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TVC - Chapter 42 - Ashes to Ashes

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Disciple of Nagash

The Perverted One
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#1
A chittering filled the night sky as hordes of bats flittered overhead, drawn to the battle by their dark lords. Of all the bloodlines they could not ignore the pull of the von Carsteins and it was their presence that heralded the approach of the Carstein army.

The tramping of dead feet halted outside the large entrance to the valley, but from their vantage points the scouts of the Council could see the situation was dire indeed. They were vastly outnumbered, and even with the martial skills of the Blood Dragons and the Druchii, there was little chance they could defeat such a force. With the pass behind them now blocked they had nowhere to retreat to, they had to fight.

Their survival lay in the the key necromancers of the army. Though the army was pulled by the will of the vampires, many were supported and replenished by these wizards of death, and their destruction would weaken and crumble the army enough to give the Council the chance it needed.

Their enemy was far from stupid though. Each necromancer had a potent bodyguard, some vampires, some werewolves, all deadly. The grand master of this, the schemer that was V'azrin stood towards the rear on a small hillock that overlooked his all conquering force. His own bodyguards stood nearby, whilst to his side stood Milosh. Whether the vampire felt anything at the upcoming destruction of the Council he had helped create could not be told. He simply stood there, runeblade blazing in his hand, waiting for the person he knew would come..........
 
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#2
With a final syllable, he completed the enchantment. A wash of violet light bathed the room, lighting Zaak's face from beneath in an eerie fashion. He pinched the neck of the tiny conical flask between his thumb and forefinger, swirling it slightly. The sepia-toned mixture within twisted and lurched of it's own volition. Quickly stoppering the small vessel, he strung it on a thread. Grasping a few more items, he exited the room swiftly.

He darted across the first few feet on foot before compelling his armor to grow into a set of wheels. Whilst nowhere near as dramatic, it was a faster means of transportation. He twisted and turned, weaving in and out of corridors, bursting though doors and leaping down stairs. In his path, he was distracted by an open window. Beyond, he could see an army amassed. He knew he should have expected such large numbers, but he had not comprehended the implications. Ignoring the sight as it would do nothing but deter his current mission, he continued on his way.

After some time, he exited the Patisserie. There, he saw the council's own meager forces growing. In amongst the infantry he managed to locate both of his targets, and sped towards the closer. As he approached, he called, "Victarias! I have performed the required services!" He drove past her, laying the newly repaired suit of armor at her feet.

He proceeded to near Lesa, who appeared preoccupied. No doubt the battle to come, and the horrible things happening to her love, weight heavily on her mind. Nevertheless, he had a duty to perform. He approached to a respectful distance, and cleared his throat to get her attention. As she looked, he proffered the now completed gauntlet. It appeared to be mostly fabric, but metal plates and rings were arranged on the fingers and back. A thick, broad band was placed around the wrist, with the eight symbols of the colors of magic arrayed around. Beneath each was a totem to, and fulcrum for, each of the winds of magic. A pinch of grave dirt, a lump of lead, a live beetle - all were enchanted to attract, divert and funnel their own winds. The raw wind, the dark powers generated by the battle, and Lesa's own immense energies, would be hurtled through the glove, barely contained, and pumped through a large, broad, green gem in the palm.

Lesa took the gauntlet and inspected it. Zaak said, "I hope it is to your liking. If you can get there, simply force the power into the glove, and it will do the rest. Warpstone would have made it easier, but it is complete. Unfortunately, without that catalyst I had to make... compromises. I have set a maximum current through the glove - any more, it will collapse. This cap was not necessary per se, but if I had not it would collapse reality. That would be bad. You will need to maintain contact for say, ten seconds, to destroy him. It was the best I could do in the time. I'm sure you can improvise something to keep him still."

He was just about to speed off, but he remembered the vial. Turning around, he extended his clutched fist, the looped thread swinging the nip of potion to and fro. "This is a little something I remembered and cooked up. For good luck." He flashed a wry smile, before explaining. "This will shield you from one blow, perhaps two in quick succession. Smash the vial with your hands, a blade or your mind and it will shield you for a second or so. Deflect the blow, quench the fire, disperse the spell or some such. It's not infallible - the lowliest novice could dispell it - but it acts so quickly its unlikely even a vampire would be able to react in time. It could save your life." He waited for her to take it, before hurrying off to find a friendly face. Either Jason or Peter - then they could arrange their cell and prepare for war.
 
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#3
Something stalked the mountain passes.

A cold ones heavy foot crunched the snow beneath it. The beast sniffed the air, and it emmitted a low reptilian growl.
Murky green scales were gently stroked by a deep blue claw, scratching the ridged line beneath a heavy jaw.
Around them, the snow gently steamed, melting due to an unnatural heat. Unnatural? Perhaps thats the wrong way to describe it.

Perhaps...ancient. Immeasurably ancient, older than the race of men, older than the world. A heat that had warmed scales as they journeyed between worlds, a heat tht had been borne aloft by the architects of this world.

A green tongue flicks out of a tooth heavy mouth, tasting the mountain air. The dim flicker of his blade was enough to tell this primeval juggernaught that the dead were near, but sences granted by the old ones themselves would be needed to find the abominations.

Filth, a stain on the earth. Like filthy droppings on a sacred plaque, the undead covered the planet, despoiling all the Old ones had laboured so hard to create.

Keen nostrils flare, and a growl of a different tone emerges from the warrior. He turns his mouth, pressing into tough flanks with bare knees, preserved from the frigid air by the warmth. Little doubt that without his blade, the warrior would have been sent into a deep, unending sleep, awaiting a day when the world warmed. He couldnt aford to wait for that day, he had a mission.

The dead covered the earth like filth on a sacred plaque, filth that required a sanctified hand to wipe it away. One mission, one purpose. One warrior. Alone.
The mission was his, his burden to bear. Through the Sacred Slann Mage Preist Lord Gargoq the Quaxocibiki, the old ones had charged him thus "Hunt the dead."

And Huakroataxa always followed his orders.


The Scar veteran snarled, and kicked his mount into gear. A dark cloud on the horizon marked a great gathering of Vampires. He would mark them, study them, look for weakness. He would eliminate the nexus points, the necromancers, the vampires, and then purge the battlefield.

He would fulfil his oath.
 
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#4
Jason looked towards the door way Zaak had sped out of. A wide grin appearing on his features, before he looked towards the materials upon the table. His eyes glowed as his mind twitched them into motion as each unspoken thought bang new life into the materials. As the materials before him liquidized and reshaped themselves, he dug into his cloak pocket bringing up, strange red stones which hummed at Jason's command before they lept from his hand and fused into the liquid materials still taking shape before him.

He brought his constructions towards him he hardened them into shape and plucked them out of the air, placing them back into his cloak pocket. He then turned on his heel as he too sped out the door, effortlessly moving through the narrow corridors and out into the battle field within moments. He spotted Zaak, and ventured over towards him casually moving as if pondering some distant thought to himself.
" Zaak there you are I was wondering where you hurried off to. haven't seen Peter have you? I figure he would make a rather nice addition to our cell wouldn't you say?"
Before he could get a response, Jason spotted peter striding over to them. A slight pride in his step, as they gathered together on the field, as did many of the other council members exiting the Patisserie preparing there own cells for the battle to come.
 
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#5
"I believe I heard my name," called Peter as he strode over to Jason and Zaak, "I thought I should leave you in peace to construct the mysterious item for Mistress Lesa.

"I believe we are to be fighting together in a cell to hunt out Necromancers. Keep close to me. My knights and I will be hitting hard and fast." Peter cast a bemused glance ove Zaak's wheeled soit of armour.

"I trust you will be able to keep up on that thing," he joked.

As the trio descended to the the lower decks of the Patisserie, they passed ranks of skeletons preparing for war. Numerous lesser Undead bustled along corridors, on errands for their Vampiric Lords. Peter's own troops were filing out of the wooden vehicle as the group of Vampires arrived on the field. His infantry formed battle formations, ready to be commended by Zosz.

Peter climbed into the saddle of Firehoof. The beast waited calmly as the Coucil's forces mustered around him.

He turned to Zaak and Jason and said, "If this is the end my friends, it will be an honour to die with you."

Cheekily he added, "Not that you two will be able to keep up with me!"
 
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#6
Jason pulled a small crystal vial form his cloak and tossed it towards Peter and Zaak it was filled with red liquid, which was strangely warm to the touch "We will see Peter, now take a swig both of you. You look like you could use a pick me up" With a grin Jason drank his down, before looking towards his team mates as power surfaced within him.
"Now then shall we get moving? I would hate to keep the Carstiens waiting."
 

MasterSpark

Nostalgian
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#7
Having just returned from a quick scouting tour, Helena made her way to Lesa and Vekarin to relay what she and Ashlotte had spied.

-"The situation looks as bad - perhaps even worse - than it did prior to the earlier confrontantion. We're again vastly outnumbered and the enemy force contains many fell and powerful enemies. Even the surrounding landscape itself feels like it is conspiring against us. Our outlook is grim..."

Her voice trailed off at the end but since she deemed it unnecessary to add even more to the already prominent despair she added, with a faint light of hope in tone,

-"...grim but not hopeless. How should we proceed from here?"
 

Ghouly

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#8
Graveclaw roared in defiance at the approaching Carstine horde. "Graveclaw isssss going to rip puny carsssstinesss apart, going to eat you're black heartsss, going to ssssplit your sssskullsss in two" he shouted, foaming at the mouth he seized a huge rock in his hands and hurled it towards the Carstine army.
 
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#9
Zaak grinned broadly (still lop-sided, but jovial and pleasant). The others had quickly arrived, which was rather fortunate. The foes were descending upon them, and they needed to act quickly. "Yes, I'll be able to keep up. I can assure you of that. I'm quite happy with this latest suit... It should serve well." As he took the nip of... whatever it was, he swilled it and observed it with his expert eyes. "So, what's in this little beauty?" In a display of trust, he threw it down without waiting for a response. Immediately, he felt warmed from the core, and a feeling of power bubbled up inside. Glad for the aid, Zaak released a short spurt of laughter, before handing the container back to its owner.

"It would indeed be an honor to die with you, although I'm not certain I'm ready to die again." He drew the Osgladius, its own stark bone contrasting dramatically against the black of the armor. Nodding, he moved up beside Peter. "Oh, but my friend. I believe your steed will have difficulty keeping up with me." With a laugh, he revved his wheels and sped off.

He had no soldiers, but that would not be a problem. There would be plenty of those where he was going. Zaak's indomitable will could overthrow the necromancers' petty control with ease, and even a Carstein's puppet would rise to Zaak's will when slain. For now, he was sleek, dark and maneuverable. And very fast.

Not waiting for the others, he headed off to a patch of woodland. It was dark, and they would be able to reach a vantage point unmolested. They would be able to duck out of the woods, kill a necromancer, then after setting the dead to run amok they could retreat once more. Once the others caught up, that is.
 

Disciple of Nagash

The Perverted One
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#10
Zaak had quickly sped off before Lesa could utter a word, but she said her thanks in her mind all the same. The vial was a thoughtful addition and one she had no doubt would come in use, especially if what she feared was to come to pass. She had never felt such fear or dread before going into battle, but then she had never gone into battle against one she loved, and she had no doubt it would be Milosh she would be fighting. Whilst he detested V’azrin for what he had done, she would not underestimate him and knew that he would use her husband against her, knowing her feelings would most likely render her powerless.

But still she had a small flame of hope, hope that what they felt for one another would be strong enough to bring Milosh back to her. It had been enough to free her from Rask’s warpstone addled grasp, so surely it could do the same again. But whenever she dared to think of it, a small voice said this time it was different. This time it was one of the most powerful lords of Nagash, using something that was already in the Carstein’s tainted blood……….

She felt the heavy footfalls as Vekarin walked up beside her, followed shortly by the even heavier steps of Ashlotte’s body. Hearing Helena’s words it was no less than Lesa had expected, no worse than she had dreamed.
I can sense where V’azrin is,” she said, “he has opened himself to the winds, drawing it like a storm around him. He is at the rear of their army like the coward he is, so it will not be an easy task to get there. I can transport us part of the way only as he as erected strong wards, after that we will have to proceed on foot. I would ask you both one favour………do not harm Milosh. I……it is only right that I should be the one to face him if it comes to that.”

******************************************

The Duke sat upright in his saddle, watching the approaching army with sharp eyes. The Council’s chance of victory was a small one, but it was still a chance. Vastly outnumbered they may have been, but what they lacked in quantity they certainly did not in quality. Many of the Blood Dragon Knights had survived the battle, along with the heavily armoured wights, both on foot and mounted as was favoured by the martial bloodline.

Ranks and ranks of skeletons and other dead stool in vast units ready to break the inevitable charge, the knights held ready to counter. Limited to what he had to work with, the Duke was simply reduced to attempting to hold the Carstein army, hoping that the other Council members achieved their objectives. If and when this happened the charge of the knights would then hopefully be enough to deal a decisive and final blow.

“I hope you are ready,” the Duke’s deep voice echoed out of his helm to the nearby Zosz, “if we fail here I doubt we will ever have another chance.”
 

Gree

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#11
Mircea had formed the Army into three great wedges. Himself at the center, with Karl and Luke commanding the ‘’wings’’ of the advance. A line of calvary reserves was formed up behind the wedges.

Ranks of skeletons and zombies stood in the edges of each wedge, while the ranks of wights formed the ‘’heads’’ of each wedge, and the core behind them, masses of dire wolves trailed before each wedge along with wraiths and ghosts. Muller’s werewolves trailed in front of each wedge. Dozens of corpse carts moved behind each wedge.

‘’Send it now, begin the advance’’ Mircea instructed, sending out a mental command to all Necromancers in the army. As one the great undead host moved forward, each wedge marching forward in a rotting shambling tide, with lines of calvery on the flanks and rear advancing.

A massive dark mist billowed out from the front ranks spreading out in front of the vast host.
 
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#12
Peter laughed at Zaak's eagerness, took a swig of the warming liquid, and touched his spurs to Firehoof's flanks. As the horse galloped after the slightly mad Vampire, Peter felt a warm glow build up fro inside him. He felt ready to take on the world. As he observed the Carstein horde, he felt like he had to.

He reached te woodland soon after Zaak. From here they could observe the enemy troop movements relatively safely. Peter could see many of the Carsteins moving amongst there troops, and occasionally stopping to talk to a Necromancer. The Blood Dragon, ever tecanny general, noted te place of the undead wizards, so that his cell knew exactly where to strike.
 

Trevy the Great

Vampire Progenitor
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#13
"Lesa, Milosh, while dear to you, is a hub in the enemy's plan. If he vanquishes you, or you fail to turn him, I will not hesitate to end him, as I must." Vekarin spoke to Lesa in a low voice.

"I am prepared, blood duke." Zosz answered impassively. He gathered the winds of magic about him, carefully manipulating them, drawing dark magic ever closer to him to be ready at his beck and call, ready to repair those warriors who happened to fall in the battle.
"We shall not fail, for the arm of cowards and traitors is invariably weaker than that of the bold and faithful. We shall prevail." Victarias assured the Duke from her own steed, a Nightmare on lone from the Duke's warriors. She had donned her newly-fixed armor, thanking Zakk for his speed in its repair.
 

Sweeney Todd

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#14
The Patisserie, its Guard and the entirety of Sweeney Todd's mounted forces backed off at the approach of the Carstein army, standing by as part of the reserve. This left Todd to wait alongside Graveclaw, Geralt and the Missus, amidst the combined host of all remaining Fallschirmverfluchte and some of his lesser undead.

Todd slapped Geralt heartily on the back, causing the divine fire of Moonfang to flicker and sway as Geralt lurched forward at the surprise.

"Good luck, Kameraden" He flashed Geralt a roguish grin that belied the simmering bloodlust deep within, ignoring the naked surprise on Geralt's face as he turned to Graveclaw in a (probably) vain last minute attempt to explain to him the plan.

"Graveclaw...we set out to destroy the Carsteins' pet humans. Without them their army will be weakened enough that we can tear their heart out. Do you understand?"
 
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#15
The human shivered in the cold mountain air, half with fear and half with the cold. The Carsteins were unforgiveing masters, as he set about the task he was bound to do. He had begun his life as a good boy, dutifully attending the farm in stirland, raising the potatoes as best he could. He had grown up handsome and strapping, and all the peasant girls wanted him to pick them to marry.

But then came the sickness, followed by a harsh winter. The local healers could do nothing against it. Reports of child sized rats were dismissed as the feverish delusions of the mad. The preisthood was similarly helpless, as more and more rotted whilst still drawing breath, before Morr mercifully ended the suffering.

Soon, the Village was but as a shell. Less than one in ten survived, and he himself was wracked with the disease, gasping and spitting up blood as his once revered form was reduced to a husk. Always a clever boy, he resolved to defeat death, and...

It mattered not. His journey had been long and arduous, as his soul corrupted further and further. He had not wanted, initially, to seek the dark lands of Sylvania, but here he was, and here he would stay. Age, disease and the taxing affects of his unnatural trade had changed him completely; his mother, had she not perished, would not be able to remember his face. He had little...

Like a hammer blow from the Gods themselves, the Necromancers head was ripped clean of its shoulders by a cold ones powerful bite. The dead began to crumble around them as Huakroataxa wrenched a rusty spear from his shoulder, watching as the wound began to slowly close. Praise the old ones, they deliver us our enemies as sacrifice.

A Vargulf took notice of the falling dead, and began to bind them to its will, falling skeletons gradually reclaiming some order in themselves, dark magic binding there hollow forms. Still, the creature could not raise the fallen, and was enraged at this cold-things sheer impudence! This battle was not his! The heavily muscled thing lurched towards the Lustrian Holy warrior, gliding through the air on tattered wings. Hardly pausing, the lustrian brute flung the bloodied spear, its frail form embedding into the bestial vampires leg. Upon hitting the ground (for such a malfomed creature could not support itself on such wings) it crumpled to the ground in pain and fury. Not missing a beat, the Scar Veteran thrust Xalot into a brutal loping pace. Rage overcoming pain, the Vargulf turned towards The Hunter of the Dead, its eyes momentarily contracting in fear as a heavy barbed blade, enveloped in a holy light crashed into its skull with a unholy crunch and splatter of ichor.

Huakroataxa landed breifly, licking the bitter arerial splatter off his face as the giant corpse gradually caught flame. The undead forms, lurching slowly towards him began to fall to there knees one by one, or simply collapse into a pile of bones as there sources of energies were eliminated. Stalking towards Xalot, dutifully wandering away from Huakroataxa, the reptillian warrior flung aside a fleeing ghoul win a gory ark with the barbed edge of his sheild, before catching the errant cold one and swinging back into the saddle.

Two eliminated. All to go.
 

Simon von Carstein

The Poetic Fiend
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#16
"Well this is a nice view. What are we looking at?" said a voice behind Peter and Zaak. The two vampires whirled round to see Simon standing by himself. "Do you propose to eliminate us by yourself?!" Zaak asked standing ready "I can do that any time Zaak your no match for me even with Peter to help you." Simon smirked "however!" he continued "I didn't come alone." The two vampires watched as Aurelius and Gabriel emerged to stand beside their lord whilst a great hulking creature wielding a great hammer stood behind them "Jerek!" Peter thought in alarm as other creatures scores of them also appeared to join their master. The Baalak Gul were armed to the teeth. "Take them all! Leave no survivors." Simon ordered. As one the Baalak Gul let out an animal like roar that sounded across the valley.
 

MasterSpark

Nostalgian
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#17
Ashlotte was quick to notice Simon's sneak attack thanks to the heightened sense of awareness she had received after harbouring her mistress' essence inside of herself. Helena spoke again to Lesa and Vekarin,

-"There seems to have erupted some kind of conflict in our midst. The enemy is likely trying to sow confusion and disrupt us before we can make our move - perhaps we should proceed regardless? That might catch our enemy by surprise."
 

Disciple of Nagash

The Perverted One
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#19
“Yes, we cannot afford to help them if we are to succeed at our own task,” Lesa agreed, “I will transport us as far as possible, however I do not think it will be far. I should warn you that whilst I will of course fight with you, I cannot use too much of my power. If I tax myself too much I will not have the strength to face V’azrin” Walking closer to the other two she place a hand on Vekarin’s chest,
“I will need to negate your armours power momentarily, as it’s wards would normally protect you from a spell I am about to cast. Do not worry, its powers will return as soon as we materialise.” For a second nothing appeared to happen as she closed her eyes, but as she murmured words in an unknown language the runes on Vekarin’s armour began to flicker before the power in them disappeared completely.

Stepping back Lesa raised her hands and began to chant, summoning the wind of shadow to her. It responded eagerly, swirling around its Mistress on ebony strands that pulled at her lithe figure. As her words reached a crescendo the whirling storm surged outwards to smother Vekarin and Helena before streaming upwards into the dark sky. The experience was truly an unpleasant one to those who had not rode the winds of magic before. The coldness was like hundreds of daggers slicing into the vampires skin , threatening to tear their bodies apart into the maelstrom. Slowly their skin began to flake off as the corrosive nature of the magic took its toll, before suddenly they were back on the ground once more.

Lesa looked none the worse for wear, having travelled such a way for many years. The same could not be said for Helena or Vekarin, but their strength of will was enough to keep them upright. Seconds after they had materialised Vekarin’s armour flickered back into life as Lesa removed the block on its powers, before a flash in her right hand signified the appearance of the Master Sword.
“As I suspected I could not take us far,” Lesa said looking around. They had travelled a few miles, now placed on the mountainside looking down into the pass at the marching forces of the Carstein. They were undoubtedly closer to V’azrin and their goal, but they still had a long way to go with many deadly foes in their way…………
 
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#20
"Jerek!" cried Peter as he recognised the hulking, hammer weilding monster behind Simon, "What have they done to you?"

Peter had long thought Jerek dead. They had been close companions during the Vampire Wars, and it pained the Blood Dragon to see his old companion in the state he was. He was more Varghulf than anything.

"So the Wolf has returned," thought Peter to himself as Simon's elite Ghouls attacked him and Zaak. Peter hacked at the flailing claws from Firhoof's saddle. The Nightmare tried to fight back as well, rearing up and crushing bestial skulls with its hooves.

Peter was caught across the chest by a lucky blow and fell from the saddle. At once the cratures swarmed over him, trying to pull him limb from limb. However Peter was far from defeated. Reaching into the strength that Jason's potion had given him, he unleashed a power spell. A Circle of purple flame radiated out from him, scorching the Baalak Gul. The creatures howled in pain and scuttled away. Peter and Zaak were surrounded by the wall of fire, but even with his new strength, the knight was finding it hard to keep the spell going.

On the edge of the flaming ring, a huge figure stood, holding his hammer, keen to taste his first blood in centuries.
 

Sweeney Todd

Master Vampire
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#21
Turning away from the encroaching fog, Sweeney Todd smiled grimly to himself as he heard the howls of the Baalak Gul.

Perhaps a bit too early, Simon

"Now, Toby"

The Patisserie wheeled about to face the charging Baalak Gul horde much quicker than its size would suggest. A shot snapped off from the prow-mounted cannon battery smashed into their ranks moments before they slammed into Peter's Kampfgruppe. Then, with a rumble of wheels larger than a man, the Patisserie began the countercharge. Its impact against Simon's personal army was heralded by the sickening sound of grinding gristle and demarcated by a swathe of destruction as the Patisserie Guard aboard the lower decks hacked and stabbed with halberd and spear. Alongside the spearhead of the Patisserie the mounted warriors of the Headless Hunt fanned out and struck, lances stabbing out to take Baalak Gul skulls for the Patisserie's pantry.

Within moments at least one tenth of the Baalak Gul host were eliminated, having been ground by the overwhelming mass of the Patisserie into an unresurrectable red paste fit only for Grandfather Nurgle's foul garden. But more importantly, the counterattack had robbed them of the momentum. Now Simon's host were engaged in the flank by the deadly Headless Hunt and threatened by the prospect of the Patisserie turning about again for another devastating charge.
 

Get of W'soran

CN's Lord of Masks
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#22
A dark tounge flicked out of the Necrarch's mouth, he smiled tasting the Magic on the wind
"Ah...such power on the air...such intoxication..." the ancient vampire whispered almost lovingly.
He had spent thousands of years researching and weilding the invisible powers of the world...the magic it contained.
V'azrin allowed his eyes to sweep over the battlefield, he could sense the blessed blood of his fellow immortals and couldn't help but feel a slight saddness at the situation
Oh you ignorant fools...if not for Nagash we would not be what we are...why could you not just join us?
Shaking his head the Necrarch emptied his mind of such mortal feelings.
Turning around V'azrin glanced at his guard, five of the most ancient werewolves Muller had at his command and Milosh at his side, the assassins of the von Carstein army where not in sight but the Necrarch had no doubt that they could appear at a moments notice, he never underestimated those who mastered moving in the night with such perfection.
Closing his eyes V'azrin sent his mind out towards the Necromancers of Nagash's army...of his army, most where members of the pale order, gathered in groups of which the strongest would weild their combined arcane might.
V'azrin was searching for the mind of his greatest Necromancer, one who could even match many of the councils vampires in combat with his mage-might.
"Damek? Is all well?" he sent
"All is in preparation my lord!" the mental reply came after a few moments.
V'azrin nodded before reconsidering apart of his plans
"Leave your current group, Gullier is strong enough to guide their magic efficently, your are wasted in the masses. Return to me immediately, you shall guide the basic necromantic command from my position"
"Well if that is your wish...so shall it be done" Damek replied somewhat sounding confused.

V'azrin nodded before breaking the link with his servant.
Glancing at Milosh the withered vampire's lips peeled back into a poor imitation of a human's smile
"Soon the hour of our vengance shall be at hand my friend and when the whore and the traitor captain falls then no other in the council will be of any kind of threat to the Dread Lords" he murmered.
 
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#23
Huakroataxa tried to chase down a group of Skeletal knights, but there wraith-mounts were too swift for Xalots loping pace. Peeling of from the pursuit in frustration, the reptile felt a numb jolt that he recognised at once; Dark magic.

He turned his heavy head as a stream of darkness rushed at him, only to be disapated around two feet from his form. The necromancers face was one of confusion and fear; Huakroataxa felt only a gut wrenching disgust. Almost casually, he trotted Xalot over to the feeble mage, grabbed him with his sheild arm and smashed him over the head with the flat of his blade. He put the unbleeding corpse into his supply basket.

Live prey and Live sacrifice make the warrior kin strong.

Not for the first time, Huakroataxa looked around him, trying to assess the battle. The vampires where using all the old tricks; flanking manouvres, line breakers. Valid tactics in unworthy hands. The unthinking masses of dead ignored him; as far as they were concerned, he wasn't part of the battle. The Odd ghoul or wight would pay him some attention, casting up an eye and wondering why the masters hadn't told them to attack this one, but the sudden bolt of worry they received, an emotion that the wights at least had not felt for thousands of years was enough to keep them in rank and file.

Casting his eye to the battles front (for he was more to the rear of the undead horde) he was almost suprised to see zombies flailing uselessly at each other, and some sort of collection of vampires fighting each other.
The dead kill the dead!
It was almost humerous to him. Moreso than any other creature of undeath, in Huakroataxa's centuries long experience Vampires were the most self absorbed and quarrelsome. Huakroataxa had often dictated to his skink preist confidant, Edi-izard, about the diferent ways they could be set upon one another. He remembered one particular conflict in which two loosely allied vampiric armies, whose leaders patience was already strained to its painfully weak limits were set upon one another merely by sending a particularly stealthy Chameleon skink to drop some mashed Chili's (a fruit useful mainly for its ability to cause pain, native to lustria) into one of the vampires goblets of blood. Seeing his estranged commrade leaping up and down and howling in agony, the other vampire couldnt help but laugh. Naturally, the vampire with the tortured mouth was enraged and beleived the other vampire to be the culprit.

After the battle was all but over, Huakroataxa merely sent a small horde of Skink skirmishers to shoot everything left alive to death, and then purify the battle field.

Maximum kills. Minimum casualties.

Calmly strangling an aged ghoul, Huakroataxa pondered his next manouvre. Having all those commanders so close together was to apetising a target; had he his amy with him, they could expect an initial bombardment of dropped rocks from Terradons, followed by an impressive charge by at least three ancient stegadons. Or, perhaps, merely have the skink preists summon a variety of heavenly bodies to drop onto the brawing mass of haemophiliac's. This tactic would allow Huakroataxa to keep his battle line. Never the less, the saurus Scar veteran did not have his army with him, nor had he for over a century.

Deducing that an open confrontation was unlikely (the dead were too concerned with one another) Huakroataxa released the pulseless form of the ghoul, before charging up behind the brawl. Perhaps a vampire would peel off from combat, either wounded of having spotted Huakroataxa. Then he could be met. Until then, there were plenty of lesser dead to concern himself with...
 

Get of W'soran

CN's Lord of Masks
True Blood
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Apr 23, 2008
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9,239
#24
The Baron von Carstein led his wing, the vampire sat straight on his unnatural steed.
"A fine morning for it" he hissed glancing ahead at and through the Dark mist generated by the Nagashi Necromancers, yet it was easy for his vampiric gaze to pierce the Darkness.
Another gift from our new dark lord he thought coldly

Slowly Karl unsheathed his vampiric blade, allowing it to hang losely at his side he allowed a cold smile to touch his lips.
"This shall be fun Nephew" the Baron announced with a glance at Micrea
 

Gree

Master Vampire
True Blood
Joined
Dec 11, 2007
Messages
4,953
#25
''Yes'' Mircea remarked, watching the advance line of his army closing in with the enemy ranks. Muller's werewolves bowling into the enemy, ripping apart skeletons and zombies with their bare hands.

''Yes it is, but we should finish this quickly, I do not spot any of the actual council members themselves'' Mircea commented. Then he turned around, to look intlo the distance of the rear ranks of the host.

''I sense a disturbance, we should send someone to check it out.'' he commented.
 
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