tzeentch, its form constantly shifting, ready to incinerate her Vampiric child and newly-found friend. Esmerelda did not need an incantation as Dhar energies were drawn around her. Her eyes began to glow emerald green. Then a stream of necromantic energies erupted from those voluptous orbs, reducing the Demon to ashes. Fighting another wave of nausea and dizziness, Esmerelda chuckled. "Seems you owe me once more Lion of Araby."
-------------------
Here's my comeback post if anything needs improving, let me know.
 

Disciple of Nagash

The Perverted One
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#43
Phahotep stepped back, heel digging in the ground as he absorbed another massively powerful strike. The claw limbed daemons were proving to be potent foes, their unholy speed a match for this blessed gifts. More worrying was the unnatural allure they exuded, the sensual way in which they cavorted, the licking of lips, even their earthy musk was intoxicating. He had no doubt that normal men would have succumbed to temptation, and the Ushabti were lucky they were made of sterner stuff. Even so they had fight the attraction and it showed with cuts and scratches gouged all over their bodies, it would not be long before someone was seriously injured.

With a grunt he pushed forward, using his greater bulk and strength to force the daemon back. Before it could retreat entirely he grabbed hold of its arm, anchoring it in place as his khopesh dealt death. Seeing one of his kin struggling with two foes to his side he followed through, driving the glowing blade through the side of another beast.

Rowhaine stood impassive as he watched the Ushabti drive back their foe. Around him the vampires moved like quicksilver, proving to be just as deadly, if not more so, than the chosen of Nehekhara. Still it did not seem it was going to be enough to more daemons started to materialise, and the Champion glanced over at Nekhlior, wondering what the ancient vampire was waiting for. A pulse of raw power quickly diverted his attention, and with growing worry he noticed the air shimmering around the daemons. Something else was happening, and it seemed that even the daemons were fearful as they started to retreat, screeching in either anger or terror.

Suddenly one of the creatures literally popped, yet before its form could splatter to the ground it twisted and streamed in the air, funnelling to a singular point. More and more daemons broke apart, the magic supporting them literally being consumed by something that had not yet entered this realm of existence. Whatever it was, it needed or demanded immense power and in moments Rowhaine knew that something they really did not want to meet was going to break forth.

“I suggest that we do not want to encounter whatever that is,” Rowhaine bellowed over the shrieks, “does anyone have knowledge of how to seal or stop it is before it comes through?”
 

Malochai

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True Blood
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Aug 4, 2010
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3,110
#44
The Lion glared quickly at Esmerelda when she spoke, his eyes cold, but he couldn’t help a minuscule smile tugging at his lips. He replied as he turned to face another oncoming Slaneeshi Daemonette, his voice ice and stone - “Concentrate on fighting, Esmerelda, my Queen. The time to discuss debts -” he paused to dodge the thrust of the Daemonette, slashing downwards and relieving her of her arm, “is later. There’s little point if the True Death has claimed us.” The Daemonette came on once more, much more carefully and probing his defence. He let it think that he was slower than he was before he kicked out, the powerful blow catching the daemon-thing in it's armoured stomach. The Daemonette doubled over, and Markus saw his chance, grabbing the she-daemon's head and wrenching it forcefully. The sound of flesh tearing reverberated and a slightly deformed spine followed. He grasped it by the thin, greasy hair.

Whirling about to glare at Esmerleda to ensure she had grasped his meaning, he saw a Horror behind her. Beneath his mask Shah ground his teeth, and then ran, stepping between Esmerelda and the daemons. Throwing the already dissolving daemonette head to the ground, he crouched low and sprung forwards, throwing up a cloud of dust from the ground. He slashed forwards with his deadly blades, his pearlescent fangs extended and tearing fresh wounds into his lips; they could be seen by those looking at him and the sight was quite disturbing. When the Lion hit the ground again, without hitting anything, he looked up in surprise and glanced around. A frown was etched onto his noble features. A series of pops hit his ears, and the reason was soon clear. When he heard Rowhaine’s voice shouting, he started making his way carefully over to the Champion of Asaph, standing halfway between him and Nekhlior.

“Esmerelda, with me! Necrarch, we need your aid; get up!”
 

Get of W'soran

CN's Lord of Masks
True Blood
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Apr 23, 2008
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9,239
#45
Nekhlior sat, head dipped, on the ground without moving. The vampire ignored the battle raging around him, focusing on his own private duel with the winds of magic, straining to calm them whilst keeping his hold on the spirits who had gathered on the other side of death at the ancient undead's command.

Then the moment came when the winds of magic became quiet for just a moment.

The Necrarch's head snapped up, his eyes alight with balefire, and a horrific grin stretched across his withered features.

"Now!" he hissed clapping his hand's together, the resulting sound was a colossal boom amplified by the magic he had worked.

At first there was nothing but a quiet whispering, sounding more like the rising wind that anything else but a, very clearly, unnatural grey mist began to form as it billowed out from the Necrarch's position to spread past vampire, daemon and human alike.

The whispering began to rise until it was a very obvious hiss that reached every ear within range with piercing clarity.

For a minute it seemed that would be the extent of Nekhlior's magic when the hiss suddenly transformed into a blood curdling howl as the summoned ghosts tore free from the spirit realm into life to crash into the sea of Daemons at the Necrarch's unspoken command, attacking the Council's enemies with a mindless fury.

Nekhlior smiled with a deep satisfaction as he carefully reattached the Book of Nagash to the enchanted chain around his waist.
Taking up the Staff of W'soran he stood slowly and vanished, leaving a swirl of the strange mist in his wake, when he reappeared it was close to Rowhaine and the Blood Dragon Shah.

"Must I do everything myself?" he snapped angrily at the others, ignoring the fact that he'd likely have been killed if it where not for their efforts.

"I can attempt to stall, perhaps halt....that." he hissed "But I would like to mention I really have done quite a bit of magic in the past few hours and am hardly in top condition."

For all his protests the vampire was utterly terrified, his sight allowed him to see a shadow of what the coming creature might be, the unwanted image of a Lord of Change popped into Nekhlior mind.

Pushing the unwanted thought aside the Necrarch took up his arcane staff in both hands and pointed it towards the focal point of the gathering energies.

When Nekhlior began his incanting it was not the cold harsh tongue of Nagashi Necromancy but rather the mind tearing tones of Chaos Sorcery.
 

Sweeney Todd

Master Vampire
True Blood
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4,036
#46
Kenshiro was an isle of calm amidst the storm of Chaos embodied by the myriad daemons around him. Those attuned to the aether could hear the subconscious mantra in the Far Easterner's head, writ upon the Winds of Magic as it ebbed and twisted around him in curious ways. The wiles of the servants of Slaanesh could not easily find purchase on a mind honed like Kenshiro's. Beguiling Daemonettes seductively sidled closer, only to mysteriously slow down upon coming within proximity of Kenshiro. The Nipponese did not hesitate and sent them back from whence they came with quick and powerful jabs before they could so much as come close to laying a finger on him.

The runes on Kenshiro's gauntlets glowed as daemonic ichor stained his hands. Upon hearing Rowhaine's cry, he snapped around and began to head towards the Champion with quick strides, ruthlessly applying his abilities upon any creature of Chaos that stood in his path. A blur of fists carved a path through strangely vulnerable daemons, as he strode forth to join the Lion and Esmerelda.

"Perhaps with my aid, you can halt that creature." Kenshiro said in a calm and clearly audible voice. Amidst the pervasive taint of Chaos, the aura he projected was easily witnessed, as the assimilation of daemonic essence by the coalescing creature began to slow with the sutra he recited under his breath.
 
Joined
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88
#47
Come with you? Careful Shah people will talk. Chuckled Esmerelda as she thrust Feysilver into another Daemon; it screamed as the Elven blade's fell energies made the creature experience the concept of mortality. A flash of red Arabyian silk and golden hair surged in the corner of her eyes. She turned, to see the Lion of Araby standing over a recently 'slain' Daemon. Silky laughter, beginning as a purr, emerged from the Strigany Queen's lips. "An'Hajsii! We are now even friend."

Then the ancient Necrarch, Nekhlior began to speak. Overconfidence laced his millenia old voice. "Bislyja shohai mulli-manishie!*" Muttered Esmerelda semi-aloud. However, the old one had a point, somethin evil comes this way, and this is not going to be pretty. The Jade-blooded Vampire began using an unusual brand of Eastern magic, just as Nekhlior began using the tongue of the enemy. Esmerelda decided, on her own course of action.

Raising Feysilver high into the air, a thunderous incantation boomed forth from the Lahmian's lips. Ethereal lightning snaked throughout this plaine of existence, and into the Asrai steel of Esmerelda's sword. The Queen then raised her left hand, channeling the energy that mingled with Feysilver's baleful energies. Amethyst lightning, laced with emerald necromantic energies pooled into Esmerelda's hand. She was ready.

---
Translation: "Arrogant dusty old Corpse-Wife."
 
Joined
Jan 20, 2012
Messages
495
#48
Igor had gone into action immediately. Only for him, it was more of an inaction. He knew that the more feminine daemons were going to be a tougher fight, so naturally Igor moved in the other direction, throwing his cloak over him as he went. He saw the horrors, decided to go in the direction of the tzeench daemons. He circled around as slowly as he could while still maintaining steady progress, occasionally protecting itself, but never betraying where he was.

He moved even more slowly to get behind the daemons, moved in, and acted. He leapt into their midst, and twirled gracefully, lopping of limbs, only to have them morph into new forms. He slashed and hacked with wild abandon, and soon found himself dodging a significantly less amount of flaming daemons.

He leapt again, evaded a couple burst of fire, jumped, and disappeared, clutching a couple of burnt fingers on his left hand. They weren't too serious, so he went on his way, aware that the daemons were looking at the spot he had disappeared at, unaware that he was already moving.
 

Disciple of Nagash

The Perverted One
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#49
Slowly the focal point grew with more and more power, the spells cast by the vampires seemingly having little effect. Arcs of power crackled through the air and the area around pulsed with power. All to quickly conflicting powers surged this time, and as it spilled forth even Asaph was not able to warn her champion.

Soundlessly the focal point exploded as the build of power caused a devastating tear in the fabric of reality. The ground beneath cracked and was torn up as if by a giants hand. The explosion was just as deadly the daemons, perhaps even more so as their innate arcane physiologies were broken apart and consumed by the coruscating shockwave.

Even with his godly speed Rowhaine could not outrun such a catastrophic act, and in the few milliseconds his supernatural speed granted he turned to protect the physically weakest amongst them. Putting himself in front of Nehklior, Rowhaine felt his wards flare as the shockwave hit, his instinctual cry not making a sound as all of them were blasted backwards.

The rip healed itself as fast as it had begun, the magic feeding it rapidly consumed. The only saving grace was the enraged scream from the the Keeper of Secrets as it realised the power necessary for its birth had cruelly been stolen. All the daemons that had managed to materialise had likewise been consumed, and in truth this was something the Council needed to be thankful, for as the dust began to settle it revealed that none had escaped injury and all the Nehekharans including Rowhaine now lay unconscious.
 

Disciple of Nagash

The Perverted One
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#50
Graveclaw pounded forward, muscles bunching as he effortlessly scaled and bounded over a massive rock in his path. He could smell the others in the air, although the massive explosion a moment ago had been as effective as lighting a fire.

"Stupidssss..." he hissed, words lisping out of his misformed mouth. Many took his speech for stupidity and he saw no reason to change their minds, the majority of them were his enemies after all, especially the dandying-whore-loving-child-fondlers of the Carstein line. Their arrogance, the superiority just wanted to make him-

"NO!" the strigoi snarled under his breath, bunching his legs as he powerfully jumped. A mindless beast he looked, but in action Graveclaw was an instruction on effortless movement. Years of living in the wilderness, of being hunted and the hunter had resulted in an apex animal. His movements with lithe and perfect, never expending more energy than necessary. Yet for that the power within was abundantly clear, showcased as he tore a metre thick tree out of his way as if it was a twig.

Shaking his head Graveclaw bit down and swallowed the anger. He was better than that now. In the last Council he had learnt to control his rages, to speak as an equal and not some lower being. Yes some like the Carsteins never had and never would accept him as that, but others.....others he had come to respect and even like. For a moment memories of the Mistress flickered across his mind, of the last moments of her life, of the promise he had made her in secret. He had never thought he would need to deliver on that promise, but the way things were turning out....

His melancholy thoughts turned his mind to the Council meeting, and he again shook his head in self-disgust. After all that time he had once again rampaged in, his anger bubbling over at the sight of the Carsteins once again lording it over all the others. He knew he was not entirely to blame, his self isolation to protect the Crown had hardly helped his social skills, but still to loose control like that.....he was not an animal!

A tiny part of him wondered if it was the Crown himself, but as he had hidden the Crown after the meeting fiasco he dismissed it. Now was not the time to think about that however, for if that explosion was anything to go by the Council were in trouble. If only he had been calm enough in the meeting he would have remembered to tell that about the passages he had discovered, protected by ancient wards. Though dangerous they allowed extremely fast passage and would have perhaps saved whatever difficulties they now found themselves in.

Pushing his body further Graveclaw's speed increased, determined to play his part and if necessary avenge those of old he still remembered as allies.......well apart from the Carsteins of course he added as an afterthought.
 
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