Scores of Skinks and Saurus Warriors gathered in the deep jungles of the Furyoth Dell, near the fortress of Old Brass.
They had lost much time and many bodies while hunting the crazed demons of Khorne spilling from the vile rift originating there, and now it was time for the Xarlanthian Seraphon to finally commit to a powerful, direct attack to seal it and stop the spreading corruption once and for all.
They had gathered an impressive force, here, in the darkness, where they laid in wait. Stoically, the Slann’s minions stood ready for the signal of their leaders. The signal, however, would not come.
Of course, even though they were focused on their coming assault, the Seraphon had too much tactical acumen to not secure their rear – little did they know though, that those scouts and watchmen had already met an untimely end.
An uneasy feeling overcame the more perceptive of skink priests, but by then, it was already too late.
From out the jungle surrounding them, human barbarians broke out and fell upon their unsuspecting prey, bellowing the warcries they had to suppress for so long in a violent release of pure, malicious energy.
“In the name of Our Saviour and the Dark Gods, cut them down!” Templar Oron’s voice, too, thundered over the beginning battle.
Mercenaries serving the dark gods had recently joined the Templars’ ranks, among them Barbarians worshiping Khorne. They had easily been motivated by stories of Old Brass, and the chance to strike a hard and bloody blow against the Seraphon, and the riches the Templar expeditions had acquired had been put to this use as well.
Panicked by the sudden and unexpected onslaught, the Skink Priests tried to quickly reorganize their troops, but the followers of Chaos were already upon them, amidst them, and carried out their bloody harvest. It was a glorious sight to behold, screeching Skinks and feral Saurus flailing about wildly while being cut down and the Sariant Warriors lost no time in joining the melee, relishing in their terror – while the giant blue Monolith floated menacingly above, only now being noticed by the Seraphon.
As the faithful of chaos brutally hacked and sliced at the Seraphon, who were slowly starting to mount a defense, the Monolith started to glow, and pulsate.
In the chaos of battle, the screams of the wounded and dying, the clanking of weapons and armour, the ferocious screaming of Saurus warriors as they disemboweled unfortunate Khornates, an ominous humming was heard, painfully assaulting the earways of those gathered, slowly drowning out the sounds of battle.
Suddenly, beams and waves of Ancient and Dark Magics shot out from the monolith, struck Seraphon left and right, who be an screaming in agony and abject terror as their scales gave way to tumorous growths bursting forth, limbs emaciation or growing to grotesque proportions, jaws fusing and ribcages bursting into salviating jaws. The Monolith gave the Holy Gifts of Change freely, and as the mutated spawn attacked their former comrades, any semblance of order and resistance was lost.
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The smell of sweat and blood was pervasive.
Fearing she could lose control over the monolith at any time, she grasped and strained with the magical threads, binding herself to it many times over. It was exhausting, straining, transforming.
Of course, from her seat in a makeshift shrine, the Archprophetess was aware of the glorious battle, or rather slaughter, that took place outside. Controlling the Monolith, she was very aware of every Seraphon struck by the searing beams of the Monolith, of every mutation, every death, all the change and destruction feeding into the neverending hunger of the ancient construct.
She was elated, but also struggling, in control, yet so very lost.
Yet, Sytarith had to hold on. Her Holy mission was far from over, and preventing the Seraphon from closing the rift but one necessary step on her quest to fulfil His Divine Will.
