Everyone felt the apocalyptic energies in the air, making it thick and wrought with chaotic energy.
The sky had turned a purplish crimson, with dark swirling clouds and spontaneous bolts of light spread across the horizon.
From his perspective, he was surrounded by an ocean of bodies, tides going in and out. Gold and red of the Templars, brass and red of the Desraki. From here, in all the chaos and fighting, all the maneuvers, cavalry charges, the dying, lives lost, they all blended into each other.
So many lights, so many Strands of Fate to guide… he could not help feeling overwhelmed.
Before him lay a Juggernaut of Khorne and its rider, those that had come furthest so far; his Holy greatsword pierced through both.
Vardeshir the Solemn, Paladin of Fate, was busy weaving, chanting Holy Scripture over the noise of battle.
As a martial Order, the Templars of Our Burning Saviour could weather the antimagical properties of the Gore wastes better than most forces allied to the Scorntide, but still, the lack of connection to their God was felt by them all. Still, they had had to take the initiative. The war went well for the Scorntide, despite all the losses – and this was an advantage that had to be pushed, whether that involved dealing with the uncharacteristic trickery of the Khornates or not.
Behind him, upon this steep hill, stood the ruined remnants of the Desraki’s foul machine. The Paladin had immediately felt better upon its destruction, as had the priests in his entourage. Now, they had taken position upon the hill, holding it, as the battle raged around them. The priests chanted, prayed, and drew symbols of power.
“Will it be worth it, all the carnage? The losses?” a voice rang out behind him. He did not have to look, he knew it was her. He could feel her elaborate gown trailing behind her, over the sand.
“As is His Will.” Vardeshir responded, as he guided the halberd of a Templar nearby into a bloodletter’s eyesocket.
“Is it, now? Is your mission not accomplished already? Is your focus not skewed? Is it not the sole reason for you still being here that you crave personal glory, Vardeshir?” she insisted.
“You are not here. You are back in Aith’erant.” Vardeshir spoke, with coldness in his voice.
“I am also deceased. Does this make my words less true?” she answered; the Tzaangor woman carried obvious mirth in her voice.
The Paladin of Fate felt his concentration slipping, and cursed the power she had wielded over him.
“Vardeshir! Come and face me, wretched pawn of the Deceiver!”
Until now, Vardeshir couldn’t possibly have imagined being grateful for hearing the thundering voice of Værmundr the Obsidian-Blooded.
There was movement in the Desraki’s ranks, different from the usual current, as the Khornate Lord made his way to the front lines. In his deep black full plate he stood out well amongst the Redcloaks.
“What is it? Are you scared of a duel, you overgrown chicken?” General Værmundr jeered.
Excellent.
“Form a corridor! Let the Obsidian-Blooded approach!” Vardeshir ordered evenly.
The Templars’ ranks parted, as did the Desrakis’, to make way for the approaching Værmundr.
A small zone of calm was the result, as fighting abruptly stopped in the vicinity; the Khornates cheered the General on, who moved his greatsword in circles to show his proficiency, obviously eager to cross blades with the Tzaangor crusader, when –
“Archers, loose!”
A unit of Skyfire archers let go of their strings, and a dozen flaming arrows punctured Værmundr’s armour, two of them through the eyeslit of his greathelm. The once powerful Khornate Lord collapsed to his knees, then to the ground.
Indeed, Værmundr had lost the duel of wits.
“Fire at will!” Vardeshir ordered, and his forces used the momentary gap in the Khornates shieldwall to rain death upon them, targeting undefended flanks and lessed-armoured support units. The gap was quickly closed, but the damage was already done.
Just a little longer… behind him, he could hear the Hymns of Praise to Our Burning Saviour intensify, and he could hear the approach of the wagon, carrying their own, Sacred device.
Just a little longer…
___________________________
His strength all but spent, he weaved the Fate of the Templar halberdiers before him so they broke another Desraki cavalry charge; they parted for another countercharge –
the Chanting of Sacred Hymns changed, gained an otherworldly quality under the influence of the device. Other voices joined in, voices without presence.
Instantly, all blades lit aflame among the ranks of the Faithful of Our Saviour, and their Holy Flames burned the wretches opposing them.
Above them, a rift opened in the scarlet sky, and divine beings of Providence, Holy Flamers of Tzeentch, poured out in droves.
They rained terror and Fire upon the Desraki as they descended upon them, breaking up formations and causing panic and Agony. The Templar forces used the crumbling of Khornate lines to advance, push, drive wedges in their formation and inevitably, the Khornates’ terror turned into a rout. Both Flamers and Templar cavalry chased and cut/burned them down without mercy as they fled.
Once more, Victory had been achieved.
And the Religious Delight Vardeshir the Solemn felt allowed him, for once, to be all alone in his thoughts.
