Below is excerpts from the Turn 3 Unfolding Narrative of Animosity II included here with permission.
Breaking camp, the Expedition’s armada made all speed for Tsatraya, anchoring in the shadow of Uyar Point and reconnecting with the western end of Sobolev’s Road where it begins its ascent toward the clifftop city. As part of the deal brokered by Valeo Valencia with the Perpetual, the Dark Marquess and her Shade Host had already begun scouring the surrounding area for agents of the Pilgrimage- an arrangement that would soon prove most fortuitous for the Expedition.
Battle would be joined in earnest as the ghouls of Baroness Gloomraka Fawnfist descend on the first Expedition forces to occupy the city’s outskirts, the Beast-tamer Bloodworthy Marrowlich and the Duke of the Great Hunt giving no quarter as they rabidly give chase to the Stormcast of the Stonewalkers.
A credit to their name, the Stonewalkers held fast until the invaluable artillery of the Hammers of Hammerhal could move up and drive back the Flesh-Eaters with their pummeling barrages, the volley gun “Gustav’s Guts” reaping a particularly gruesome tally.
Already on the back foot, the tide of battle further shifted against the Pilgrimage as the prayer of Soulbound warpriestess Ellendorus Rosamund was answered from on high as a Strike Chamber of the Anvils of the Heldenhammer rode the lightning from Sigmaron down into the city, their arrival met with the bellowing charge of Torag Tome-Eater’s ogors. Anruil Brighteyes bit his lip from the deck of his command ship as the thunderous reports of ironblaster barrages were met with the screaming pressure-guns of the Dovesguard’s “Big Antonio” steam tank.
Unbeknownst to the Expedition, Torag had an ace up his sleeve- Tragtar, shaman of the sun-eater cult, and a Fyreslayer runesmiter by the name of Braddor. With the help of an unfortunate party of siegecracker gnoblars, Tragtar and Braddor had made their way into the city from the quay below Kozul Redoubt, and mined the fortification- and much of the city- with explosives. It’s entirely possible their mad ploy would have succeeded and denied the city to the Expedition… had their clumsy, bumbling attempt at sabotage not been observed from the moment they set foot on the quay by the Dark Marquess and her Shade Host.
Jarl Hjalmorr sat silently behind the lines of the living. His eye sockets fixed on the fight before him. His lord had sent him and the coven of Vorstgraf forest to help the flesh bags with their fight at Tsatraya. His lord had ordered him to follow the flesh bag leader’s command and take control of the undead that were living in the streets of Tsatraya. The fighting was bloody at the entrance, the light aelves and duarding ironmen had engaged the enemy, but the foul ghouls were putting up a heavy resistance. Karl didn’t care, he hadn’t cared for a long time, the only thing that was important to him was his master’s goal.
The cackling of the three witches was distracting, and looking at the reactions of the reserves placed to protect them, quite nerve wracking. It could also be the nerves of battle, again the Jarl didn’t cared for it. He was just waiting for the signal, the signal that would allow him to quence his hatred for the living, the signal that would be lit by flesh bags.
Then something weird happened, he shivered. Karl has never shivered before, as an undead he doesn’t get cold, but this was no natural shiver or a natural wind. The coven witches felt it too, their cackling had stopped. Again, the shiver and the wind, no it was no wind, it was a howl, and it came from the lake. Karl turned around, as did the witches, and looked over the lake. The Jarl’s vision couldn’t pick anything out of the ordinary on the lake. The witches on the other hand started to talk, in their weird, alternating style.
“The Lake…”
“has released…”
“it’s prisoners…”
“With the…”
“Beacon lit…”
“The spirits…”
“are coming…”
“Home at last…”
Then the three witches turned towards the Jarl.
“The signal…”
“Has been…”
“Lit, Lord…”
“We shall…”
“Take care…”
“Of the…”
“Lake spirits.”
As night begins to fall, the worst of the spirit host onslaught is prevented by the runic soul-lantern gifted to the Expedition by Tidecaster Galrach and carried aloft atop “Big Antonio” and finally, the lighthouse atop Kozul Redoubt was relit, the beacon’s lodestone drawing the spectral forms to it like moths to a gas lamp and pacifying the city.
“My Lord! The lighthouse has been lit!”
Arras had seen the light as well, this meant that the assault had started, and on cue several airships took to the air. Arras turned Fornost around and looked over his forces. They were escorting the surviving turnips to the Expedition war camp, and were not moving as fast as he liked.
“Hurry up, or otherwise the fighting is starting without us. Double time!”
Arras could see the mighty walls of the Kozul Redoubt before him, and within its tallest spire the burning light of the lighthouse that had been lit by allied forces. Even above the Redoubt’s spires were the airships of Sardona Swift, firing their cannons into the Pilgrimage forces that tried to assail the redoubt. The airships had but a few minutes ago released its cargo of deadly Expedition warriors into the Redoubt, before the Pilgrimage could take it. The Pilgrimage had cut the Expedition off from the town, or so they thought, and were now arraying there forces between the Expedition and the city, trying to prevent the Expedition from linking up with those in the Redoubt, all according to the plan. Arras looked at the sky, there wasn’t much light in Shyish, but the little that shone through when it was day-time was slowly dimming. Night would be upon them soon, and with that the trap would spring.
“Men and aelves, our mission is clear. We’ll first ride towards the flanks and try to shift their formation. Once there we’ll attack! Get in, get out and try to get as much of the enemy to follow us! Pistoleers of the Hammers, try to disrupt the enemies first rows, so me and my Dawnriders can make a nice impact when we charge them!”
Arras turned Fornost towards the city and pulled out his sword.
“Riders of the Expedition! Move out!!”
The battle was finally decided with the mixed cavalry charge of Arras Danathan’s Lumineth host, supported by the Stormcast of Hercules Tenzo and the Perpetual agent Jarl Hjalmorr and his Coven of Vorstgraf. Beaten and bloodied, the Pilgrimage quit the city, simply lacking the numbers to make even a meaningful last stand.
“Balthnor! Balthnor? …BALTHNOR!?” Torag Tome-Eater bellowed, his back to a parapet of the Kozul Redoubt.
“Who is Balthnor, beast?!” demanded the Liberator-Prime of the Anvils of the Heldenhammer, holding his greatblade en garde lest the ogor attempt any sudden movements.
The Prime had only the briefest impression of the beat-flap of a Stardrake’s wings before he found himself ascending on lightning back to the soul-mills of high Sigmaron from which he’d just descended…
