First Khardihr’s port, now the sunken ruins of Civilia, Rondhol was making a habit of reminding Elanor of home. She tried to dismiss such thoughts, she could not afford to be distracted.
The undead warband moved effortlessly through the flooded ruins. Led by Wight Captain Taldire, the skeletal warriors clambered from the sunken sea bed to atop exposed masonry, the briny water still dripping from their bones, only to once more sink back beneath the waters on the other side. For her part, Elanor kept above the water, vaulting between the crumbling stone work with light leaps as she kept pace with her forces.
Ahead of her, a half fallen clock tower lay slumped amidst the waves, the rusted dials fixed in the moment of the city’s demise. Venturing forward, she traversed its frozen face and surveyed the area around her. The algae-touched grey stone of the ruins protruded from the waters in every direction like the mouldering bones of some great beast. Moving amidst the carcass, the flickering lights of ships could be seen, crude barges daubed in cruder symbols and sleek vessels that moved with violent intent. In places, the two clashed, the distant sound of ringing steel and gunpowder shot carried on the breeze.
It was a far closer sound that drew Elanor’s attention though. Cries of panic and pain coming from half submerged trade hall ahead, and the distinct aroma of split blood. Focusing her gaze, her supernatural sight picked out the glow of torches within the empty windows and the figures moving with them. Men and women dressed in ragged robes, surely survivors, and closing in on them, warriors in boiled leather and brass mail.
Her eyes blazed as the necromantic power in her blood surged, urging the skeletal warriors below her onwards with renewed vigour.
One of the survivors had stumbled and fallen, the lead pursuers almost upon him, when Elanor dropped through a hole in the ceiling. The first pursuer died instantly as she plunged her blade into his back, the second losing his life a second later as she and her blade rose in a single swift motion. The pursuers on one side and the pursued on the other both paused as they took stock of the newcomer.
“Stay calm,” she instructed the survivors in as kind a voice as she could muster, the group looking at her with a mixture of surprise, apprehension, and hope.
They were in one of the trade buildings’ great halls, the floor just above the water level, sending pools of water spilling across the floor through the windows with each passage of the waves. Little remained of its grandeur, the crumbling remains of a fresco here, a fallen fluted column there, but Elanor had become accustomed to seeing past beauty. She had no time to appreciate it though.
Having overcome the initial surprise at her appearance the survivors’ pursuers came forward once more. Several score of khornate pirates, amongst their number, lumbering warriors with great brass axes. With fury laden battlecries on their lips, they charged. Elanor sneered. The red god’s servants were little more than blood hungry savages, vampire’s without the pretension.
Even as they came on, her own forces arrived, heralded by a shriek of fear from the survivors behind her. Skeletal fingers gripped onto the ruined window frames as the sunken warriors emerged from the waters, rusted blades at the ready. From every side they came, and, in deathly silence, drove into the flanks and rears of the khornate forces. Elanor joined them, blades singing as she plunged into the disordered enemy lines.
The strength and ferocity of Khorne’s followers was clearly superior, their axes cleaving joints and chains smashing skulls. But with Elanor and Taldire’s presence energising the undead, many of those that fell soon rose again, dragging the pirates down in a tide of rusted blades and grasping hands. Champions distinguished themselves in the midst of the melee, driving back the tide of undead, but their heroic efforts only served to draw the attention of the dead’s commanders. Taldire dispatched an anchor swinging berserker with a relentless flurry of blows from his halberd that first drove the warrior to his knees, then took his head. Elanor herself dispatched the group’s leader, batting aside his twin axes to open his neck with a touch of her dagger.
Seeing their position as hopeless, those pirates that remained attempted to break free of the encirclement and flee. Most were dragged down by the relentless attacks of the skeletons but a few managed to make it out, discarding their weapons as they took flight. Her blood up, Elanor let out a savage cry and leapt after them. Their desperate retreat was no match for her speed and she tore them apart as they ran. Tearing out their throats, she felt the warm blood of her prey fill her with vigour and terrible warmth.
Then it was over, the would-be hunters lay dead at the feet of the unmoving skeletons, their torches extinguished, their blood mingling with the pools of water that washed in and out of the moon-lit, half-sunken hall.
Rising from the body of her last victim, Elanor looked over to the nearby survivors where they huddled against a pile of fallen masonry. She could hear their hearts beating, made swift with fear, the blood that pumped through their veins singing to her.
Her will strained against the ferocious beastial instinct within her, forcing down the impulses to rend and tear, blocking out the temptations that whispered in her mind.
Sheathing her blade she wiped the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand. Walking forward she saw the survivors flinch away from her, too fearful to fully take flight. She knelt before a trembling young woman and tenderly pushed a lock of their matted hair back from their face. Reaching to her belt she produced a small flask of water and a bundle of bread and passed them to the survivors.
“I know the pain and loss you feel right now. Please believe me when I say I mean you no harm. I have come in response to Sorrah Nikos’s call for aid, can you take me to her?”
The group exchanged uncertain looks, their gaze drawn to the bread and water that was hurriedly passed around and shared.
It was the young woman that answered, apprehension in her voice. “She is not far.”
The nearby sound of clashing steel and splintering wood drew Elanor’s attention and she immediately rose, a hand going to the hilt of her blade. She exchanged a quick look with the Wight Captain who gave a silent nod of agreement.
“We best get moving, more dangers yet abound.”
