Mangled corpses laid before them. Many beastmen, humans, duardin, aelves; all formerly of both Desaki and Scorntide allegiance, later disillusioned and taken in by Nurglite Scum. They had died like the wretches they were, mowed down with little consequence. Close to the Paladin, a human in a tattered and soiled blue robe laid, the symbol of Valithek barely visible. The woman panted and spit blood, all but gone.
Fools. Lost souls. Pitiful creatures who turned to the embrace of the god of plagues when faced with some hardship. Now they lay broken amongst their Maggotkin comrades, and it was for the better.
From upon his disc of Tzeentch, the Paladin of Fate, Vardeshir the Solemn, observed the proceedings of his army, while an eager attendant did his best to wipe at his blood-splattered plate.
By now, the field belonged to the Tzeentchians. Before him, he witnessed how Templar forces performed a pincer maneuver upon the last remnants of the defensive rabble, with a precision certainly most pleasing to Our Burning Saviour.
From the left flank, Nurglite reinforcements streamed out of a partly hidden opening from the caverns below. Either the Nurglites truly believed they had not taken note of this second entrance, or they simply wanted to make sure, paying no mind to their own minions. It did not matter.
Vardeshir let a relatively large, but still easily exterminatable mass of Nurglites through before he gave the signal.
The shouts and ringing of steel on steel were soon eclipsed by the thunder of captured Destaki cannons, as they targeted the weak points of the jagged cliffside holding the entrance to the caverns.
Formations of rock splintered off and tumbled down, to the panicked gurgling shrieks of the lost, trampling over each other to get away, before deadly rock and stone crashed down upon the mass of them, burying them beneath. For those already outside, their Fate was sealed.
For them, there was nowhere to run. Highly mobile Skyfire archers in gleaming golden armour descended upon them, shooting flaming arrows with deadly precision, preventing any serious lines from being formed before the heavy cavalry smashed into them.
It was a Holy Duty for the Templars, to extinguish those fallen to the Archenemy, and they thoroughly enjoyed it.
He could here the priests of his entourage sing Hymns of Praise and Glory, and the troops soon joined in, as the gigantic rotten campsite burned and the Holy Flamers of Tzeentch still found survivors hiding amongst the shreds and rubble.
This here, though, was only part of the current offensive.
The more obvious one indeed, but not the most decisive one. No – with the Nurglites coming from the sea, it was only right that their doom would arrive from there, too.
