Under deep red sails, and banners bearing the Golden Burning Wings of Our Saviour, the Templar warship “Promised Conflagration” approached the coast of the Isle of Slidecrown. She was escorted by six heavily armoured Enlightened on Discs in formation.
Templar Champion Escarosht the Adamant’s force was not a Burning Crusade sent to cleanse an island, but a detachment sent to hunt and eliminate a fugitive. Still, he possibly had to achieve the former to achieve the latter. The Tzaangor crusader was under no illusions concerning the resulting implications.
Especially since their insidious prey, the Nurglite Countess Phthisis, had reached the isle before them, knew they were on her trail, and was sure to find many Nurglite allies here. He had, thus, also not expected an easy landing, and in this regard he definitely turned out to be right.
Sonorous humming of giant insectoid wings, the telltale sign of rot flies ridden by Pusgoyle Blightlords, filled the air as they came close. They had indeed been expected.
For now, the Templar Champion stood on deck, observing any movement in the jungle. Beside him stood a young squire, who had been put in charge of the signal flags. He seemed nervous, but a sharp glance of Escarosht set him straight immediately.
Rotting creatures broke out from the jungle, revolting messes of flesh and growth, dripping foul fluids into the pristine blue waves off Slidecrown Isle. Their bloated riders swung their scythes, praised their foul god with sickening coughing and laughter.
“Center Flame, advance!” Escarosht ordered.
The six discs gave an unnatural screech as they accelerated, forming an inverted wedge formation, which only caused the Nurglites’ mirth to increase as they came closer.
The Templar Champion waited, until the Nurglites’ distance to the shore increased. Very good. Lure them in.
“Flanking Flames, attack!”
From the Promised Conflagration, two units of Tzaangor Skyfire archers started, accelerating sharply and shrieking, each forming an echelon formation and taking to the sides of the Nurglites, immediately raining fiery death upon them, each shot finding its way into a weak spot.
The Blightlords shrieked in pain as Holy Fire spread over their bodies and over their mounts.
“Center Flame, charge! Glory to Our Burning Saviour!”
This was when the Enlightened fell upon their prey, racing by cutting deep into the bloatflies with the sharp blades and horns of their discs, while stabbing at the riders with their Sacred Lances.
The Promised Conflagration, meanwhile steered to the left.
The skirmish was short and bloody, with the Templars using their numerical advantage, higher speed and well-organised coordination to their advantage to wear the highly resistant Blightlords down.
The last ones turned and fled, with the Enlightened pursuing for only a small distance, until their commander ordered:
“All Flames, retreat!”
The Nurglites had their own version of an ambush prepared. Escarosht did not even have to take a glimpse into their past to see that. The obvious darkness and corruption he saw and felt in the deep jungle before them was obvious enough.
“Commence broadside.”
“Fire.”
With deafening thunder, the cannons aboard the ship, magically and alchemically imbued, began devastating the coastline with balls of brightly glowing fire.
If Escarosht’s beak had the capacity to smile, it would have. They now had cleared a landing zone.
