Chapter 22.
The sun was a blazing orange by the time Ronan had reached the outer wall. Her defenses were finalized, her defenders in place. His knights were already waiting for him to issue the rallying charge.
Dracea landed, all the joy she seemed to exhale was all gone. Ronan could only anticipate the kind of horror that drove that out of her.
“Report!” Ronan commanded.
“Our forces are coming through the city in waves. War machines are either being hauled in wagons, by ogres, or by treemen or left with explosive runes for the enemy to find. Horse born scouts of every sort are reporting ships landing all along the coast, with the heavier transport ships over by the dock town. We have had every wagon not carrying a morter being used to cart supplies and munitions back.
“Thankfully things were running smooth enough for three quarters of what we brought to be in place or behind these walls.
“Thank the gods.” Ronan gasped. “Casualties?”
“We don’t know. Any at the coasts are probably already dead. We can only, AHH!” Dracea fell into his arms, blood dripping down from her side.
“Doctors!” He called out. Without thinking he cut the bindings of her armor, letting her breath easier till he found the source of the issue. With dagger out, he plucked a ball of warpstone. No bigger than an arrow head, it had all the toxicity it needed.
“She’s been shot with a warpstone bullet; she’s lost a lot of blood!” Ronan called out.
“I’m on it!” Said a spell singer of the Asri. With a gentle hand over the wound, she used the pure stuff of magic the bullet was made of to aid in her cures.
“I need volunteers to join me. Any that do not wish to go, stay here. The rest, grab your weapons, make your peace with the gods, and prepare to give Slannesh the rudest gesture any race has ever mustered!”
Knights and dark riders mounted instantly. Shades followed suit, each armed with a pair of short swords and their own specialized repeating crossbow. A pair of chariots followed suit, as did Ronan’s personal hydra: The aptly named Blue Berry.
“We’ll gather troops along the way, but we need to stall long enough for everyone! Any Marks on these things?”
“Misshapen Skaven creatures and sickly humans with the strength of minotours. Clan Maulder and followers of Nurgle all along the coast.” Said the leading herald of the dark riders. “Won’t be easy.”
“Never is.” Ronan nodded in agreement. “RIDE!”
The gates were thrown open, and they rode out. Harpies seeing their master flew over head, while dark shards and bleak swords rallied to his banner. Soon enough the hoard was met.
The sounds of elves cheering echoed throughout the battle as Balder flew in. He was riding a massive daemonic fly like some humans do with bulls in an arena. They normally had to stay on till the count of eight, nor did they normally bash the beast’s head in with their ax. One final stroke and the beast made its way to the ground. Less a landing and more a smear though the enemy ranks, Balder lived up to his legend once again.
“Finaly, a friendly face.” Ronan Called out. “You lead, we follow.”
“Had it not been for that bug, I would be out there, holding the line. We need to push them back long enough to get our allies out.”
“Then we will be the tip of the spear. We just need to wait till sundown, and then the real fun happens!”
Harpies and Darkriders darted out first, followed by the heavier cavalry. The swordsman followed suit, hydra flanking the knights. The Chariots earned first blood by running down a pack of followers long since forsaken by their ruinous gods. The thrill lasted until they ran into a giant, and packs of spawn of chaos circled them.
All bore the telltale signs of bloated decay that was Nurgle. That meant all shared Nurgle’s resilience to blows that would cripple a normal creature.
Not that many needed it. Ronan’s shades entered the first building they found, hoping to get some pot shots in. The next thing Ronan could see was a mangled corpse being thrown out a window before it was hauled back in by its innards. Out the same window, a pack of wolves that stood as an elf and as tall as an ogre left; their maws crimson from the meal that walked in.
Harpies had an easier time. They found a sorcerer to torment, hurling him back and forth in the air. With a blast of magic, he freed himself but not before realizing he had a steep fall.
Most crossbow bolts imbedded in the enemy was an annoyance at best. Sometimes they would get lucky and cause pain to ones that thought they were immune to it. At least one giant fell to the combined effort of dark shard and dark ridder, but most did not care.
Melee was slightly better. Ronan and his knights ran through one group of insectoid chaos creatures, only for the momentum to be halted by a mixture of rat, ogre and potato. More of its ilk shambled forward, the perfect distraction of a bolt and arrow riddled giant.
With a nimble hand, the giant plucked Ronan by the cloak. With maw open, it readied to drop the elf down its expanding gullet. Thinking fast, he tossed his shield down the monster’s throat. The point of the kite shield hit just right to imbed in the back of its throat. Eyes bulging the great monster grasped its nearly sucking Ronan in as he gasped for breath. The other hand weakening the Dreadlord broke loose, landing on the brute’s forehead.
“What pretty eyes you have!” Ronan said before stabbing his sword into one. The longsword dug deep breaking bone and exiting the other side. A duo of more stabs and the giant’s life would end, its alcohol filled blood spilling on the cobblestone street. It was still quite the fall, but thankfully the bulbus frog like creation of chaos Ronan landed on was nice and padded. At least until his spurs popped it, covering him in what he hoped was green blood.
Taking a moment to wipe the pond scum like gore off, he looked around the battlefield. His chariots had scattered one hoard of the forsaken masses, only to go ramming into a giant. Other spawn, giants, and chariot pulled by a cruel mixture of gorilla and rhinoceros obliterated them. They took many a foe with them out, even leaving a giant with a limp, but this was a fight they could not handle.
Dark riders ran circles where they could, allowing Dark Shards to line up their shots. Another giant fell to their combined effort, as did a number of spawn. Most still shrugged off such efforts.
That left his swordsmen, who were hacking away at an ever-approaching mess of tendrils.
“Footsloggers need some help.” Ronan said to the laughter of the knights. Mounted up, and the goo flicked off his blade, Ronan issued a command interrupted by some of the scattered swarm. Those that found their courage between being run down by chariots or crushed by falling giants did so here. What bravery they held was limited to a single lucky blow. The knight would live, but was otherwise useless in this fight.
Thankfully, a loud, boisterous hydra was never far away from the fun, or out of site of its beloved master. With belching flames and crushing maws, reduced the number. A couple of the monstrosities tried to shriek their own terrifying howls back, but the annoyed warbeast swatted them with the back of its claws. Its master free, it chased down the rabble to its own delights.
No enemy to engage them, the knights turned face, rushing to the aid of their infantry comrades. The swordsman had done well. They slew several of the rejected champions of Chaos, with only minimal losses on their end. Still war was tiring work, and one could only swing a sword so much before their arms rebelled from the aching. Just as they felt the need to fall back in good order, A javelin impaled one of the bloated beasts. Turning to see what the new annoyance was, any lance the knights had left finished them off.
“Thanks for wearing them out for us.” Said Ronan with a salute.
The swordsmen returned the favor. “Any time!” Wheezed the unit’s lordling. “What about them?”
Ronan turned to where the lordling’s sword pointed, and spat out his contempt. The enemy was far from winning, but his forces were ripped apart. “Stand your ground here or search for survivors. Find some, take them back to safety. Anything that looks like them, kill it.”
With that out of the way, and his own rage needing to be satiated, Ronan forced his knights onward. Sword and ax hacked any that strayed too far from their packs, while crossbowmen finally found the sweat spot for their bolts. Spawn fell with a good barrage, leaving even the most stalwart of the hoard to wonder if Nurgle abandoned them.
Made worse as their chariot ran rampant through the elves only for the knights to chase it back. The beast managed swat away knight and predatory mount with ease. Its problem was the knightly lances and crushing jaws that dug into it. Feeling fear for the first time in its miserable life, the monstrous beast turned tail whether the charioteers wanted to or not.
Just as Ronan was preparing the peruse, the sounds of a wailing hydra caught his attention. That and the wails of horns blurting out warning calls. Calls made not from men of this so-called empire, dowi, or elves of any kind. It was then Ronan realized the sun was nearly set, and the sky fluttered to life with bats.
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Booger the Giant managed to scare off the hydra before Thickan managed score any wounds that wouldn’t heal over time. Its foul breath was enough to make two of the five reptilian heads faint. Unable to catch its breath, the remaining heads decided to turn tail; the two elves goading it already hitching a ride.
“No fun, no fun at all.” Thickan bellowed out, puss and phlegm oozing with every syllable. Half the invading force, which included most of his Forsaken and that of the crazed ratmen, were dead and in pieces. Despite their advancement, there was still heavy fighting in that town, with ogres and embedded volley guns tearing into his ranks. The one called Hollov never steered him wrong before, but even those dedicated to Papa Nurgle could betray you.
He tried to chase such thoughts away, tried to think of that cloaked knight leading the lizard riding cavaliers through his brothers and sisters, but he couldn’t. The perfect offering to Nurgle, and he was sick with boredom and doubt. Even for the Plague Father’s faithful, some infections must be purged from the body. A show of force with his flail should do the trick.
Suddenly, war horns began blaring. Long, odious drones that filled the soft skinned men of the warmer lands with fear. They could not tell the delicate tones that separated one sign of warning to another. This one’s note indicated vampires.
Here? So far from Slyvania? And where did he hide? Every building should have been gone through. They found gorgers to fight, medicine to despoil, and war machines to mangle. How did they miss this? And now so close to night.
“Everyone, Fall back. Let the elves celebrate one more night of life. We have a better foe to face!” Words truer than then the champion of chaos knew for the dead were rising, and they hungered for chaotic flesh!
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“They are falling back. Look for survivors!” Ronan commanded.
“What about the zombies?” asked his standard bearer.
“If they attack, defend yourself. Otherwise, assume they are on our side.
