Imperial Artisans ... The Painters, Crafters & Writers Guilds > The Imperial Office

Hawkseer: Nordland's finest

<< < (5/6) > >>

SaintofM:
Chapter 17
That afternoon.

Hollov waited with impatient intent. An imp in service of a sorcerer of Tzeentch had requested his presence, and at a most unusual place. The tell-tale signs of Skaven littered everywhere, from scratch marks, to refuse, to their scat. Ramshackle watch towers overlooked the large cavern leading to their Underempire, just needing a gentle breeze or a strong gust of flatulence to knock them over. Yet, this was not just any warren of these insane beastly creatures.

This was the Hellpit of Clan Moulder, where all manner of monsters were bred and born. This close to the chaos wastes, they could gather warp stone and monstrosities to experiment with to their tiny hearts’ delight. Bah humbug, he thought. If he wanted to work with these idiots, he head to Lustria where Clan Pestilence made a home. Why was he being summoned here?

He hoped the answer would come flying in on an airborne chariot pulled by the sky sharks of Tzeentch. Driving it was sorcerer lord one with a permanent cackling thunder cloud following him like a lost puppy.  The chariot slid on the landing, rushing ever nearer to the panicked Skaven lookouts.

To their relief, the mad sorcerer came to a sudden half just inches from them. As they let out a final sigh of relief, the sorcerous struck the tower apart with one blow and riotous laughter.

“Very mature.” Holov scoffed. “Why have you summoned me here, Bird Watcher.”

“Lord Bacamata has come from Lord Bacamata’s most gracious of lord’s command!” Said the Tzeentchian sorcerer. “Lord Bacamata has come with an offer of soldiers! Look and behold!”

With a wave of the staff, the thick cloud cover dissipated, revealing a wagon train of trolls and spawn of chaos. All hauling carts of glowing green gemstones the size of men’s heads. Any sorcerer of any favor of the ruinous powers recognized that substance for what it was, and knew it was the sorcery given form.

“Warp stone?” Holov gasped. “And that much

“Yes. Lord Bacamata has learned the Rat freaks have learned to use it for many things. Currency, their magic, their experiments, the ammunition of their weapons, their poisons, even their food! And we will be using much of this in your quest against Nordland.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“Lord Bacamata word is solid as steel!”

Holov spat out a glob of phlegm, pelting a fallen skaven’s glaive. The already badly kept blade rusted then crumbled in the racing heartbeats of a rat.

“Lord Bacamata will choose to ignore this. Lord Bacamata knows that you need help, that your own forces lost dearly in the recent attacks. Lord Bacamata also know that Khorne and Slannesh have failed to do little more than annoy the enemy before turning on each other. Lord Bacamata come with an army of Forsaken and spawn to soak up enemy bullet and arrow. You bring stronger soldiers yes? Lord Bacamata too also come with an army of monsters of more importance than spawn and forsaken. And the Skaven here with have more to be used, yes?”

“I will see what they have. For I have my own gifts.” Putting a pair of fingers to his lips, Holov made a sickly, wet whistle. Mutants carried human captives, women and children mostly, in baskets on the backs of chaos ogres. Hornless brays of the beastmen, and those ungores not fast enough to avoid capture were carried in tuskigore hauled carts. “I too know a thing or two of how the Skaven think. Be Warry, for the rats will betray us if given a chance.”

“Why we are coming in. And I suspect you have your army and Lord Bacamata have his?”

“Of course. Would we have it any other way?”

With the arrival of the caravans their wait was made short. Black furred warriors in armor nearly on par with a Chosen of Chaos escorted a figure in tattered robes. He came with a cane in hand, and a crown of horns upon its skull. “Greetings, Lord-Things. I Grey Seer Supsuk. Come-enter. We talk-deal much-much.”

The two lords of chaos magic took one glare at each other before entering the city. They may be joined against a common foe, but neither had to like it.

 The décor of the cave city on the other hand was more to their liking. Cages lined the walls and hung on chains from the great ceiling. Each filled with the weeping, gnashing, and wailing creatures more bizarre than the last. Some creatures as the so called lesser gods intended; wolves, carnosaur, squig, giant spider and more. Others were clearly things of chaos. Manticore, hydra, griffon, minitour, and troll.

Others were clearly the work of the Skvaven. Their signature rat forms were all over them, ranging from snouts, to naked worm like tails, to the twitching movements.  Many were forms Holov had come to expect. Rats the size of familiars and cats yet the viciousness of badgers. Others the size of warhounds and worse in temperament. Others took a more gorilla stance and the size of ogres they took their name from. The prized specimens were taken to battle as manticore sized mounts. Others took inspiration from harpy, from warrior of chaos, from troll, and from other beasts of the world and the world that should be.

Hours passed as they walked tirelessly down the winding passages until they came upon a grand misshapen market. Hundreds of Skaven clerks counted their beans and exchanged their currency for goods. Most was a strait up exchange; creatures for other services. Specialized troops for specialized troops. Glowing warpstone coins for other forms of trade.

“We leave goods here, count-measure quality. We-we talk business in comfort, yes-yes?” The grey seer was not so much asking as guiding them to a cart connected on flimsy wires. A swarm of giant rats ran on a wheel to move it along, dropping off and picking up Skaven of status as they went.

With an uneasy shaking, the three lords entered. A quick squeaking threat, and smack of the staff to the head, the battered driver started the machine. 

From a bat’s eye view, the chaos sorcerers could see the fires of twisted science burn a literal glow of madness and ingenuity. One massive creature, an artificial spawn of chaos of mammoth proportions, was altered by surgery and attachment. It simply needed a little prodding before violence erupted.

Another was fitted with massive cannons worthy of any engineer. Something Holov could admire before his days of true service. Something he still did. It was also why he was still nervous about ill prepared contraptions of these rat men. His rival could enjoy the sights and sounds all he liked; he didn’t need to worry about the nature of these unhallowed devices. At least not until two of them smashed into each other.

The Grey Seer let out a series of angry squeals in the same pattern a man might swear in. “Always same, never change; Fool-fool low bid Clan Skyer again-again.  No worries, we ride in style, yes-yes.”

Both lords were glad they had helms to cover their faces, and a veil of mail over that. Otherwise they might release tell tale signs of this was not how they wanted to die. Once they did, they put in extra effort not to kiss the warpstone sprinkled ground.

“Come-Come, Throt the Unclean wishes to sell-trade with you.” Supsuk said with high pitch glee.

“Throt?” Asked Holov. “Excuse my ignorance, but I did not know Skaven lived this long.”

“Lord Bacamata wishes to know if this is the same Throt Lord Bacamata has made dealings with in the past.”

“Yes, and yes. Most Skaven do not live long, nor do we want them to. But a few blessed by the Horned Rat, and with plenty of infusions can live long-long. My Throt has made Clan Maulder so powerful I was sent to ensure the will of the council was kept.”

“And is your Verminous capital satisfied?”

“As long as I get warp tokens and the best breeders, and my own critters to experiment on, I tell council what they want to hear. Not that I need-must lie-lie. Moulder want to make better beasties, and get rich. And everyone wants their beasties. But enough of me. We here-here!”

The sounds of saws and screams echoed from a cavern with signs in multiple languages that said: Keep Out, Busy! Yet, enter they would. A pair of rat ogres each one brute large enough to carry a war shrine of chaos by themselves, guarded the doors. Sword like bones extended from their forearms, barring the entry to the madman’s laboratories.

“Business, Talk-Speak Now-Now!” Supsek squealed loudly. The two brutes looked at each other with unusual intelligence for their breed, then back at the masters of magic before it.

“Wait.” Said one of them before it ambled inside. By the time the three thought they should pull out dice, the master of the warren arrived. 

Few creatures in the aptly named Hell Pit remain unchanged by the machinations of the Master Moulders, including these blights upon the world. Throt the Unclean was nearly as large as a proper warrior dedicated to Nurgle. A large rippling gut covered his strong frame. Two strong right arms held an evil looking mancatcher pole, while much smaller left arm held his still twitching meal; an attendant that failed him from the looks of it.

“What-what?” Throt called out. “I have the Second Great Lord, and Fourth and Seventh aiding me in an experiment. Better be good, Yes-Yes!”

“Very, Oh Great Third Lord!” Supssk said with false awe. “Sorcerer kings of Chaos come with mountain of wealth for your prizes.”

“What kind of wealth?” The far larger Skaven hissed in the Grey Seer’s face. Despite the fear induced reverence these horned wizards should have invoked, Throt was far from impressed or terrified. He was already through with his meal, and hungrily ready to snatch the wizard up.

“Perhaps a taste of things to come?” Hollov suggested. He pulled out a still beating heart with warpstone shards imbedded in it.

Throt took it, and in three bites it was messily gone. “MMM, Stag Gor-Thing. Very Strong, well-seasoned.”

“Lord Bacamata also comes bearing gifts.” With a hidden tentacle, the Tzeentchen Sorcerer lord pulled a large sack from his robes. While he gently handed it to the Master Maulder, Throt greedily snatched it up. Dumping the pastry contents down his throat, he never bothered to chew.

“Cathay Pork Buns, good-good. Well flavored. I get, gather other Lords. We discuss over Dwarf-Thing Beer and over the pits.”

This meant another ride in a more open cart over the menageries of monsters. As Throt promised, other lords and their personal guards, be they warrior or beast, followed. Each one as mutated and as potent as Throt himself.

“What-what you need-need, Chaos-Things?” Throat demanded, in-between bites of a pox covered rat.

“We need fodder for enemy spears and cannons. An alliance of human, dwarf, and elf. Both woodland and from their far-off island.” Holov began. “I have my followers of the Plague Father, and a hoard of beastmen. Lord Bacamata has those twisted by the wastes and those seeking the Great Deceiver’s praise. But we need something to soften these fool we face.

“Aw, then come this way!” Throat gleefully hit a series of chimes, changing the direction of the platform. The sudden jolt caused one of the guards to fall screaming into a pack of chaos warhounds impatient to pounce.  “We have the wolf rats and giant rats, and rat swarms, but you need my Throtlinngs!”

“Throt-Ling?” Both Sorcerer lords asked. Neither one knew if this was going to be good or not, but they needed an army.

“Left overs from his other experiments.” Said one of the many lords of Hell Pit. He was large, taller than a proper Chaos Lord, horns and all, with thick rimmed googles, and all manner of surgical and measuring tools attached to his robes. “Sometimes he has time between his allotted assignments and his allotted experimenting time, and tries something on a smaller scale. Other times he has spare parts from his various assignments and he has a moment he is not hungry. These are the end results. Behold!”

The sight was a wonder in and of itself. A twisted mixture of zoo and army barracks. Creatures with multiple arms and multiple heads. Animals with human like limbs. Rats with bear like features. Adult bears the size of house cats. All murderous, all in need of something to kill.

“Its as If we have a horde of the overly blessed brothers and sisters!” Holov said in reverent tones.


Lord Bacamata nodded in agreement. “The weaklings in the south sees them as forsaken by their gods, but are they truly forsaken to be this blessed?”

“Forsaken, Blessed.” Coughed Throt. “Failures all the same. You can take them. We will send the allotment of packmasters and Master Maulders to keep them in line.” Turning his head, the master of Master Moulders saw a strange bat like creature that turned out to be a rat faced harpy. Several pups clung to her chest, greedily feeding as she handed a parchment to Throt. With a curtsy of sorts, the rat harpy flew off.

“That would be one of my creations.” Said the tall Lord. “Before I became the Seventh, I was a zoological expert of and later Chaos champion. I wanted to create a zoo greater than that found in Altdrof when some fool grey-seer used the Dreaded Thirteenth spell on me. I simply continued my search under a new patron, but I still miss the savors of the old days. I have many more that can be more to your tastes if you wish?”

“Devolvran at it again.” Said a squat lord of Hell Pit with thick rimmed glasses, and a man catching staff. “Always trying to sell your breeders to anyone with the coin."

“They are my best products. Not that my Hell Whipper beasts haven’t kept the Warp Tokens flowing like lava.”

“Enough Bickering!” bellowed the other great lord of Hell Pit. Even Throat shuddered and bowed in reverence. Despite half the size of the three armed Skaven, he stood powered even a chaos sorcerer could see was earned. “You give me-me a head ache-ache! Your slaves have been examined, and the quality of warp stone has been determined. You will have an army of five thousand throtlings, yes-yes. But you bring too much, too much. What else?”

“What do you mean what else?”

“We have plenty to spare: Giant Rats. Wolf Rats. Giant Pox Rats. Rat Hydras. Rat Ogres. Rate Ogre Bone Breakers. Six Brood Horrors that need bought-sold, and five Hell Pit Abominatiosn we have to offer. You need-want army, you have it.”

“Show us.” Holov’s crooked face contorted into a smile that would sicken even the Skaven had he not his helm and veil.  “Show us all of them!”

SaintofM:
Been a while. I got busy in the real word, but I have some chapters ready if people are still interested.

Chapter 18.
Two Days Later

Overseers yelled a constant stream of orders to the crews as they packed every conceivable place on his ships with gear. Even Ronan’s allotted quarters was used for storing medicine and food. He was not going to be caught off guard, and he wanted to make these chaos worshipers suffered. He wanted his soldiers to come back and reap the rewards.

All but a handful of soldiers and gear were left waiting to be put on the boats. Of those that remained, one went over the battlements he was expecting to find. Every conceivable problem, every issue he may come across.

“We’ll need to funnel the hoard towards this point. Otherwise its too spread out for anyone to face. Think you can manage?”

“I can command a ship.” Said one lords under Lacertus. “We will do what we can.”

“As will we.” Said another lord under Gorindo.

“Remember, first order of business is to fight to kill. There are too many not to. That said, capture what you can, be it man, monster, and especially ship.” Ronan reminded them.

“Word is Morathi’s Northman allies get spooked by the Arks.” Said the one under Gorindo’s command.

“I hope so. It will be your main weapon in the coming battles. If we survive, bringing them back, this will be worth more to the Fleetmasters than Ulthane wine or dwarven gold. Until then, send Manthland his due in blood. Not a drop less.”

With a salute, the Dreadlords made their way to their way to their posts. While they all hoped this would be the last time they would see each other, they also hoped they would all take a legion of the hellish adversaries with them. It was the only way they would survive this.

With a hand on the Flower’s reigns, Ronan led his cold one into his ship. It wasn’t much of a flag ship, but it would do. Nervous energy filled the ship as he entered. Outside of the required salute to their better, everyone busied themselves with anything to distract them. Sailors checked riggings or mopped the deck for the umpteenth time. Swordsmen sharpened swords, crossbowmen tuned their crossbows. Spearmen checked all the shafts for the midbattle replacements. Only the knights had any real work, and that was always the stubbornness of their mounts.

Gods he wished this would be over soon.

“You’d think a warrior society would enjoy the coming battles.” Said Arhedel. She took off her helm, revealing the short crop of hair and the sword gash that mired an otherwise flawless face. Ronan placed a gentle hand on her cheek, brushing away a stray hair as he went.

“We say we are warriors. But look at who they choose to target. Every hound thinks they are the perfect hunter until they see the lion; then they are just the family pet and know it. We are facing lions.”

“Time to see who keeps their place at their master’s side on the hunt.” She took his hand and lead him away from the soldiers, the servants, and the animals. She led him to the only place where they could be alone, and no one would dare bother them. She led him to a place where they could remove their armor and embrace not as lord and underling, not as master and servant    , but as lovers, but as equals. As he was uplifted from slave to lord, he did the same to her. And now she was going to save him from his pain again.

“Sir, we have a hawk with a message on it!” Said a corsair as the lovers were halfway through their breastplates. “It says we are to meet the Asur fleet in the bay by the town Strudel Doodle.”

“Thank you. Have my officers meet in our war room. Have the bird return with a message that we will acquiesce to their needs so long as they hold their end of the ceasefire.”

“Aye, aye, Dreadlord!”

By the time the corsair was well out of earshot, and Arhedel was well out of the desire to shoot him, the two made it to the officer’s room. At least the storage room full of reaper bolts that was used as one.

The various officers, many the children of nobility, stood uncomfortably close to each other. In any other situation to be within a sword length of each other was reserved for lovers, rivals, and the most trusted of retainers (sometimes all three in the same elf). With no room to budge, they did all they could not to do the legions of chaos’ work for them.

“I prefer a warm bed with a warmer woman as well, but this is what we have.” Ronan bellowed loud enough for the shades hiding at the top of the crates to hear. “But here we are. The Black Ark and the ships that remain with her will be due west on this conflict, funneling any and all enemy boats towards me and the other defenders on the mainland. If things go well with the Asur, they will join this fleet in doing the same on the east. Questions?”


“What if they don’t keep the ceasefire?” asked one corsair captain with a glint of gold in his smile and his thoughts.

“The seers were pretty clear this was the only way our blood won’t be offered up to some chaos lesser deity.” Was Relik’s reply. “We work with them and they us and we have a chance of seeing another day.

“We do this, I can foresee most of us dying in battle. All of us have this risk, even Red Tide on the Ark. But if we don’t put our differences aside and fight as one, we all die.” Said Ronan. “On the chance their seers see differently than ours, take as many out as you can as you go full sail to any friendly port we have. Assuming our seers are all wrong, and you won’t just die tired.” Ronan was numb to the horror filled realization that came upon that captain’s face as his smile died. All of them had faced chaos at some point or another, a war band, or a particularly potent warlord. But how often did one survive this? A generation? Five Generations?

“This is as close to being Anerion as any of us are going to get. We hold the line and live, we come back to Naggrond as living legends. There won’t be a dreadlord worth his weight in dragon eggs that won’t want you in their army. Your Hawkseers either end on a high note this week, or we earn the Dread in Dreadlord. To your posts and ships.”

Ronan was the first out of that cramped room, and the first to breath the sea air. This was the kind of thing he was meant for. “Full sail! The faster we land the better!”

<><><><><><><>Present Day<><><><><><><>

High Elf cutters flanked druchii vessels, bolt throwers aimed at each other with deadly intent. Only Ronan had no fear of what was to come. He had more pressing matters.

“As I suspected. They all want to come here.” He said to himself. Only he, Relik, and Helga were allowed to board the Asure flagship, and only after Ronan made the case for both. “They seem to be ignoring the rest of the coastline. Even the capital of this land is free of their assaults. “Any one have any ideas on the matter?”

“Do you?” It was less a question and more of a command from a high ranking shadow warrior. A lord of his people if they bothered at all with such formalities. Instead he dressed, trained, and battled the same as the others of his kin. A lack of decorum, especially with an ancient enemy, was to be expected.

“I have ideas, ones I prefer to voice when I meet the rest of the leaders not shoring up the lines here.”

“Share them or I will force them out.” The shadow warrior threatened. Relik inched a finger closer to his dagger, but Ronan waved such thoughts away with his hands.

“If you must know, the ones that come to mind is this. One: the rest of the shore line is too difficult to take, and this is simply the easiest to strike. Another is they made dealings with one of the local lords and this is part of their pact. Another is the seas are too contested with monsters and other neutral parties, ones we should be befriending. And another thought is they have been trying to destroy this city for a long time and they want to complete the job. Yet another is they want something from inside that city wall and do not care how they get it. Your turn to correct my assumptions.” Ronan said with no ill intent, but felt plenty from his tentative allies.

The captain of the ship turned to one advisor, then to another. A final look at the nodding shadow warrior and he made himself ready. “There are signs of leviathan and kracken underneath the waves. We have been joined with the humans and woodland cousins in trying to reach them. Hopefully by the end of the week we will have success, but no news if they or anything is keeping them from the Kislev territories. The same with the mainland. The early assaults struck everyone along the coast equally, this was just the area that gave the harshest resistance.

“I see. So vengeance may perhaps be a cause.”

“Yes. But how, where…we know not.” Said the captain.

“Good enough. Take me to shore. Ronan commanded.”

“You are not in a position to make demands.” Said the Shadow Warrior.

“You allowing me on this ship to talk at all tells me you are not in a position to not take my help. Now get me where I can do some good, or end this alliance now.” Swords nearly drawn at these words, but Ronan knew this would be an empty threat. Elvin seers of all their factions tended to be on the same wave length, and theirs had to see the same things his did. “If nothing else is needed of me, I will be on the deck. Helga, keep aiding them with the maps. Relik, protect her.”

“Shouldn’t you have me watch your back?”

“At this point, a bruised ego and a broken nose will do me some good.” Ronan answered.

To his dismay, no one challenged him the moment he stepped into the light. Nor were there any challenges issued as he looked around the deck. After an hour of being reminded of a home long since dead, the first warning signs of enemy ships were made.

Druchii and Asure ships blared their horns, sign something was amiss. On instinct, he joined the soldiers, tossing spears to passing soldiers as they went. Falcon eyed spotters directed bolt thrower crews while archers lined the spaces between. The lone mage prepared the small hurricane of spell list he had at his fingertips. That left Relik and the Shadow Warriors who quickly found their positions on the masts.

The wait and the silence weighed heavily on all. Ronan could only imagine how his crew was feeling on the other ship. Just as the tension grew thick enough to trip a giant, the howls of the enemy made themselves known.

A large barge broke through the waves, its content of sickly wails and plague ridden vermin said enough. Plague Monks of the verminous Skaven and the legions of Nurgle had arrived. Flanking them, and casting their spells at the elves were massive creatures of unusual serpentine manners. Each held dozens of squealing and chirping horrors of Tzeentch casting their spells at the elves.

“Just what we need. Another unlikely alliance.” Ronan groaned to the agreement of the others. “Our order’s captain?”

“What do you think?” The captain replied. “Loose everything at will. Prepare for boarding action!”

The other ships were already circling the chaos vessels as a shark around a bait ball of fish. Magic of all schools were being hurled back and forth, singeing some, but not enough damage to matter. Bolt throwers cleared decks, leaving daemon wishing they stayed in the realms of chaos. As the elvin ships grew closer, archers and dark shards entered the fray while sea guard and corsair waiting with ready impatience.

With sword drawn, shield in hand, Ronan waited for the crash to send him and dozens of other elves to their fate. The captain came armed with a trident. It lacked the points and barbs needed for fishing, but was perfectly shaped for capturing an enemy’s weapon. Ronan hoped it had enough penetrating power to get in a kill; those that worship the plague gods tend to be hardier than those of any sanity.

“Eagle Claws! Clear the decks! We rush over the moment you let loose! Archers, do not stop shooting till you are out of arrows. Then you either rush out to get another quiver or you take your spear or sword and join the rest of us!” The captain ordered. Drummers and flutists kept the rhythm, while horn blowers signaled when the enemy approached.

The captains hand went down once, then twice, then a third and final time. Elf and marauder ship collided. Bolt throwers chucked a half a dozen bolts at a time, skewing many of the armored and unarmored foe alike. Elves jumped in, spears skewering the nearly naked fanatics. A strong arm was all that was needed to break spears, but the elves struck again and again until the enemy fell.

Ronan struck them with his cutlass, but their flesh sutured itself faster than he could slice. Only with decapitation did one finally fall. It was a push, one that the elves could not hold back without the aid of potent magic, or the wily nature of the shadowy elves.

Shadow warriors struck from behind, the barbed arrows pelting ratman and human alike. With their scimitars out, they carved a battle line into the enemy formation. Any champion that thought they could hide in the back were quickly hunted down by Relik. Gusts of mystic wind blew unwary enemies overboard. The roar of fire and lightning erupted around them as one the living ships of Tzeentch capsized, while the other was caught in the strangle hold of a Druchii sea serpent.

Druchii executioners and corsairs leapt onto the barge from one side. Asure sea guard and white lions on the other. Their blades soon grew wet with greasy blood. Renewed vigor filling their bodies, the elves pushed back, forcing all that remained to choose death by the sword or the spear. Within minutes the barge was theirs.

“Burn the ship. Let not one timber see landfall. The rest of us must see a doctor before we join the rest of the fleet. Better tell yours do likewise.”

“I’ll need signal flags.” Ronan said. With the flags in hand, he waved to the druchii ships.

Ronan gave the proper commands. “Any reply?” He asked.

Relik pulled out a pair of binoculars, and watched for the response. “They agree with the Asur captain’s assessment. They will share this with all the ships. Your captain wishes to know how soon before we depart.”

“The moment we have the all clear. Not a moment longer.” Ronan replied with the proper signals. Before tossing them to a midshipman, he wondered if the food on these Asure vessels had improved since his stay in the army.

SaintofM:
Chapter 19.a


Elvin ships landed with a crash. Ramps were extended, and a swarm of workers performed their duties. The wounded were carted off to med tents, while the able bodied caried weapons and food with cargo hooks and wagons.

Once one ship was unloaded, any crews that could be spared were loaded on and pushed back out to see. A dock open, the next ship would come in, and the cycle would continue. Only the druchii ships did not have any willing to climb on board. The dark elves knew this so packed extra elves for this cause. At the very lease they were willing to unload the extra food, medicine, ammunition, and weapons.

Human and dowi soldiers with banners directed the supplies where they were needed, and soldiers to be counted and sorted elsewhere.

Ronan came down the gangplank with his retinue and knights. Like him, they were dismounted and holding on to their cold ones with dear life. He breathed in the air and realized he had been in so many sieges, their defenses might as well be his calling in life.

“Who’s in charge here?” He said in heavily accented Reikspeal.

“The dwarf with the wolf cloak directing builders.” Said a pox marked youth. “Lord Balder they keeps calling him.”

“Balder!” Ronan repeated. “The man’s a legend. They say he forced a Druchii fleet to haul ass back home while nursing a flu and a hangover.”

“He looks sober now.” Said Lustel.

“Yeah, imagine what he can do with all his wits and no headache.” Switching back to the language of the Druchii, Druhur, Ronan motioned for one of his shades to approach. “The dwarf in the wolf cloak is named Balder, Son of the Mountain. He’s in charge of the defenses. Until I get back, all the fleet reports to him.”

“Is that a good idea, Deadlord?” The shade asked. The other elves looked at each other nervously, knowing what questioning a Dreadlord’s orders, even one as lenient as Ronan meant.

“More dangerous not to. He’s the Druchii Bane of his people, and WILL act accordingly.”

With a look that one makes when they are about to have an explosive diarrhea and no place to relieve themselves, the Shade saluted and ran off.

“I expect the rest of you to behave as well.” To the characteristic displays of oh sure, and nods of the head, Ronan wondered if he should drink as much as a certain Dreadlord of Hag Grief. It would make dealing with this fleet of fools easier.

“Boy!” Ronan called out to the pox marked youth. “Tell Balder that the elf lord in command of the dark elves has arrived, and he would like to know where he can be of help.”

“Yes, me lord!” The boy said with a nervous bow. Hobbling along, it didn’t take Ronan long to realize there was something wrong with his leg. The child found a more able bodied adult to send the message, but that only freed him up for other duties on the dock.

“Are there no more adults that a child must do a man’s work?” Ronan asked.

“When you are orphaned and cripple, you take what you can get, elf.” Snorted a slayer. One ear was torn off, and the other had to be stappled on to his bear thick flesh.

“Won’t argue with you there.” Ronan replied.

“Oh, but you’ll come and save us, you mass murdering…”

“That is enough, Master Karrak.” Said a voice that reverberated with authority. He was followed by a group of maul hauling warriors of ornate armor and more ornate beards. “Balder, Son of the Mountain.

Ronan made the proper bow of one of Balder’s station, as per dwarvish tradition. The rest of the elves and humans with him wondered if they should do the same, before simply nodding in acknowledgement. “Ronan Hydra Kin. The Black Ark and most of its ships are on the west, attempting to tame the beasts on their way. What I brought will be either on the fight on land, or joining the Asur fleet fighting in the east. We will follow the orders of those in charge from there.

“Your orders or mine, elf?” Balder asked, his politeness somewhat laudable.

Ronan took a deep breath, and steadied himself for the fist fight that was to come. “Can I assume your people have seercraft?”

“You may.”

“Then may I assume that you, the humans, and the other elves here have seen some terrible things?”

“You may assume so.”

“My seers say there will be a storm at sea, that nine bolts of lightning will unleashing seven waves of claws and fangs seeking the blood of innocents?” To Ronan’s delight, the dowi were shifting uncomfortably at such words. “That people of the thunderous might of the mountain will hold the line, until a green cackling landslide comes forth. I assume we both know what the thunderous people and green landslide are.”

“Very too the point, aren’t you, Elf.”

Ronan pulled down his silken scarf, let all see his smiling face covered in faded scars. “Very.”

“I suspect you will be needed at the war council. They’ll be waiting for you for sure. Bring only ten with you. Any more and they will grow suspicious. Meet at the wagons when you do.” Balder commanded.

“Who shall my legion serve until then?” Asked Ronan. “Plenty of work that needs done, and I brought those that are willing to work a shovel and pick as well as fight. Where to?”

“Those that dig, dig. Those that wish to patrol, patrol. Those that wish to fortify the barricades, fortify. Those that wish to heal, heal. Those that wish to carry, carry. I will have my thanes, as well as the nobles of the other elves, and the officers of the manlings handle the rest.

“Perfect. And we also have a special request for one of our number. He has a condition and dose not get out in the day light very much.

“What, like some mangy vampire?” The Dowi lord chuckled.

Ronan shrugged. “He has seen better days.”

“Ha, I bet. Put him and what he needs in one of the abandoned workshops on the dock yards. One of My kin will show you.”

Ronan answered with a bow. Turning to his allies, he motioned for his officers to move closer. “Five Black Guard with me. I will take Relik, Yoofina, Helga, Lustel and Kenel in my entourage as well; follow behind me in a wagon. Knights; escort me to the city, then make assessments on the roads and the cavalry seen. Share that with the charioteers. I suspect the Dark Riders and Shades are already on patrol or finding roosts.

“Reavers have half your corsairs find ambush points in the city, and places to make stands to stall the enemy. Recna, you are in charge of directing the loading and unloading of the ships.

“Sulfura, get a feel of the defenses between the coast and the city wall. Direct the core warriors there to fill the gaps. Tor, Nor, and Zore: do the same with the med stations. Humans here tend to be pretty barbaric in their medical know how. I am sure the dwarves and our cousin kindreds would enjoy people that know you can’t use leaches to cure everything. Acidia and Actus, find the engineers. They may need some help reinforcing the defenses.

“Dracea, you are in charge of the wall defenses in my stead. Keep informed of what the scouts report back. Aredel, you are in charge of the defenses outside the castle. Make sure there is an easy escape rout to the city, and plenty of ambush points to make it hell for hoards to follow.

“Tigrgar, get a feel of the local wildlife. See what seems normal to them, then when our harpies get here get them settled. Morca and Norca, find the others that dabble in seercraft. If they have none, take over. Arcana, direct the other sorceresses to aid the local wizards and spell singers. Nightshade, see the situation about the dead. We all smell funerary pyres, but there might be mass graves buried we can use for reinforcements. Then with the Blackguard backing you, get some advise from the vampire and keep him up to date.

“Executioners, put your selves in places to help enforce my will, but at the same time when battle comes, carve the heart out of the enemy. Beastmasters, set up a place for the monsters. The Kharibdyss can help sink ships or deal with the dead. The hydras in various places around the town. Brides of the Bloody Handed prepare your poisons, share any if you can with the rank and file. If you know any ways to diffuse the corruption of chaos, now would be a good time. Any questions?”

“What if they attack while you are having tea?” Asked one of the nobles

“We are warriors. We fight as them, and if Khaine demands it, we die like them. That is what.” Ronan answered. With a salute, all disperse to their tasks.

Druchii swordsman dug out trenches. Druchii crossbowmen tossed bags of sand and soil to make walls to hide behind. Dark Elf Spearmen moved crates of food, medicine, and weapons to where they were needed. Dark Elf corsairs unloaded the ships. Dark Elf Executioners made their patrols. All as Ronan had hoped.

As his other comrades entered a covered wagon, he mounted up. Human knights with the banners and gold etchings of griffons adorning their frame. Even their helms held eagle or griffon like shapes. One hand on the reigns of their well-trained horses, the other on long handled axes, they gave the dark elves no room to escape.

Ronan wondered who they were protecting. Any civilian not hiding behind the city wall, holding a spear, or helping in some other war effort was dead. The guards of The Empire, Cothique, Asri, Dowi, and even ogres were already patrolling, jumping at any little thing. Five thousand Dark elves were not going to be a problem.

These thoughts only grew stronger the moment he saw the outer wall. Strong Dwarven craftmanship could be seen a mile away, and up close their best runes of protection carved in. Bolt throwers, mangonel, and mortars lined the walls, while cranes lifted cannons and organ guns. A pair of ogre maneaters forced the reinforced doors open, allowing them in.

The streets were filled with more people busy with the activities of war. Women made bandages out of any cloth they had. Children carried rockets and arrows back and forth. Soldiers ate what the army passed as food or cleaned their equipment. Shouts and gasps of shock could be heard throughout the city as they saw Ronan trotting at a good pace on his mount. Most people had never seen a dragon in these parts, much less one of their very distant kin. Only the Lizardmen and the Druchii dared to tame such troublesome beasts, and he clearly was no reptile.

A couple hours of travel was all that was needed to reach the Palace of Government. Great sword wielding guards Opened the gates, their stoic nature impressive even to the elves. Once at the steps, the command to dismount and disembark could be heard all around.

“That means you too, elf!” Said another of the great sword wielding guards.

Ronan complied, but held a hand up when they tried to take his mount’s reigns. “Don’t approach less permitted.

“You have no power here.”

“And you know nothing of murder lizards.” Ronan said, a smile hidden under his scarf. “They must be given commands, and a something to chew on or the one taking the reins is their lunch.”

“Then why bother with such useless things?” Scoffed one of the knights.

“So useless I needed a squadron of knights to keep her from going on a feeding frenzy on your people?” Ronan asked, his head tilted inquisitively. A pair of knights hefted their ax blades to a murderous position, but shouts of their superiors kept them in check. “I am not as stupid as I look. Keep that in mind the next time you insult my mount.

“Flower! Go to stable! Do Not eat stable Boy!” As commanded the cold one acted somewhat docile towards the stable boy Ronan tossed the reins to. “She acts up, give her a good punch to let her know who is boss, but do not abuse it; she will figure out she is one ton of claws, teeth, and muscle. Also keep her away from horses; they seem to be her kind’s favorite meal.” As a further gesture of kindness, Ronan tossed the boy a gemstone, worth more than the boy would have ever seen in a year.

Time to tempt fate, he thought.

SaintofM:
I am back, was in a hectic move, lets try to finish this before something else happens.

Chapter 20.

The once glorious halls were lined with the wounded. Men with bandages and casts were in beds or bedrolls. Once stately ball rooms were used to house more of the wounded. Sometimes guards were posted to keep elves and dowi from fighting, but otherwise Ronan was impressed with what he saw. If only they stopped being so fanatical about leaches.

The only exception to this new rule of life was the war room. Halberdiers blocked the entrance, their weapons and armor seeing much wear in the last several months.

“He is expected.” Said one of the human knights. “This is the one in charge of the dark elves.”

The guards pulled their weapons back, allowing the knights to push the double doors open. Instantly they were greeted with crossbow and handguns aimed at them. Stealthy archers stepped out of the shadows as they pulled their arrows back just before the string could push back.

“We have been expecting you.” Said the most elaborately dressed human in the room. He wore finely embroidered cloth, with what of his plate armor sticking out having the finest gold gilding and etches a lord could afford.
 
Surrounding him were warriors and officers of every sort. Judging from the staffs and colorful robes, a fair number of wizards were also here. Ronan could see a slight shimmer in their hands, the telltale sign they had a minor attack spell ready.

There were also various priests of different orders, but the largest number were the warriors of Sigmar. Ronan remembered his battle with one, his two-handed maul smashing Ronan’s shield to uselessness and nearly his arm with it. Had he had an ounce less luck, he his head would be a bite size pieces for the fishes. Ronan suspected others of this order were just as skilled with the warhammer as that priest was.

One in particular caught his eye. Partially it was from the lack of one in his skull, long since replaced with a gemstone. The other, was the fact he had a firm hand on Sepacuna. Her mouth had a horse’s bridle to muzzle her, and her arms were tied to a board like she was off to be crucified. Good precautions to have if you feared her dark magic.

“I come bearing gifts.” Ronan made sure his voice projected to the rafters, taking a pair of strong steps forward. “I bring medicine. Food that doesn’t taste like its been in a jar for months. Bolts for bolt throwers and crossbows. An army and an armada. I have not raided your lands or the lands of Marianburg. And the areas I did plunder, I earned a surprisingly positive reputation from the locals in fair Brettonia. Even more in my new Kingdom in Araby. So, tell me, good sirs, ladies of the woodland realms, and the lone madam of the mountains here: What is with the hostility?”

“We need to be sure of your motives, twisted kin.” Said a high elf prince. His colors were black and somber, clearly of Nagarythian decent.

“Simple survival.” Ronan snapped at them. “None of us want to go back before the Hawkseer is done, and I was lucky to be on a Black Ark heading across the sea of Claws. But to stay here and not have aid will be suicide for all of us. This push from Chaos must be stopped, and I need your help as much as you need mine. Simple. Survival.”

“And we should trust you won’t stab us in the back after they are done?” asked the Ronan.

“How many pushes have they had? Hmm. I suspect this is as much a suicide mission for me as for when more comes.” Ronan said.

“More coming?” Many of the council were looking at each other, others wisping their speculations out of earshot of anyone not an elf.

Just as Ronan’s underlings suspected. He owed Nat Madat ten coin for that wager. “Let us be honest: Would my Woodland kin be here unless otherwise? Would those on Ulthuane care as much otherwise? Or the Mountain folk, oaths written in blood and stone and Gromril or not?”

“Force a truth potion down his throat.” Demanded another human.

Two of the Blackguard tried to move forward, but Ronan’s raised hand commanded them to stop. “I am telling the truth. No need for the potions of the Elves, or that piss from the Empire witches. Nor do I need the ancient gems of Truth when both Elf and Dowi acted as kindred instead of rivals. I am telling you the truth. There is no advantage to be gained by lying. Now tell me!” He took two more steps. “Why is my friend here bound and gagged in a most uncomfortable position?”

“Depends, dark elf!” Said a cigar chomping Iron Drake. “What’s behind the scarf?”

Two elves with lion pelts draped over them approached Ronan, axes positioned for a swing. Ronan simply freed his cutlass. If they were going to be fools, it was time to fool around. The first reached for him got swatted it away. No blood, but apparently plenty of a foul for them. The other took a swing, only for Ronan to step to the side. As it went past, a simple strike of the shield to its side knocked the wielder off balance. With A good boot to the rump and he was flying into his friend.

“Every moment we waste here acting like children the more our enemy will be prepared. My fleet should be unloaded and following the commands of who you left in charge of the docks and the front gate. I need to know my place on the ground forces.”

The two axmen didn’t take the hint and attacked again. This time the shield was hooked by the curve of the ax. Ronan let go of the kite shield as it was yanked away, giving him more freedom of movement. The other used the blunt hammer on the reverse of his ax to send Ronan on the ground. Ronan was about to kick back up when they placed a boot on his chest. The others in Ronan’s circle tried to move but a few arrows sent aimed shots dangerously close to eye slits of helmets.

Ronan knew he was on his own, and these fools were not going to change without a little force. Chucking the cutlass in one of the elves’ faces, he pulled the other down, one arm constricting around his neck. The other arm stopped just a fist length from the elf’s head. In an instant a short sword popped out of the now armor encased hands of Ronan.

“Stop!” Yelled one of the high elf nobles. With a flick of the wrist, he brought his weapon out. The folded rod expanded till a finely crafted glaive came forth. Gold Dragons etched on both sides of the blade, it was ready to kill. “I know those gauntlet blades well!”

Ronan knew that glaive as well. Failing to bite back a cursing, his prisoner knew he knew as well.

“Where did you get that?”

“Family secret.” Ronan said.

“I knew of only one elf with weapons like that, and he was my best friend growing up. What happened to Fairoun!?”

“Get your guards to cool it, and release Sepacuna, I can tell you. Two of your most trusted guards only. I will bring two of the Black Guard.”

“Is this on Malekeith’s orders, to make peace?” Laughed one of the other lords.

“Oh, they are not here to protect me. Far from it. Nor is that assassin that has been drinking your wine behind you, or that one in the shadows that has been chatting up that wood elf Spell Singer in the corner.” Looking around, the room found the sheepish elves in question saluting them in a way. “I spill too many secrets, my head goes on a platter. Now any of you have an apple to shove in it; I like to die with a full belly.”

The High Elf Prince signaled for all to stand down, as did the other lords. The reluctance truce finalized, Ronan released his prisoner. With the selected guards present, the lord with the Glaive motioned Ronan to follow.

“Oh, and my emissary better be unmuzzled, untied, unharmed, well fed, and given a bottle of your finest drink when I return. She likes Pink Dragon.” Ronan threatened.

“Or what?”

“If my fleet has not heard from me by tomorrow or I tell them we are leaving, we are abandoning you. She better be treated like a woman of high repute and higher rank by the time I return, or you chose death for kin and ally alike.”

With gear stowed, Ronan and the two black guard followed suit. The room they entered was a humble office, scarcely decorated, but roomy enough. Motioning for all to sit, the Asur lord took his place. “I am Prince Khrysis Bound In Shadow, of the House of Mortaja. These two are chiefs of the White Lions more mountainous clans; Pikelloh, and Drogon. And who might you be?”

“Ronan Hydra Kin, Clan of one at the moment. Home, trying to set one up. They say Ulthuane looks pretty this time of year. Angry and angrier is all I get out of these two.” Ronan answered. The two black guard remained silent.

“Why are you really here?”

“Well, I like you alive a little longer, so mind if I only say the briefest explanations?” Ronan asked. The three high elves looked at each other, but nodded in agreement. “I will allow my two associates here fill in what blanks they are more at liberty to say. For now, it’s a new strategy of Hawkseer; shakes things up every now and then so things don’t become stale. I am sure your superiors have done the same to you from time to time.”

“Very. Are you the highest ranking lord here?”

“Hardly.” Answered Ronan. “I literally went from slave to soldier, to noble in under a decade. I’ve only been a dradlord for the last year and a half. I have the scourge marks to prove it if you wish to see.”

Khrysis glare told Ronan he had his doubts, but if he was like any other proper noble of Ulthuane he be tactful. Ronan was not disappointed. “I will believe that for now. Black Guard, are there any that outrank him?”

“We do.” Said the one on the left of Ronan.” If you wish more specifically of which lords on the ship, several. He is just the upstart with something to prove; the rest largely come from noble families of all stations.

“I see. Then how does an upstart get placed in a mission of such importance?”

“One part expendability.” Ronan answered. “I die, no one will miss me. I survive, I become less expendable.

“One part the other lords of high and mighty families that are capable of leading such expeditions in this nature are either needed on ark, or recovering from the Daemon attack on the seas. Once again, simple survival narrows down this calculation.”

“I see.” Said Khrysis. “What are your forces?”

“Five thousand two hundred strong in elves on land that will be on the land battle. Half of my Allotted force. By the time the ships have unloaded the last extra bit of supply and trooper, we will have plenty of boots on the ground. Plus none elvin auxiliary. Would you like an estimation of what I have?

“A full legion.” Said Khyrissis. “Do tell.”

Ronan reached inside his cloak, to the alarmed movements of the guards. Slowly his hand produced a parchment, with values in all recognized as Druchii script. “I have around twenty five knights and their cold ones, well versed in difficult terrain such as thick forests. Two dozen charioteers on a dozen cold one chariots, and another twenty charioteers on ten scourge runners. They are already patrolling the road between the city and town.

“I have roughly fourteen hundred corsairs. Most have a pair of weapons to use in each hand, the rest make use of the hand bow. They are already on the front lines with seeing where they can set up ambushes around the town or loading and unloading boats. Four hundred Dark Shards with Repeating crossbows should be on the outer walls and various stop points to hold the enemy back.

“Amongst the trenches fortifying the defenses should be eight hundred bleackswords, and another twelve hundred dreadspears. Two hundred Witch Elves and five Hundred Executioners keeping an eye on things. Yes, I know that is a lot to ask, but they are excited about killing chaos agents.”

“I bet.” Said one of the chieftains.

“Its an open secret about Hag Queen’s Morathi on and off alliances with the worshipers of the Dark Prince.” Said one of the Black Guard. If they took any pleasure in the shock the others in the room had, none could see through his towering helm. “The hardline Khainites always saw issue with such dalliances, but so long as the Rightful King Malekeith sees a use in her, they cannot touch her. Biding their time to fight chaos on the other hand, will do just fine.”

“They are not the only ones.” Ronan said. “I have about fifty shades from various clans and twice as many Dark Riders out on patrol. Any that have returned will be finding places to ambush the enemy.

“We have about a hundred reapers, each with a pair of operators that are very skilled in their craft. And a hundred and sixty doctors and their assistants. Eight teams of two will goad hydras; five teams of the same number Kharibdyss. I know of ten assassins that have joined us, but I would not be surprised if the commander of the Ark had more to keep an eye on things; can never be too carful with people these days.

“Twenty Black Guard, another twenty nobles, one lady worthy of the title of Dreadlord, fifteen sorceresses, including Sepacuna, my scribe, my sabatour, and my map expert; the latter the only human in this group.”

“A human?” The three high elves asked.

“Yes. She apparently was born in this city, but was taken as a little girl. If things pan out, I might set her free. She has more than earned that.”

“What about the Auxilaries? We have enough issues with slayers wanting to turn Treekin into kindling, or my lions into throw rugs.” Said one of the white lions.

Ronan leaned back, his hands resting comfortably behind his head. “A hundred harpies, a hundred mutant war hounds, two Blood Wrack Medusa, two dozen ogre that call themselves iron guts, thirty common ogres, six maneaters, a couple of gorgers, some chaos spawn, and a vampire.”

<><<<><><><<>

“You have a vampire! In My City?!” Yelled the governor of Weldenstone.

Ronan seemingly ignored that yelling as he examined the red tint of his sparkling wine. He wished he could go back to the reports he was reading from his scouts, but sooner or later he had to answer that annoyance. “Necrarck specifically. He just wants to get back to his laboratory, and we are the way to get that.

“Where would that be?” The mayor demanded.

“Apparently close to the Hell Pit of Clan Maulder.”

“Is that suppose to mean something?”

“Considering we fought some, yes: They are the Skaven Clan that make most of the monsters the Skaven use.”

“Skaven do not exist.” Scoffed one of the human nobles.

“Says who?” asked all the none humans.

“The main reason the Black Guard are here. If they fail, we have the executioners. Given the number of bodies that will be dropping, we need someone that can make zombies.”

“And you think this is a grand plan?”

Ronan took a deep breath. Druchii he could threaten and a show of violence to get them in line. Options h sorely wished he had here.

“Tell me: How many arrows do we have? How many bolts for crossbows and bolt throwers? How many shot for cannons and guns? I brought the components to make powder. I brought the lead for shots. The steel, feathers, and strong wood for bolts and arrows. How many slayers and flagellants are willing to throw themselves with no care for their own safety? How many Wildwood rangers, Iron breakers, White Lions, or other expert monster hunters we have? We are all beggars, and thus cannot be choosers.”

“This is an outrage!” called out one of the dowi thanes.

“This is war.” Ronan answered. “Helga, get the map out if you would.”

The shy human girl did as commanded. Rolling it out on the vast table between all the generals and other officers, she quickly began moving pieces to hold it down.

“Can I have a lance or a long stick?” Ronan asked. To his glee, one was thrown his way. The blunt end pointed to the table, he traced along the coast. “This is what the Reavers and my horse scouts have found. Much of the area has been hit hard by chaos, but most of it seems to be heading here, like they are searching for something. The combined elf fleets will deal with any stragglers heading closer to the other parts of the human lands. Hopefully they can take out some of the weaker ships. Is there a way to call any local sea monsters; sea wyrms, leviathans?”

“Every prayer to Mathan has been made, as well as some of the more heretical cults that leak into the city. If they are to come, it must be soon.” Said the one eyed warrior priest.

“That leaves the Ark with the other half. Either way, we are going to be pretty battered out there.” Said one of the Black Guard. “What about the town?”

“We have some mines set in the sea. Explosives that will rise up when an unholy amount of dark magic is present.” Said one of the dwarven engineers. The Druchii looked at each other nervously, knowing full well what was in their ships. “By standards even you can’t handle. Should split a hall like my ax a melon.”

Ronan let slip an approving smile.  “Good. We’ll need it. How many waves of attackers have we had?”

“What do you mean waves?” Asked one of the other generals.

“The seers all say seven waves of monsters crashing upon the shore; each one more powerful than the last. I can suspect that each wave must correspond to a push the enemy has had.”

“There was the first one close to a year ago.” Said the one eyed warrior priest. “That took us by surprise, but didn’t seem to be too much. Mostly beastmen. Then there was the one that followed, which killed most of our armed defenses. Lots of followers of Khorne; even their giants were armored like a warrior of chaos. We lost half our armed forces, and anyone that couldn’t make it into the city we could only pray for. The walls held them off but a third push came, this time giants and ogres smashed through the gates. They were finally pushed back by our rescuers, you have already met them, but a fourth one of mutant and spawn struck us when we were clearing the land of the dead.”

“The fifth must have been the night of the daemons.” Said another priest. “Every sailor that came back all mentioned the same thing. Same with the high elves.”

“I suspect we had the same nightmare.” Said Ronan. “That means we have two more waves. We found followers of plague on of the boats we came across, they may be in the next one.”

Before more discussion could be had, a panicked soldier came rushing past the doors. Wheezing for dear life, he handed one of the guards a missive before falling face first into the floor.

“Monsters are attacking the shore now! They appear to be rat like beastmen!”

SaintofM:
Chapter 21.

Windows shattered and the ground shook as far off sea mines took out one galleon after another. Many began hurling death back with sickly catapults or spells of death and of disease. Elves, Dwarves, and humans clamored for ground to hold them back. Corsairs pulled out their favored weapon be it cutlass, cudgel, punch dagger, cargo hook, harpoon, or handbow. Dwarven Slayers got their favored axes out, while coastal mortars and grudge throwers returned fire.

“Spotters say there are over a hundred ships!” said one of the corsairs. Outside of her duties she held a shy demeaner. On duty, the task at hand subsumed such feelings, and the task now was death. “All the size of a dwarven dreadnaught, and overflowing with mutant beasts.”

“Ah, almost a fair fight then.” Said one of the slayers. Mighty hands that once held children and wife had long since been replaced with flails. “Let them come!”

The thunderous pounding of Treekin and a more mercurial forest giant carried cannon and organ gun, while elves and humans carried bolts, bolt throwers, and rockets to the front lines. The moment they were in place, crews began their operation. Gunners, pistol armed militia, archers, and crossbowmen took positions behind walls of stone, crate, and sandbag. More melee oriented troops headed towards the front.

A rune smith gave his blessings, while one mage and a trio of sorceresses prepared their spells. The thundering of hydra and Kharyibdis made their way through to the front as did a singular medusa. All took positions to take the hoard.

“Cannon’s ready!” Called out one of the engineers!

“Then Fire!” Called out the one voice all listened to. Balder had arrived, ax in one hand, pistol and shield in the other. The order gladly obeyed, more of the ships sank under the waves. By the time they were ready to fire again, the enemy had reached shore.

Mixture of rat, human, and other creatures cobbled together in misshapen mishaps leapt from the decks. Many simply sank, the armor they wore too much for the waves. Others lost all warmth in the frigid waters, floating away in a panic. Others simply were too mismatched to swim properly.

Others leapt onto the shallows, rushing in with fang and claw. Bolt, arrow, and lead shot tore through the first wave. Cannons followed this with whirling cannonballs attached by chains. Flying end over end, the whirling death tore through the black blooded horde as easily as a plough though good soil. Others used canister shot, the bucket of gunshot they held leaving entire ranks little more than mangled body parts.

As hand gunner and crossbowmen readied their weapons, Dark elves leveled theirs. Pulling levers of every variety on their crossbows, the poison tipped bolts flew into the writhing mass. With no need to aim, they just picked a section of fur and furry and loosed death till the magazines emptied.

Rockets and organ gun finished off the next wave before the boat was pushed back. Many tried to climb back on board, but the cruel mutations hoisted upon them made them little more than targets. What the archers did not finish off, the telltale signs of razor toothed sharks would.

The sea exploded with life as horrendous monsters bit ship in half or pulled them under with raging tentacle. Another roar of the cannons, another release of the grudge throwers and more ships sank. The wizarding arts were played next in this symphony of death, striking the right corde force the waves to toss ships into each other or set fire to the sails.

“They’re still coming.”

“Let them!” Yelled the flail armed Slayer.

Magical bolts of twisted magic hit the shore, reducing warriors hit to sickly blobs of flehm. The Lone high elf mage fired back, conjuring a volcanic whirlwind on the ships. The dark elves flanking her were not going to allow her to have all the fun, conjuring the spirits of the dead to smother enemy life, or bolts of chain lightning to reduce them to ash.

Yet, despite how many ships were sunk, how many were killed, the enemy chaff would not let up. More of the battle ships landed, this time ramps slamming down where a bow was. Archers used the last of their arrows, gunners and crossbowmen let loose another round.

“They are jumping ship to ship!” Called out a spotter. “More rats!”

Said monstrosities scurried over each other to be the first to taste enemy blood. A final round of grapeshot and organ gun, and it was time for the melee.

Spearmen stepped forwards, their shields interlocking to form a wall of steel and wood. Dwarves joined their human and tentative elvin allies, Preparing their favorite axes for the task.

The enemy crashed against them, pushing the ten men thick wall back. A Handful let loose pistole shot into the hoard, others lit grenades and tossed the bombs at the mass of limbs and maws. Dark elf corsairs charged the left flank, led by the shy rapier armed girl, their flensing blades cut deep into the enemy lines. On the right flanks, hydras bellowed their fiery might before they let their mass and hungry maws do the rest.  Flail armed marauders and ratmen battered one hydra back only for a brother to gobble them up.

Victory was theirs it seemed. Then a crackling gunshot from the boats range out, dropping three elves in one bullet. Then another then another. A pair of Skaven armed with a flamethrower pointed the weapon at the hydras, searing flesh and bone till only smoke remained.

Reaper bolt throwers chucked their payloads at the ships, taking some of the enemy snipers out. A spotter did likewise with his own riffle, but more shots range out. Crossbowmen took their shots but were cut down by the rotating barrels of a twisted machine of death.

Just as the enemy gunners let out a satisfied cackle of victory, one of their champions disappeared Infront of them. Then another, then another. Looking up, they saw the leathery and feather wings of harpies descend with hunger in their eyes. Treemen and a giant kicked their way through the enemy mass till they could slam into the ships. Rocking them off balance a constant push capsized the ship.

Vindictive hydras, now joined by Kharibdyss, trampled through the enemy ranks, scattering the abominations left and right. Only the stubborn nature of dwarves kept them from perusing them. The joy of a brief victory was too much for the humans and high elves, the thrill of the hunt for the wood elves, and the utter blood lust of the dark elves forced their hand. They chased them back onto their ships, till they ran out of bodies.

As a dozen corsairs ran up the enemy gangplanks a torrent of green fury reduced them to hollow husks. In their place rode a creature that was once a mortal man. Astride a massive leprous warhorse, he smothered all before him in his shadow. His grated mask hid a face that exhaled sickly miasma visible even to the humans behind the barricades. Robes tattered and stained by all manner of bile and shade of filth draped over him like royal robes. In one hand was the reigns of his steed. In the other a scythe that with one swing, decapitated three elves.

“So this is why that fool likes to say ‘Just as planned.’ Intriguing.” He said, before conjuring a vile glob of energy.

Snipers of human and elf took aim, but their well hones shots bounced off the thing’s sheer force of will. A cannon aimed at his chest, but the glob reduced it to a shower of green puss.

“What the hell is that thing?”

“A chaos Sorcerer. And his horse…its not of this world.” Said the high elf mage.

“Disease and Decay, he must be of Nurgle.” Said one of the dark elf sorceresses. “Kill him.” She cast her fireball, incinerating every chaos created thing between her and the sorcerer. Despite the show of magical might, he simply had some soot to brush off.

 The Nurgle the sorcerer lord raised a hand. Puss covered tendrils sprouted out of the ground, constricting, and crushing the elf that attacked him. “My poor child. You say you are a mistress of pure magic, but even your kind with their wild abandon must use restraint. Must hold back or the capricious energies will harm you. I on the other hand use it as my ally, not my weapon. A final lesson before your die!” A tightening of the fist, and the sorceress was simply scattered body parts on the sand. “Another lesson perhaps?”

“Study this!” Yelled an Iron Drake. With the pull of a trigger, his Troll Torpedo Launcher shot dead center for the sorcerer. The twisted man grabbed it without second thought. The dwarf smiled under his faceplate, knowing the coming explosion.

With a mighty umph, it detonated. The Sorcerer would live, but he wailed in horrid pain. His arm was nowhere to be seen. His steed, already appearing to wither away, fell apart from the seams. Any lull in the battle his dramatic posturing caused died with his steed. Battlelines were redrawn, giants clashed, and spear and claw struck. The dwarven Lord and the slayers strode forward, their axes, hammers, and flails taking out enemies with each swing.

Enemy dead went from darkening the waters with their gore to building levies with their bodies. Soon enough, entire hills of the dead had formed.

“We need to send a fast runner back for reinforcements!” called out the leader of the corsairs. Her blade long since broken, she had switched to handbow, pelting point blank shots what her buckler dd not smash way.

“Fall back!” Commanded the dwarven lord.

“To what?” The defenses are not yet ready!” Yelled a spotter. His final words before a jezail put a round through his scope and then through his skull.

“Fall back. We’ll hold the line.”

“With all due respect, we knew this was going to be suicide mission.” Said a corsair. “We’re staying.”

“As did we.” Said members of the human militia.

“Fine. We all earn first tankard in our ancestral halls. Khazukan Kazakit-ha!”

Navigation

[0] Message Index

[#] Next page

[*] Previous page