At the edge of the forest, near the great lakes, it sat. A human encampment, mercenaries apparently. Their uniforms were well-worn and soiled, and the Templar vanguard could hear them coughing and spitting as they went about their business.
Obvious signs of sickness could be seen on their skin; sores and greenish boils covered their faces, necks and hands.
Somewhere out in the field, the sight may have been alarming, but not damning – here, right next to great lakes filled with healing aqua ghyranis, it was an obvious sign of corruption by Nurgle.
In the middle of their camp sat a carriage loaded with barrels. Possibly black powder, but the Templar Champion, regarding the scene from within the dense forest, suspected something more nefarious.
Escarosht glanced over to his right.
His Skyfire archers stood unmoving, awaiting his signal.
He obliged.
From within the dense forest, burning arrows shot out, puncturing the human soldiers skulls, burning out the corruption. Others set tents on fire, adding to the panic and confusion.
The defenders yelled in anger and confusion, their commanders shouted orders.
More soldiers fell, before their officer finally managed to get his men and women to form a shieldwall, and set them to advancing on the Skyfires’ position.
Escarosht the Ardent touched the dark green crystal hanging from a golden chain around his neck. He had spent many hours these past few days with the study of the cyclestone, and his command of its magical abilities grew stronger.
As he pointed his ornate spear on the advancing unit, the ground began to grow slick and muddy, causing some of them to lose their footing. Tendrils and far-reaching roots forced their way through the ground and shot out, grasping for legs and arms, pinning the mercenaries at their spot.
The soldiers began hacking at the roots with axes and swords, but their wooden grip grew only harder.
“Glory to the Flame! Charge!” Escarosht’s battlecry sounded over the battlefield, and with the eerie screams of their discs, the Enlightened fell into the mercenaries’ unprotected flanks.
The discs’ blades cut deep into arms, legs and torsos, and their riders’ spears skewered those in the next ranks. Carnage raged, the shieldwall broke and left the Nurglites once again vulnerable to the Templars’ Skyfire archers.
Just then, a gunline rose from behind the wreckage and opened fire, felling many Tzaangor attackers in one salvo.
They had stayed hidden and organized without Escarosht noticing.
The Tzaangor Templar cursed under his breath.
At his signal, the Enlightened disengaged and moved to attack the gunline, while a swarm of Sariant warriors moved in to deal with the remnants of the shieldwall.
The shieldwall, without having to deal with fast flying opponents, proved resilient, and the attack soon bogged down into a slow, lumbering melee.
“In the Name of Our Saviour, the valiant Souls of the Lost of Fate shall be Saved and Rewarded with Holy Ascension!”
The old priest’s disc raced out in the open,though it almost seemed as if he stood unmoving beneath his heavy robes before he pointed his staff forwards, which lightened up in a Sacred Flame of Blue.
“Ascend!”
He had chosen well. The unit’s officer was who kept them in fighting shape with his presence and strength of will. A prime candidate.
His corruption was burned out.
The officer convulsed with pain as his flesh changed, warped from within; he sprouted feathers, razor-sharp claws ripped through his boots and his legs broke into new directions. Teeth burst as his screaming mouth exploded into a beak.
The newly born Tzaangor viciously hacked into his former comrades.
Too late, Escarosht noticed his attention had lingered too long on the melee.
“The men with the wagon! Take them down!”
Multiple flaming arrows buried themselves into the three men standing over the barrels near the lakes, the damage though had already been done.
Deep black sludge poured from within the shattered barrels into the pure water, tainting it.
________________________
The Templars had made quick work of the remainder of the mercenaries’ forces.
On the beach, they had left behind burning piles of corpses. Too many of this were Tzaangor.
Their losses had been far more than they could afford, and they had not managed to stop the Nurglites from corrupting the waters.
It was doubtful the contents of the barrels were enough, but it brought the Nurglites a step closer to their goal.
Escarosht cursed himself, coughing and convulsing under the pain. He had underestimated his opponents, been too careless and arrogant. He could not make any more of these mistakes.
Their new companion had returned with them into the forest and joined the ranks of the Sariant warriors; still wearing the tattered remains of his old uniform and wielding a cutlass. There was equipment enough amongst the fallen, though. Soon enough, the former mercenary officer would be indistinguishable from the rest of them.
