“In the name of Our Burning Saviour – Charge!”
The heavy Templar cavalry charged down the hill, golden wings at their saddles glinting in the light of Hysh.
The shieldwall of Khornates and Nurglites had – despite the violent and enraged efforts of General Værmundr the Obsidian-Blooded – not yet formed properly as the golden wedge smashed into their combined forces.
Holy Lances shattered shields, burrowed deep into diseased flesh, men were ridden down by the clawed feet of the Templars’ reptilian mounts.
Behind the Templar cavalry, on his ornate Disc of Tzeentch, hovered Vardeshir, guiding Fate.
An eerily serene figure on the battlefield, despite his high speed. He had his arms raised in a ceremonial pose, a sonorous hum sounded while he prayed, and thus, he guided tips of lances into gaps of armours, and claws into the weak points of assortments of tumors and mould.
From the flanks, at breakneck speeds, the skyfire archers harassed the enemy forces with fly-by attacks; letting go flaming arrow after flaming arrow with deadly precision.
Meanwhile, the Templar infantry stoically marched on, all of them in golden Full Plate, halberds and long swords at the ready.
The Templars managed to smash through the united Khornate and Nurglite forces, shattering any cohesion.
Still, these were Nurglites and Khornates.
Whipped into a frenzy by the Obsidian-Blooded and his slaughterpriests, a bloodthirsty horde of Blood Warriors and frenzied Bloodreavers fell upon the disciplined Templar lines, while Nurglings scurried about between the mounted Tzaangor, stabbing at legs with their rusted knives while Tybalt laughed heartily.
Next to Vardeshir, a Templar Knight Captain came to a halt, obviously starting to tell of an important observation, when he abruptly froze. Blood seeped through the eyeslits of his beaked helmet, before he unceremoniously slid off his mount.
Too late, the cackling Realmgore Ritualist was brought down by three golden arrows.
Frothing at their mouths, screaming profanities and their assorted battlecries, the barbarians charged the Templars in force –
The melodious signal horns of the Slaaneshi sounded.
Jeering and haughty insults flew next to jagged arrows towards the Khornates, as a band of Blissbarb Seekers bearing the heraldry of Leandros di Avi’aor sprinted by, then another, and another.
The Paladin of Fate had expected that the Lord of Hubris would arrive when the enemy was most distracted – the Slaaneshi loved a spectacular entrance. Accompanied by his inner circle of Myrmidesh Painbringers, Leandros strode into battle, his magnificent, curled mustache accompanied by a cocky smile.
The tide of the battle turned again with the Slaaneshi’s arrival, giving the Tzaangor forces more room to breath and consolidate, but Slaaneshi and Tzeentchians were still heavily outnumbered by Khornates and Nurglites.
Vardeshir looked upon the black pillars – where a banner bearing the purple Fleur-de-Lys of Leandros di Avi’aor waved in the wind. He had hoped it would have been the Burning Wings of Our Saviour, but the sight still bode well.
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Indeed it had been the Slaaneshi warband who had managed to claim the ritual site first. It had been a long and arduous journey, filled with skirmishes against a Khornate and a Nurglite warband, with changing success.
Leandros’ special operatives had often fought alongside a group of Templar scouts, but for most of the time, they had been separated by the fog and morass.
The Shardspeaker Elise began to intone the experimental ritual the Tzeentchians and Slaaneshi had researched, perusing the special configuration of the black pillars and the Templars’ blue crystals of power.
Joining the Slaaneshi in their defence around the ancient pillars of the ritual site, the remnants of the Templar scouts took their position.
The Khornates and Nurglites crashed into their defense with reckless abandon, throwing all their might into battle in this one final fight.
Around the Shardspeaker, shattered pieces of glass and blue crystal began to float, to dance in the wind, and an eerie foreboding glow appeared within the sea.
Knowing this was their last chance, the attackers gathered for one, final assault, but the massive powerful assault broke on a wall of golden and silver steel.
From the depths of the ocean, from the unknowable workings of the defunct realmgate, an arcane blaze of silver arose, being focused by the Shardspeakers magic, and arcing towards the battlefield as a concentrated, magical weapon, the essence of Chamon came over the enemy, as cheers and hymns of glory broke out within the ranks of the defenders.
After many hard, vicious fights, the Scorntide coalition had achieved victory.
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Tybalt of the Pox Triumphant laughed heartily as his Blightkings closed on upon the beleaguered Templars. He had people to spare, and new minions to convert and infect, he only had to wear the pompous golden birds down. Vile magic sprung from his enchanted staff, bringing these annoying little Slaaneshi to their knees.
This was the moment that a blindingly bright string of silver light hit the battlefield.
All over the united Khornate and Nurglite army, armour began to melt and drip down the warriors’ bodies. Said bodies began to stiffen, grew cold and hard to move as they transformed into metal to the painful screams of their occupants.
To his panic, he realized how his own bloated body beneath his tattered robe turned to solid gold, all life slowly being snuffed out.
With panic and terror spreading over the battlefield, some units breaking and fleeing, the Templars and Slaaneshi next attack decisively shattered all remaining organised opposition.
General Værmundr the Obsidian-Blooded screamed bloody murder, himself injured by many golden flaming arrows, tried to get his force back into battle until the end – when he was whacked over the head by one of his runepriests. The priest knew he would pay with his life later, but he also knew his General would not flee, and would otherwise die here.
Soon, everything devolved into Chaos and slaughter.
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The Lord of Hubris hit the statues forehead twice with the pommel of his falchion.
“Do you intend to take the decoration with you or can I have him?”
“Neither. I will melt him down and distribute the coin between multiple mercenaries.”
“Paranoid?” Leandros grinned.
“Yes. But mostly vindictive. Brother Tybalt was far more vain than his tattered robe would lead you to believe.”
It had been a hard-fought battle, but a necessary one, which was bound to have an important effect for their further war efforts. Already, the Templars erected defenses at the coast, most importantly around the black pillars. It would take much research, but maybe…
Maybe the power of the realmgate could be used more consistently in the future.
