The Grey Death - AoS Report Ep 2.

Guest Written by Mihai Dan Popescu


The Grey Death

Liege Axitof watched the lands ahead. The humans were gathering to try to stop the advance of the mighty legions of Ossiarch. He looked at his troops. Maybe less than half the number of the enemy… but his troops had a fire burning in their chests. Quite literally. Axitof would have chuckled… But there was no one around him to appreciate such a gesture. The guards with their faces stocked in mockery, defiance or demented grins were nothing more than extensions of his own will. There seemed to be a flicker behind their eyes, but it was just the fire of the Crematorians.

The plan was simple. Hit the enemy, drag him down. Once decimated and routed, push enough troops behind the enemy line to lay waste to their encampment. He had the confidence that this was a simple task. His 40 mortek guards were not only able to deal death to the enemy, but also soak up most of what the enemy would be able to throw at them. Two mortisians were also here to help with the survival of his army. And in case a guard would fall, he would be able to take down the enemy with him in an explosion of bone-shrapnel.

He gave the order and with a furious charge the two armies clashed. The entire enemy line was hit by his guards, while he charged in the flank of an already engaged group of pikemen. He noticed the Soulreaper also charging in a group of enemies. He was surrounded by his guards and could inflict some damage where needed, but that Soulreaper was taking too much of a risk. He cursed him, and once again wished he had full control over everyone in his army. He hated this free-will so much.

While he trampled the pikemen he noticed his troops didn’t kill as many humans as he had anticipated and the humans didn’t seem to back down. It was curious for such creatures inflicted with free will to have such courage in face of his army of terror. He heard  the sounds of thunder in the clear sky and noticed the guards around the Soulreaper exploding while smoke from the pistols of some humans in the back was starting to fill the air. Curses! he needed to get there and take them out. Lost in thought he got surrounded by the pikemen and they even dared to hurt his body. Filled with rage, he cut them down to the last men.

The clash went on, more of the humans falling then of his guards. The handgunners salvo again laid waste to his troops, but this time they used this to their advantage. The guards almost embraced the Greatswordsmen trying to take down as many with them. When the arquebuses were silenced again only a lone human survivor was standing upon the ruins of what seemed a great city once. A stubby ‘man’ in heavy armor smashed into guards. He was expecting to have a greater impact but the guards walled him and eventually started to surround him. The Soulreaper's presence was not ignored as the human kept a respectable distance from his scythe. The Soulreaper was able to take a man here and there, but they didn’t feel the full power of the scythe. 

The rest of the guards were mowing down the remaining humans and surrounding the dwarf lord. It was time to deal with the handgunners. But as he charged into them he was welcomed by a hail of bullets, he avoided some, his armor deflected a few, but he was hit enough times to know this body was compromised. With a final act he hoped he could take down some of the Handgunners and the three Sigmarites with crossbows. But he miscalculated the tenacity of his enemy in the face of overwhelming odds. He died later in a tremendous explosion taking a Stormcast Eternal with him.

The dwarf lord was badly hurt and the guards were pouring over him. He was deflecting blows left and right, barely having time to try to hit any of the attackers. There is no shame in his courage as when he felt he was surrounded by no less than six guards and his armor and shield was dented from all the blows he had received.  

The Stormcast and Handgunners took down the last of the guards that were with the Soulreaper, just as he decided it was time to ignore this commotion and finish the mission. The Soulmason that until now was staying in the back and buffing the army, saw the approaching greatswordsmen trying to break into the Ossiarch territory. He released an arcane bolt and… missed. So he gave chase to the swordsman, eventually taking him down on the second try.

Dispatching of the dwarf lords the guards charged into the Handgunners and the two remaining Vanguard Raptors, giving the Soulreaper the chance to advance… until he was struck by lightning forked from the human wizard's hands. Badly damaged the Soulreaper stood fast. The guards made short work of the Stormcast and Handgunners. It was now only up to the human wizard to stop the badly wounded  Soulreaper. She gathered her will to manipulate the winds of magic, just as the Soulreaper was trying to deny it. But something in her concentration broke and she looked helpless at the Soulreaper approaching her encampment as the wind of magic dissipated around her before she could use them. 

 

  

 The soulreaper's body from black turned red and was engulfed in a white light as the encampment started to burn. Defeated, the human wizard started to move away from the lost battle as the mortek guards were now ignoring her. She swears she will avenge the death of her comrades.

Plain of Iron Tears - AoS Report Ep. 1

The wastelands of Chamon, the Realm of Metal, are not a place often graced by the tread of travelers, let alone entire armies on the march. That, however, was about to change when six enterprising warlords were informed of the approximate location of the tomb of Kurt Ravenholm, and the treasure that lies therein. Many miles away from civilization, in a place that was once a fertile valley, now a desolate dust-bowl which receives only leaden rain, lay the ruins of a temple complex to forgotten gods, built by the first humans in the Age of Myth. It was here, among the six barrows of these ancient people that the fabled tomb lie. 

The agents of Sigmar, the Stormcast Eternals of both Vanguard and Sacrosanct chambers - came to retrieve the soul of the mighty hero for reforging. The tomb has been sealed in such a manner that the soul was still inside, and has avoided the malicious grasp of Nagash, or the thunder of Sigmar. It had to be retrieved firsthand. Accompanying the small band was a contingent of Hammerhall mercenaries and a handful of Ogors atop Stonehorn mounts lured by promises of wealth and copious feasts.

The Stormcast were not the only ones who came to collect the soul. Nagash has sent his Ossiarch Bonereapers - Soulmason and Boneshaper in tow to convert the dead hero to their legions. No more great soul would be left to be stolen anymore by the God King, especially not an ancient one such as this. Like vultures to a corpse the followers of Tzeentch slithered onto the battlefield on the left flank of the Ossiarch Phalanx, maintaining enough distance from the Undead and the barrows as to not attract their immediate ire, but close enough to the forces of Order so that they could quickly engage with their weakest side. Last but not least, a raiding party of deepkin appeared on the left side of the Ossiarch line - paying no heed to either the undead or the servants of Tzeentch. The charge was immediately sounded. The Soulrender's ultimate goal was the soul of the mighty hero for their High King, but the boisterous Akhelian cavalry and seemingly frenzied Namarti rushed the Hammerhallian lines eager for a reaping of a large amount of souls, regardless of quality.

Making use of the impetus and the confusion caused by the Idoneth charge on the left flank. The right flank of Tzaangors crashed into the Sacrosanct Sequitors, resulting in a brutal melee. Spells were flung at the forces of order from every direction, a fact which delighted the God of Magic, everything was going -just as planned-. The forces of the Bonereapers made a slow march towards the center Barrow, content to leave the other forces deal with their enemies while they search for the hero's tomb.

While the initial push of the Idoneth left a large gap in the Hammerhallian lines, their momentum soon ended as the Ogor Butcher rotted their armor away with magic, and the mighty Frostlord on Stonehorn trampled the Akhelian Cavalry, Soulrender and Namarti into fine powder. The Stormcast decided to assist their Human and Ogor allies on the opposing flank, as the Mortek Guard and Gothizzar harvester were pushing their more elite infantry back. The Lord Aquillor as well as the Paladors were teleported via lightning strike to the other side and picked off what little remained of the Idoneth forces. This was a raid that no elf returned from.

With what a crushing defeat was dealt to the Ossiarchs and the Deepkin on the left flank by the Ogors and Stormcast toops, at the cost of nearly a hundred Hammerhall mercenaries' lives, the situation looked grim on the right flank. The Stonehorn beastriders was brought low by the exploding bodies of the Mortek Guard he had just killed - Nagash had prepared a volatile surprise for anyone that managed to slay one of his perfected soldiers. As the forces of Tzeentch managed to completely wipe out the sequitors, a band of of Freeguild Halberdiers engaged the Tzaangor horde only to be ripped to shreds. The last one of them felling one goat-beast out of spite before falling to the swords and beaks of the remaining 14 beastly mutants. He shall be remembered. The massive accumulation of arcane energies that resulted from the constant barrage of spells ripped open a hole in reality through which a Lord of Change stepped through.

The handful of elite cavalry the forces of Order still had intact mustered for a final, desperate counter charge into the braying Tzeentchian horde and the massive avian demon that has spawned from the aether. The lord of change was banished back to the Realm of Chaos by the Frostlord who has up to this point amassed an impressive tally of kills, but ultimately has fallen to the magics of the Arcanites in return.

 As the light of Hyish was replaced by the shadow of Ulgu in the sky, among the scattered and broken remains of 5 other combatants, the forces of Tzeentch effortlessly found the tomb and instead of looting it or its treasures - have merely left it there...seemingly unguarded as bait for future greedy expeditions of treasure hunters. Such expeditions often had mages to deal with the magical seals of the tombs, and any conflict around the tomb would weaken the veil of reality more and more. This had been the plan all along, to rip open the fabric of reality bit by bit.

Tales of the massacre in the Chamonite Wastelands quickly traveled from realm to realm. As the story passed on from one listener to another it was, as all stories are, exaggerated - and from these exaggerations the Wastelands gained the name "Plain of Iron Tears". The metal rains of Chamon being attributed to the suffering of the souls crushed by the pawns of the dark gods  there. Travel through enough inns among the realms and you may hear a version of this cautionary tale yourself!

Flavoured Battle Report Ep. 5 - Carnage in the Gallatean Wastes

Dust and debris kicked up as a strong wind blew over the wastelands of Gallateus LXI, obscuring the already poor visibility offered by its small red sun. At the edge of what was once maybe a lookout point for an Adeptus Mechanicus geological crew stood a small building, half-covered by the dust and filth of this barren world, as well as 3 dried-out thickets. An unusual site to be sure, an imperial remembrancer would write it off as perhaps some arcaheotech relic the Admech were investigating that allowed life to exist once in this place, this being their only explanation for the dried-out husks around it.

As the wind picked up more and more speed the air hummed and crackled around the thickets and tall, lithe humanoids came into shape as if from thin air. What followed was a host of 15 constructs made of alien material. The party was led by a number of robed individuals who, as the grav-tank bearing excavating equipment unloaded and shimmered out of sight, swiftly gave orders to the men and women to set up a perimeter and proceed to hastily dig for something.

-"Why now Elandrin? The spirit stone of Kaithe Llachanri has been lost for a couple thousand years. Why set out to recover it now?" Asked one of the robed figures in a calm, echoing voice.
- "The aftermath of the Brittle Coma has left our seer council depleted Yloen, the stone could be just the catalyst we need to boost the initiates on the Witch-path enough so that we can replenish before the Rhana-Dhandra. More and more of us are seeing portents and omens, ones that no seer can manipulate. The ruinous powers think they have checked us with this plague, we need to be prepared to show otherwise."
-"And you chose this moment because it predates the red-dreams? You think to recover the stone before the followers of the ruinous powers make their move on this world? They are already gathering in orbit, though not far behind them is another mon'keigh fleet."
 -"Precisely - and if I have read the skeins of fate correctly then calling in an old favor will be the key turning point."

The orange-armored aeldari did not have to dig for long before they heard the roar of engines. Troop landers, drop pods, and rhinos quickly appeared on both sides. The horizon turned red with the mass of armored bodies. On one side organized and disciplined, on the other war-dogs waiting to be loosed from some invisible chain, howling for blood.

-"Children of The Fallen Suns! Gather together! Form a defensive perimeter around the shrine of the Ancients! May Asuryan guide our shots today, for it will be a day of reckoning! Bonesinger Toruviel, stand at the ready, hold our wraithwall steady! Keep the webway line open, everyone on the path of Isha be prepared for emergency recovery and evac protocol. We take the stone and fall back. Let the mon'keigh tear eachother apart."

A new grav-tank bearing aspect warriors materialized and set up to guard the rear flank of the Lugganath wraith-host.

On the right flank the barbarous world eaters were led by a fearsome demon prince named Azkor Axefist, with a motley crew of underlings with a vicious taste for blood. The champion Orekh Skullfiend and the frenzied Dark Apostle spearhead the assault against the Aeldari with a large number of marines, while Lord Larsakh Rhugor attempts to maintain a semblance of tactics on the central line. 
  

Mirroring the World Eater's deployment was the Blood Angels 2nd company, led by Captain Donatos Aphael and Chief Librarian Mephiston himself. The chapter ancients have been deployed conservatively behind the marines, who were already lining their sights on the Wraithguards
.

-"The red dreams spoke true. We have prepared for this moment. Do not let them have the first salvo! Loose Shurikens!" ordered Elandrin to his small host. As the words barely escaped his lips the wraithguards lurched into motion, moving towards the blood angels. The Wraithblades on the World Eater flank braced for Impact, as a reckless charge would endanger their position. The guardian excavation teams were ordered to locate and retrieve the spirit stone.

Despite the vast psychic mastery of the aeldari, a crucial spell to further harden the wraithblades has been snatched from the warp by Mephiston, an action that would have as a consequence the assistance of the fallen space marines. But that was not all the misfortune that begat the Lugganath host. Be it divine intervention from the ruinous powers or a fluke in the warp, the D-cannons and D-Scythes of the Wraithguards misfired, firing wide and the destructive effect of the distortion not manifesting. The echo of the blast wounded a couple of marines and a dreadnought. The shuriken-wielding infantry fared little better as the red dust storm was still in full effect. Khorne willed blood to be shed in personal combat, and his due would not be denied by alien trickery.

 With a bellow the mighty demon prince leaped into combat, barrelling towards the warlock Virnael who was downed by his warp-bolter. As the wraithblades could not protect against a flying opponent, the Demon Prince Azkor decided to take the head of the aeldari leadership, shredding Farseer Yloen to the point that the healers could barely retrieve her Soulstone. His mighty rampage continued into the other seers but High Seer Elandrin and the Spiritseer Arviel held their ground. The situation was grim for the troops as well. In such close quarters the much larger, frenzied marines had a distinct advantage. And without any place to fall back the red butchers quickly reveled in the bloodbath. The Dark Apostle was displeased to bash his Crozius against bloodless constructs, but the wraithguard blunted as much of the World Eater charge as they could, 3 of their number falling to the relentless onslaught.

The Blood Angel 2nd company was determined to eradicate the Xenos threat in front of them, due to the dust storm they could only hear the sounds of combat from the other side of the wind wall, not knowing that their traitorous brethren were already engaging on the other side. The 2nd guardian excavation team was eradicated, but thankfully the Relic Spiritstone, a personal interest of the Lord of Death himself has already been gleamed by the now-dead, first excavation team. He could sense its presence, but knew he had to go through a demon prince first to get to it. After the wraithguard on the Blood Angel flank suffered heavy casualties, Mephiston leapt over them on Crimson wings, determined to clear the field of the demon and the remaining warp-tainted seers.

 The duel was a veritable clash of the titans. Mephiston skewered Azkor Axefist in the chest with his sword, but the eponymous axe-fist returned the favor as a parting blow and hurled the Chief Librarian on his last gasp, sword extended towards the still engaged Farseer. This was not the seer's moment of demise as his runesuit kept him on his feat as both colossal fighters disengaged. Mephiston was emergency-teleported aboard their battle-barge in orbit, and Azkor, attempting to find a new target from the air was pulled back into the warp screaming by a clawed hand.

Elandrin quickly ordered his wraiths, avengers and wave serpent back into a defensible position around the dried-out thicket. Their concealed webway gate to make a stand. And no sooner had they regrouped that his ace in this losing hand appeared. The Harlequins of the Midnight Sorrow leaped out from the labyrinth dimension and fell upon the Blood Angels back flank. They brought with them a group of exodite archers, sensing that the purity of this maiden world was being disturbed. The world spirit's restorative powers were slowly being awakened by the amount of aeldari blood spilled around the shrine.

-"Excellent. Now that you're here we can clear this area and make a push for the artifact." was the message Elandrin transmitted to the Shadowseer, he was weakened from his wounds,only held up by his witchstaff.
-"You mean to leave son of dying light, but your role here is beyond the Spiritstone, the mon'keigh have ignored it so far but the key to this battle is the Shrine to the Ancients. It must not fall under any circumstances. The great game is being played out as we speak, and we must be the rock on which the ruinous powers' wheel breaks."
Elandrin sighed and steadied himself, knowing all too well that defying a servant of the Laughing God, especially one bringing their salvation is to invite ruin. A new defensive perimeter was set up behind the webway and from here the increasingly savage mon'keigh would be driven back with sword and sorcery.

As the dust storm settled the rest of the world eater horde came into view to the horror of both imperial and xeno combatants. A tide of sharp weapons wielded by beings who are more akin to a walking abattoir than people.

The Blood Angels 2nd company was now the main focus of both the armies as they were pincered between the flanking harlequins, the horde up ahead and the newly set up defensive position near the southern webway. They fought back hard, but their dreadnoughts were collapsing one by one. For every traitor slain, at least a couple Angels went to meet their Primarch. The battle turned into a grinding battle of attrition, but the Shadowseer smiled crookedly under his mask as the Shrine was completely ignored during the massacre.

  

The World Eaters' initial assault point now only had a remnant of units whipped by Orekh and the Apostle. The obstinate wraithguards were finally eliminated however - the troupe master of the Midnight Sorrow as well as a Solitaire engaged them from behind to eradicate their presence on what was now supposed to be newly safe ground, away from the main battle on the new front. But it would not be like that for long as the Blood Angel Assault marines descended on the embattled harlequins who have suffered wounds from their clash with the followers of Khorne.

The backline assault of the Blood Angels reduced the forces of the Aeldari to but 2 wandering wraith constructs and the dramatis personae fighting tooth and nail for the protection of a shrine which up to this point has been unharmed, as all the fighting forces were becoming dangerously depleted.

...............................................................................................................................................................

....then the tides of fate took a turn for the most dire. The Chaos Lord Larsakh Rhugor has used the mayhem caused by his warriors to retrieve the spirit stone of Kaithe Llachanri...and promptly offered it up to the Blood God as sacrifice, destroying the stone in the process, and the potent psychic spirit inside it. This heinous act has earned him an immediate boon, but unlike his brothers he decided not to test his newly gained blessing on the bitterly embattled Angels and Harlequins. Instead he started sprinting towards his original central deployment, while ordering his remaining men who were not engaged to proceed to pillage the shrine of the Ancients.

They have done sizeable damage to the shrine, but one statue in particular, the statue of the Trickster God Cegorach was proving increasingly difficult to destroy with every new attempt at its integrity. Melta shots were fired, power fists have been smahed into it, even the unbound physical savagery of the World Eaters could not crumble it. As the Harlequins rushed to defend the Shrine, another catastrophe occurred. The remainder of the Blood Angels' 2nd company fell to the black rage and in their unbound frenzy started shooting the first and largest things in view.

With the Chaos marines immediately attacking the shrine vanquished, the trio of harlequins called for a ceasefire, but the only answer they received in the vox was gurgled screams from the Imperial comms and taunts to come claim Lord Larsakh's head from the conniving Khornate himself. The head of the desecrator soon lay at the feet of the Troupe master, chopped by the Storied Sword, but caught in what seemed like a victory rush and the chain of orders stopping on the Aeldari side,  2 chaos marines made a new attempt on the shrine. Cegorach, possibly pleased by the grand spectacle put on by his perfomers, maintained his blessings on the shrine.

What seemed like sweet victory turned into bitter defeat however as a stray lascannon shot from the last Blood Angel dreadnought, now caught in the black rage penetrated the shrine and broke the statue of the Trickster. The enchanted wraithbone barely hit the ground as the warp engulfed the shrine and a mighty Greater Demon of Khorne emerged from the warp portal that swallowed the remains of the shrine, immediately draining the blood of the dead around him.

The aeldari immediately retreated with all due haste to their webway portals and collapsed this tunnel, knowing full well that this manifestation means that the world spirit has been corrupted, devoured and the world itself will now become a daemon-world, a staging point for the Khornate hordes.

The black-raged Blood Angels knew no fear and attempted to engage the demon in a last attempt to purge this battlefield...however Khorne willed blood...and was not denied.

In the end, no amount of alien trickery or human courage could stand in front of the corrupting force of Chaos, a decisive, brutal victory achieved in no small part to Lord Larsakh Rhugor, a name surely to be howled again by the viscous servants of Khorne in remembrance of this triumph.

Flavoured Battle Report Ep. 4 - Plot on Elas Shil'ui (Lore only)

- On a remote world in the Eastern Fringe -

The wind picks up into a stronger gale and the air starts to crackle and pop between the dense pine-like trees of the forest. The leaves start rustling and there is a short spark of light. An old webway passage has just awakened to life. From the gate emerge 4 tall and lithe figures. Three of them clad in bright orange robes wearing black helmets and a fourth in an ornate yellow suit of wraithbone and a red cloak. The wind dies down and the silence returns to the glade as the figures start walking, leisurely, away from the gate as if on a stroll towards the edge of the woods.

- Baron Haldir, I must protest, what you plan to do is only worthy of a squat. What next? Keep a ledger of grudges you will spend what little is left of eternity hunting? You could have enlisted any mercenary void-dreamer, yet instead you call upon the seers of Lugganath to...ignite a squabble?
- Ah but, High-Seer Elandrin, have I erred in choosing you for this task? We fight the Great Enemy today! Has your foresight dwindled since escaping Vigilus?
- You are a scoundrel Haldir, with no real interest in the fate of the aeldari or the great enemy, leave your honeyed words for the mon'keigh rogue traders and Commorite merchants. How do you intend to fight the Great Enemy on Elas Shil'ui? This is supposed to be a Maiden World last I checked. But for the sake of repaying the favor of saving our humble council and the remains of our meager bladehost I will accompany you on this fool's errand.
- You have been away for a long time then High-Seer. Elas Shil'ui has been colonized by the fledgeling T'au of the Bork'an sept. Their earth caste scientists have found out this planet has been terraformed artificially and are studying it. They want our secrets from before the fall! But not only that but they have turned a significant amount of wildland into a weapons-testing range - only to then try to grow back the forests.
- I can't imagine the zealots of Biel'tan have taken that lightly. How come they haven't been scourged?
- That is unfortunately due to the fracturing of the great Craftworld. Ever since the visit of the mysterious prophetess who claims to channel the God of the Dead, doom has befallen them. That and an ingloriously failed incursion to try and recover the "Spear of Khaine". For all your foresight, you farseers are veritable bringers of apocalypse for many.
- Ah, finally, some refreshing honesty from a Corsair. But for all your distrust here we are. A small seer council at your disposal on a world colonized by a fledgeling race seeking to stand on the shoulders of giants. It would surprise me if you suddenly grew a conscience for the Maiden Worlds and would take up the stewardship that Biel-Tan once offered them. What do we seek here?
- We will take a stroll towards the local weapons testing facility and give the T'au there a real target to test their missiles and railguns on instead of the defenseless foliage and wildlife. As it happens, my scouts report that there is a diplomatic delegation from their very homeworld here to check on the development of the settlement. Normally the T'au leadership would be locked up inside their Coalition center in the planetary capital - but today we have the fortune to see the Ethereals and military leader's from at least a Longrifle's scope, mighty proud of showing of their guns as they are.
- Ah, so assassination is your plan? That might disrupt activity for a little while here, but without a warhost we cannot excise the T'au presence - even if you were to bombard it with your fleet.
- "The plan is a bit more treacherous than just that." Said Haldir with a toothy grin. His deep blue eyes sparkled with anticipation. It was clear that in his head he had it all planned out, better than any seer would foretell it.
- I have tried to scry the fates to decipher your plan and saw the shooting of one of the T'au in civilian garb. The further I have tried to scry the more the paths twisted and twinned, fate is murky. Whatever you have planned here, Baron, is as likely to fail as it is to succeed. More-so towards failiure since it seems to almost flirt with concepts and ideas the Pariah Eldrad of Ulthwe has used in the past.
- Oh what an honor High-Seer to be compared to one of your esteemed rank, believe me, this is all going to work out perfectly no matter what the fates have in store for us. My vengeance on the Great Enemy will be achieved and the Maiden-World will be left defenseless for the reaping.
 - Your bravado is becoming tiresome. Let's just get this over with.
 - Worry not, we are almost there. Just a couple quick strides. Believe me High-Seer. After this is done the Light of The Fallen Suns will want to promote me into their leadership for my brilliance.
- That or Cegorach will snatch you and make you a harlequin for your random whimsy.

 The group reached the edge of the forest after a burst of quick movement. The twin cold suns of the planet were still high in the sky, fully illuminating the mountainous craggs and forested areas.
In what looked to be a barren field now, somewhere bellow the coterie's position, was one of the T'au's mustering grounds. Groups of battlesuits of all categories lined the barracks and the fire cast was preparing to put on a parade for the water and ethereal caste come from the homeworld. Baron Haldir reached for a small cube at his hip, similar to the soul-boxes the Drukhari use. He reaches in and extracts a Long-Rifle.

- A tesseract? I have to give it to you scoundrel you are a resourceful one.
- It's a useful tool for storing many armaments, you should see the size of some things that fit in there!
- Ok now what?
- Now we hide, even more so than we are now. Give the order to your warlocks.

Elandrin nodded towards one of the robed Warlocks. Virnael grabbed one of the spiritstones at his chest and started tracing a rune in the air. A fog rolled in from the woods, and it looked as if the green and brown covered their bright garments entirely. Anyone looking in that direction without very precise instruments would not be able to determine their presence. As the warlock was tracing the runes, Haldir tapped on his armor-interface, sending a message to Elandrin's helmet. The message displayed on the visual interface was an elaborate script and an image of a tall armored figure clad in purple, ornamented with Raven-motifs and on his shoulder emblazoned with the sigil of Oruboros - a snake eating its own tail.

- "Is this your brilliant idea, scoundrel?" Whispered Elandrin.
- The sooner you get it over with the sooner your boon will be fulfilled and we can get our wretched selves away from these barbarians. Be ready for a swift exit. Once this is done we need to be away like lightning on a summer's night.

After a few moments of frantic body language which could roughly be translated as exasperation and a profound wish to kick the Corsair off the ledge they were standing on the High-Seer sat down and gathered his psychic might. The shrouding was still in effect so no prying eyes would be alarmed by the floating aeldari on the cliffside.

Down at the mustering ground the parade began in full-swing. Fire-warriors marched in column, their armor perfectly-polished. While heavy XV-88 Broadsides and three mighty Riptides followed in tow.
The leadership looked pleased at the parade-drill and was eagerly awaiting to see the combat drill for which the artificially created gulch was set up. And then...panic set in as several of the Ethereals and Fire-Cast commanders gasped and started ordering troops to aim weapons at thin air. What they could see and hear in their minds was the image of the armored sorcerer and the sound of his booming, corrupted voice which to their surprise they could somehow understand.

- Xenos filth! I am Akenat'Mat Ra, high sorcerer! This is an ultimatum that your worthless world will be scoured clean of life in the name of the Deceiver within the week! Your preening, strutting and pathetic technology are no use for our arcane might! Your souls will fuel our crucible of hatred, your miserable race is not even fit to even be our slaves. Prove yourselves in a clash of forces and we may spare your mewling, pathetic lives while your retreat to your inner worlds. Refuse and we will grind you into dust beneath out armored heel. Your trial is try to take back the ruins of the city of Tash'ar'is, that you tried colonising on the nearby moon. Should you succeed in beating us back there...we MIGHT stay true to our words. You have exactly three planetary rotations to comply. Behold, with just a flick of my wrist your lives end!

As those final words were spoken, Haldir shot one of the Water caste diplomats dead with his long rifle. The parade ground descended into madness. Weapons went off. The Ethereals were evacuated under heavy guardianship and more and more troops were mustered out to quell the cacophony. 

-"Now warlocks! Get us hence!" Said Haldir as silently but as strongly as he could under the cover of the psychic concealment. He grabbed the still-entranced Farseer by the waist and as if reality blinked for a moment - the coterie was no longer there. The Warlock Yloen spirited them away with psychic-quickening.

-That should get their attention! You were right seer...I did have to shoot one of them. Now let's see how this little squabble plays out. Whoever wins, they both lose. Should the Thousand Sons lose we get to recapture the webway-tear that they managed to brute force in. Should the T'au lose Elas Shil'ui should be safely back in Aeldari hands in no time. You'll see Elandrin. This will work out just fine!

Artwork taken from:
https://www.artstation.com/artwork/m2yo1 - all credits to the creator. 

Flavoured Battle-Report Ep. 3 Chaos vs Space Wolves

Guest-written by Andrei P.(Garak) 


“All forces report they are ready to drop” reported Captain Gadok. He was currently in his assigned drop pod, ready for the countdown to begin, and supremely glad to not be anywhere near the person he was talking to.
“Good. Begin obital bombardment” said the voice over his helmet comm. Gadok was sure he detected supreme satisfaction in that voice over giving such an order.
“The fortress should only be garrisoned by thralls. Maybe some PDF troops might be in the area but isn’t this a bit overkill?”
“Are you questioning my orders?” snarled the voice as Gadok winced. “Did I hear that right?”
“I would never dare to, my lord. I apologize for my poorly chosen words.”
The only reply he got was a disgusted snort and the click of the comm channel being turned off. Gadok the Abandoned brief a sigh of relief and hated himself for it. But there was little he could do about his current situation. Both his Primarch and his Great Company had left him to die long ago, the only thing approaching brotherhood left to him was his current warband. They were the Disfavored, a collection of cast offs, rejects, screw ups, insane people and the desperate. Those who had nowhere else to go.
They were not a brotherhood. They could never be. There was too much hatred between them all. Too much distrust. But this allowed them to at least continue their war against the lapdogs of the False Emperor. That at least brought a smile to his sour face.
It was time to go to war once more.
****
As drop pods, Thunderhawk gunships and bulky troop landers disgorged themselves from the orbiting fleet, alarms rang down on the planet. The target of all these forces was a grim fortress in the middle of a city long ruined by some forgotten conflict. The defenders of this edifice were quick to action, troops taking their places on the ramparts and the outer fortifications, defense lasers powering up, missile silos opening to deliver their deadly payloads. The only weakness they had was the shield generator. Old and little used, its machine spirit was slow to wake, not being one hungry for destruction. This slowness was to prove catastrophic.
The orbital bombardment struck without mercy. The bunkers and trenches of the outer fortifications were ripped asunder, the troops taking shelter within them dying in droves. The fortress itself took several hits, weakening the outer walls significantly, the bastion housing the missile silo taking an especially fierce pounding. Despite the fury of the bombardment, the deafening noise and the shaking of the earth, the defenders were unimpressed, fear having no place in their hearts. As black and gold drop pods began descending from the sky and slamming into the earth, the defenders raised their weapons to the sky and howled their joy for all to hear.
And to witness.

****
No sooner the drop pods slammed into the ground that their doors slammed open and the power armored transhumans within charged out. Their armors were a mix of heraldries, some proclaiming their wearers as veterans of the original traitor Legions, others as renegades from newer chapters. There was no uniformity among the Disfavored, despite the Legion they proclaimed fealty to.
None of that mattered to them. Painting their armor some new color meant nothing – to some of them even their old colors were nothing, just some paint on armor with no meaning attached. They were here to raid the fortress and take the cyclonic torpedoes stored in a bunker far beneath it.
At a point near the missile bastion, the air glowed and buzzed for a brief moment before it exploded in a blinding flash. Where once there was nothing but an empty street, now there were seven hulking figures. Armored in Terminator armor, they decided to take a more direct approach to the battlefield. Six of the figures bore the colors of the Word Bearers, religious fanatics and iconoclasts. The seventh figure, the one who commanded this raid in the first place, wore armor of black and gold.
Towering over his fellow Astartes and wielding weapons heavy with legend and dread, he smiled to see the walls before him weakened. He was Abaddon the Despoiler, Warmaster of Chaos.
 He listened to the vox chatter, hearing the berserkers to the north yell their insane cries as they charged the trenches, Thunderhawk pilots reporting the tanks being delivered and the general chatter of unit leaders. He was a bit disappointed that Userkaf and his Rubric marines had landed further to the south than he’d wanted. Then again maybe it was wrong to expect too much from a scribe like him, the man had written a library’s worth of books about his memories of Prospero. As if he could somehow hold on to the past, keep it alive.
This thought was interrupted as he heard confusion over the vox at the same time that he spotted the defenders. Not only were they more than he’d been told but they were wrong ones as well. I’m going to skin Erebus when this is over.
The fortress itself was positively drowning in the iconography of the Dark Angels chapter, there were giant winged figures with swords on every face of the central tower for Warp’s sake. So why then, in the cursed names of Horus and the Emperor, was it defended by the blasted Sons of Russ? The Vlka Fenryka and the Dark Angels hated each other. This made no sense. And they weren’t even regular Astartes, but Guilliman’s new breed of bootlicker. It felt like the Lord of Change had just played a very poor joke. This was madness.
And going by the vox chatter, the Disfavored were equally mystified. Well most of them at least. The berserkers didn’t care, if they’d even noticed, as they were too busy drenching themselves in gore and massacring the marines trying to hold the ruins of a bunker.
With a snarl of rage, he ordered all troops to breach the fortress wall, which caused every plasma gunner to risk his weapon blowing up in his face rather than angering him. Which all well and nice but as he surveyed the battlefield, he saw the Dreadnaught standing amid the ruined trenches. Only the madness of the Sons of Russ would possess them to give such a warmachine a shield and an axe, when it was already armed with tank crushing fists. This also meant they had left it without any of its normal ranged weapons. Still, that machine would break the berserkers easily. Their chainaxes would ground uselessly against its armor and shield.

“Follow me” he told the former Word Bearers as he charged the Dreadnaught. It didn’t take long for Abaddon to notice they didn’t follow him. He should probably have expected that. Such lack of passion would see them shunned by the others in their Legion. He suspected even Gadok wouldn’t have accepted them in his warband but they had brought valuable Terminator armor that they’d stolen when they left.

“I bring you true death, old one!” shouted Abaddon as he charged the Dreadnaught. He swung with Drach’nyen, aiming the deamon blade at the cables connecting its feet to its sarcophagus body. But the half dead pilot within the warmachine, proved fast as he took a step back and parried the blow with the head of his axe. Impressed at the skill of his enemy he tried to tear of its axe wielding arm with the Talon of Horus but the Son of Russ blocked the blow his shield, furious sparks shooting it’s energy field as it collided with the one encasing the claws of the Talon.
“You will find I am no easy prey Despoiler” thundered the voice of the pilot from its external speakers. “My name is Ivar “The Boneless”. I have slain countless enemies of the Allfather. You shall be no different.” With that the warmachine swung its giant axe, aiming to cut the Warmaster on two. Abaddon snarled as he parried with the Talon of Horus. The blows from the axe shook him with each blow but no axe, no matter how fine, would be able to sunder the weapon of a Primarch.
“Big talk from someone who died once already” he snarled, as he drew upon Drach’nyen’s power and felt the deamon resist him. With a furious roar, Abaddon ducked under the axe swinging for his head, got within the dreadnought’s reach and rammed the Talon into the sarcophagus. The war machine emitted a furious howl as the blades of the Talon tore through its armor and pierced the shriveled corpse of its pilot. Roaring his own fury in response, Abaddon tore the weapon up and out, spraying bits of machinery and flesh over the battlefield. The dreadnought froze in place, now nothing but a statue.

“Rest in peace now Ivar” said Abaddon. “You’ll meet your brothers soon enough.” He turned back toward the fortress, just in time to see its defenders unleashing bright plasma blasts at the Word Bearer Terminators. Four of them fell dead, their suits ripped apart by Cawl’s improved design. The berserkes were also taking casualties as the fortress Icarus guns and the missile silo were unleashed upon them. This was to be expected but still annoying as …. Argh! He felt a foreign mind probe his thoughts, looking for battle plans or secrets. A damn psyker. He idly wondered if the Vlka Fenryka were still deluded as to the source of their psykik power.
At least his tank support had arrived and he could smile in pleasure as the walls of the missile bastion crumbled under the fire of the Night Lords Land Raider. Casting one final look at the fallen Dreadnaught he said “You were no Fellhand”, he then signaled the Terminators to charge. This time they did so, wanting to avenge themselves on the Hallblaster squad defending the ramparts. Abaddon joined the charge as the defenders let loose another volley, killing another Terminator. Not enough to stop us.
With a snarl on his lips he ran up the slope leading to the breach, masonry crunching under his boots, and gained the ramparts. And then Drach’nyen drank deep as he slaughtered them without mercy or respite.
“For the Allfather! For the Russ! And for Father Cawl!” yelled a captain in heavy Gravis armor as he charged into the fray. He showed skill as he used the falling corpse of one his brothers to hide the angle of his attack and his blade gouged a wound into Abaddon’s power armor.
 “You have seen your last dawn Heir to Horus. I, Jarl Hrod, shall see to it.”

Another one who thinks himself a hero worthy of their vaunted sagas.
He was about to strike back when he heard howling behind himself and the curses of Userkaf. “These mongrel dogs have Wulfen with them! And another Dreadnaught!”
 “Ha! You didn’t think we could surprise you, did you Heretic scum” laughed Hrod.
Damn. Those mutant bastards were coming up from the ruins behind him. They’d swarm up the same breach he did and force him to waste time. And the snipers up in the tower were trying to pick off Userkaf, seeing him as a threat.
“Throw everything you have at them. Divert the Agony to unload its cultists right in their snouts.” Even as he talked, he swung his deamon blade at the enemy Captain, forcing him to step back if he wanted to still have a head.

“And the war machine?” this from Gadok.
“Deal with it later. Have the tanks and your Rubric marines move up, keep pounding the fortress.” He made another attack with the sword, forcing the captain to retreat once more. He was on the edge of falling into the missile silo.
“We will not –“
He never got to finish as Abaddon bisected him from left shoulder to right hip with Drach’nyen. “Just die and shut up.”
The missile bastion was now secure. As he took in the rest of the field, he saw the cultists shooting at the Wulfen and then charging in. Whoever led them was obviously someone who wanted to avoid drawing his ire. A good man that. Thoughtful of him.

The tanks seemed to finally crack open the rest of the fortress, they were now firing on the Devastator squad up ahead, and his forces were advancing. He heard reports that the Negavolt cultists were gaining the ramparts on the other bastion.  As he went forward, looking for more enemies to slay, he saw the flash of a teleporter off to his left and saw more Vlka Fenryka, these wearing Terminator armor adorned with wolf pelts. There no wolves on Fenris, he recalled and sneered in disgust. The Terminators were marching on the Rubric marines of the Thousand Sons, a predictable target for them.

As soon as his forces cleared the fortress, we could have the Land Raider and the Predator tank hunt down that other Dreadnaught and finish this force of –
His thoughts were interrupted as a lightning bolt struck the last Word Bearer as he stepped over the dead Devastator squad. The bolt blew a hole through his head and leap right at Abaddon. The pain that engulfed him was immense and he felt his twin hearts like they had turned into lead. Molten fire seemed to course through his veins as he fell to his knees, darkness engulfing him, alarms blaring from his armor. Just before the blackness took him, there was a bright light.

****
Abaddon had fallen. It didn’t matter that he was retrieved via teleporter before the enemy could cut off his head. Abaddon had fallen. The blow to morale was devastating. Gadok took a quick look at the field. Userkaf had been wounded by the same lightning that had felled the Warmaster. The cultists were still struggling with the wulfen but the outcome of that fight was obvious even to a blind man. The Terminators had been gunned down by the combined firepower of the Thousand Sons and the Land Raider. The Space Marines in the bastion closest to him had repelled the Negavolt cultists and were counter charging one of his squads, singing their death song the whole time. And that damn Dreadnaught had finished off the berserkers and was now pulping some more cultists. Well, this was a bit on the edge. He still had enough troops to win this, especially with the tanks. The enemy Devastator squad had been taken out, so they couldn’t harm the tanks at range and –
He saw the tanks pulling back.

“What are you doing” he snarled at them over the vox.
“Abaddon has fallen, I’m hearing nothing shouts of pain over the vox and lovely as they are, I’m not looking to die here. Whatever for?”
Damn those Night Lords! Those selfish bastards! They could still win this if only …. Ahhh what’s the use? He could see his troops looking over their shoulders at the retreating tanks and he knew this was over. Without the tanks, they lacked the firepower to kill that damn Dreadnaught. Why risk it after all?
I’m going to say these was Thunderwolf cavalry coming from behind us. Maybe he’ll buy it, thought Gadok.
So the Disfavored retreated from the field, to the delight and confusion of the surviving warriors of the Vlka Fenryka.