Scraping a cloven hoof against the loamy earth and kicking up clods of dirt, Ebolgor exhaled great visible puffs of steam into the cold night air. The Beastman chieftain viewed these newest of intruders with a mixture of anticipation, hunger and disdain. Standing before the tribe of Ebologor were several mighty, blue and gold armoured humans warriors of the Northern Wastes, each one bore the runes of the Tchar, The Great Changer.
With covetous eyes did the Chieftain who was a follower of the Plaguefather, look upon the mighty ensorcelled weapons the warriors of the north carried. There were relatively few of the northern warriors and Ebolgor was confident that his herd could overwhelm them with a barrage of arrows and thrown spears before closing in for the kill. There were proprieties to be followed though, a code of conduct the followers of the True Gods expected lest shame and dishonour fall upon those who would break this custom.
Having already called to the northern warriors and proudly announcing his name and deeds, Ebolgor awaited the northern leader to do the same. It did not take long for a blue and gold armoured figure whose regalia looked to be a mix of daemon-steel and robes of raven feather to come forward, a Sorcerer Chief Ebolgor noted. The Sorcerer Chieftain of the northern warriors wielded a staff in one hand which carried the eight pointed star at the top which sparked with eldritch lightning and in the other hand, the sorcerer carried a magnificent rune sword which also crackled with lightning, the face of the sorcerer was concealed by a golden helmet which was shaped to resemble the face of a raven.
'I am Hjalmar Stormcrown' spoke the Sorcerer Chieftain in the Dark Tongue of the Gods, the compelling voice of the Sorcerer Chieftain was as powerful as thunder during a storm. 'I am a vassal of the Daemon Prince, Wotan Ravens Eye, Blessed of Tzeentch, now stand aside Goat! Lest I order my warriors to put all of your pathetic hides to the sword!'
Enraged by the Sorcerer Chief's insult, Ebolgor raised one of his imbued, rusty cleavers towards this Hjalmar, the dark green runes of pestilence and decay glowed as flies began to buzz around the Beast Chieftain who gave his kin a single command "KILL!" All around Ebolgor, the beastmen herd threw their heads back and roared their mighty war cries to the heavens above as they rushed towards the northern warriors.
The Warriors of Chaos quickly grouped up into a defensive formation with shield locking alongside one another, their runic blades blazed with the magic of the gods. The Sorcerer Chief, Hjalmar pointed his staff towards Ebolgor and a bolt of azure lightning burst out from the top and it struck the Beastman Chieftain. Pain coursed through Ebolgor, but the arcane talismans he wore glowed with the protective magic woven into them, the same could not be said for the Bestigors nearest to him for the lightning bolt jumped from the chieftain and incinerated his warriors.
The Beastmen quickly crashed into the northern warriors, their arrows and spears sunk into the armour of the foe, but none of their prey had yet to fall. With clinical precision, the armoured humans cut down several of Ebolgor's kin with enchanted weapons which were imbued with a variety of sorceries. Whether it was axe, mace, hammer, flail or sword, the weapons of the Warriors of Chaos either blazed with fire, crackled with lightning, misted with frost or glowed with arcane light.
Charging towards the insolent Sorcerer, Ebolgor roared a praise in the name of the Plague Father, his cleavers were held high as putrid foam began to appear around his mouth. He would tear this Sorcerer's flesh and offer his soul to Nurgle. The Sorcerer remained rooted to on the spot and with as much speed and strength as he could muster, Ebolgor brought both of his cleavers down upon the sorcerer.
Instead of feeling the satisfying impact of armour bending or flesh tearing, Ebolgor felt the impact of his cleavers striking Hjalmar's weapons. The Sorcerer Chieftain was stronger than the Beastman had anticipated, good he thought for it would make the sorcerer's heart an even sweeter delicacy. Thrusting his horned head forward with teeth aimed at his foe's eyes, the Beast Chieftain's maw clamp down into open air as the enemy leader quickly pulled back and disengaged from the Beastman leader.
Swiftly following the movements of the Sorcerer, Ebolgor felt a sharp pain explode upon his back. Glancing down, Ebolgor saw a bloodied rune sword protruding through his chest, the blade glowed with eldritch magic as it cleaved through his armour a burning sensation began to course through the Beastman's veins and he began to feel a growing sense of weakness. Ebolgor quickly realized that the magic within the sword was attacking the blessed diseases the Plague Father had given him; the cursed blade was actually curing the him!
'The sword is imbued with the magic of Life itself' came the voice of the Sorcerer who suddenly stood before the Beastlord. 'It is the bane of those who serve your pathetic slug of a god' Hjalmar then said with contempt 'it is also rather effective against those who cling to a false semblance of life.'
Anger and rage built up within Ebolgor at this sacrilege against the gifts of the Plague Father. With mighty roar, the Beast Chieftain spun around to face the warrior which stabbed him in the back like a goblin. The plague cleaver followed Ebolgor and as soon as he laid eyes upon the Nothern Warrior behind him, the Chaos Warrior's head was cleaved from his shoulders.
To Ebolgor's surprise, there was no blood or flesh within the Chaos Warrior; he only saw a cloud of dust fly up while an audible sigh of relief could be heard before the warrior's body collapsed with absolutely nothing inside. The Beastlord suddenly felt another flash of pain, this time around the back of his neck and the next thing he knew, and he began to tumble to the ground. The Beastlord quickly crashed to the grassy forest floor and he saw a pair of hooves which oddly seemed familiar, it quickly then dawned on Ebolgor's mind that he was looking at his own hooves as his body slumped down, his neck had ended in a seared, steaming stump of charred meat.
Rolling his eyes beneath his helmet, Hjalmar honestly did not know why he even bothered speaking with the pathetic creature whose head now lay before his feet. Noticing the silence which had now fallen upon the forest, he cast his gaze towards the beastmen which now stared expectantly at him. The stupid creatures would now be seeing him as their new leader he thought with disdain, he supposed that at the least they would make for good fodder.
The warriors of his warband lowered their weapons and they quickly returned towards their original formation. The beastmen lowered their weapons as well and they bowed to the Sorcerer Lord, their loud voices began to chant his name 'Hjalmar! Hjalmar!' He became further annoyed for the beastmen even pronounced his name wrong and were saying it more like 'Haamlar'.
Dumb, brutish animals he thought, for the war they had been waging against the Empire had hardly been doing any real damage. So what if they destroy a few towns and villages? The Imperials would just build more over time. It was only a matter of time until the Imperial Warlord known as Todbringer would gather enough of the Empire's warriors to crush the beastmen's warherd, not that he cared of course.
The diseased minions of the Plague God were foolish weaklings, the beastmen themselves were little more than chaff to be thrown at an enemy army on most days. A clear example of their weakness was the stories some of the tribes had been spreading. Ridiculous tales of daemons which took mortal forms and fought for the Imperials were being spread.
One particularly prevalent tale was that of a Khornate daemon which took the form of an elf with a burning axe. Apparently, this daemon-elf was already responsible for massacring several of the smaller tribes, those few who had fled were telling that it did not stop with the warriors and that it even went as far as to butcher the females and young. Tales of this daemon-elf had already reached the warriors of the Brass Keep as well; no doubt some of the thick skulled followers of Khorne are going to start sending out parties of head hunters.
Again, this mattered little to Hjalmar for he had his own quest to attend to. 'Let's go' he simply then said as the warriors of his master, The Everlasting followed him with the beastmen joining shortly afterwards. The Tome was near, he could feel it, the leech which had stolen what rightfully belonged to his master would also be nearby as well.
Tightening his grip upon his sword, the Chaos Sorcerer had sworn to reclaim the Tome, if he succeeded, he would gain favor with his master and in turn, it would be one more step towards his own ascension…
Looking up to see the clear orange sky above, Johan lazily held on to the staff of his long bow as he stood on guard upon the palisades for the coming night. It had been five days since he had arrived back in Valdenhoff, four of those days had been spent recovering at the clinic the Rhyan and Shallyan priestesses had set up. The clinic now had at least four other patients who needed tending, could be worse he supposed considering the beastmen horde out there, at least they weren't holding funerals.
It was no secret that the priests in their town were not exactly happy (to say the least) about their arrangement with the Wolfenhexe. After seeing how the witch had dealt with those beastmen and ogres though, their clergymen quickly quieted down. Johan supposed that it was a good thing that their local Sigmarite Priest, Father Adelbert was no longer around to ruin this arrangement. Shaking his head, Johan remembered the war party the priest had led and that a few days later, they had found the grisly remains of the priest's crusade, so much for purity and faith being enough to turn the tides.
For a long moment, he rested his hands upon the back of his hand with his palms placed on the top end of the bow. He couldn't help but quite stop thinking about the witch; he became more than a little aroused at the thought of the mysterious woman of whom he did not even see the face of. What he had felt that night was possibly better than anything he had with any of the women he had known, he realized that he wanted to see the witch again.
Already, the town had set up a simple system where at the beginning of the day they would gather at the center of town and pick up a stone from a large pot. Most of the stones were black but ten were painted with a red circle, those who picked up the red-painted stones would then draw straws to see who will be sent to the witch.
Hearing the loud creak of the wooden gates open, he looked down and saw two blonde haired figures walking out. He quickly recognized the two as of being the baker's children, Adalheid Wever and her younger brother Adalhard, both of whom were a few years younger compared to Johan who was nineteen winters of age. Originally, it had been the boy who had picked up the red-painted stone but his elder sister had insisted on accompanying her brother
Johan could not help feel a bit of unease and perhaps a bit of jealousy for the two of them, especially towards Adalhard. He had been scared as well on that first night but after that though, he could not help but think about being chosen next. The of the witch and the lad's sister on the other hand was… intriguing to say the least for he had Adalheid as of being rather pretty, despite her hoydenish behavior.
'Johan!' came the gruff voice of their Militia's Captain, Ludwig Schenck. Startled by the Captain, Johan nearly dropped his bow and he barely managed to catch it before falling off the palisades. 'Stop day dreaming lad!' said the Captain rather sternly 'it will be night soon and no doubt those damn beasts are going to try something again!'
'Yes sir!' nodded Johan quickly for it had been two nights earlier that they had been attacked by the beastmen and ogres.
Ever since then, there had been three other attacks as well, all of which ended with the mutants dying from either packs of giant wolves, swarms of bats which seemed to have no problem with the light of day and deadly clouds of poisonous gas. What was most disturbing though was that the witch had asked them not to touch the bodies of those slain and that soon after a battle was fought, the bodies would just disappear.
Father Hubert the local priest of Morr had been telling them that the Witch was a necromancer, a foul dabbler in magic which violated the sanctity of death. While many of the folk believed the priest of the Death God, none were eager to start a lynch mob just yet, not when the beastman war herd was still around. No doubt that would change once the crisis was over but for now, the villagers were content to sit and wait while the Priest of Morr grumbled and continued to watch the graves underneath the gardens of his god and make sure that its occupants stayed inside.
When the Militia Captain left Johan so he could check on the other guards, the huntsman continued to watch the dark forest as night fell. His mind would eventually turn back towards the Witch and he quietly hoped that next time, he would be chosen.
Night was now falling across the world and the forest around Hjalmar and his warband began to become pitch black. While the everlasting were hardly hindered by something as mundane as light, the same could not be said for the Norscan Sorcerer Lord. Muttering a quick and simple spell, an orb of azure witch-light appeared above the head of Hjalmar.
He heard gasps of surprise and sounds of awe from the beastmen which still followed his warband. The stupid creatures with their simple, animal brains would likely interpret this as some sort of blessing from Tzeentch. The Norscan shook his head with disdain for the spell was nothing more than a simple cantrip any apprentice Magus worth his salt could cast, he pressed on along with the Everlasting, deeper into the forest.
Upon the Winds of Magic, Hjalmar could already feel the presence of Dhar. The Dark Magic he felt was a refined thing, like the magic used by the Druchii of Naggaroth, but it had been bastardized into something which was anathema to his master, Tzeentch. The Leech and its kin, the undead were beings of stagnancy and stasis, the magic which they used were a twisted form of the Amethyst Wind of Shyish.
Hjalmar remembered that baleful night when the fortress-library of his master had been breached. How the Leech managed to make it all way the there through the Chaos Wastes itself was a mystery to the Sorcerer Lord. Perhaps the Leech had been assisted by another Daemon Prince? One of his master's rivals? Or perhaps the Leech had been assisted by the followers of the other Dark Gods?
There had also been another intruder who accompanied the Leech, a warrior clad in blood-red armour which was shaped to resemble a Dragon. Together, both intruders had led a mighty army of the dead to lay waste to the his master's sanctum, several sections of his master's library had been burned and destroyed; primeval texts of sorcery from civilizations now long extinct were snuffed out in infernos of sorcerous fires.
His master, the Daemon Prince Wotan Ravens Eye had greatly been in enraged by the trespass and vandalism caused by these intruders. The Daemon Prince had made short work of the undead army but by the time the Daemon Prince had gotten through them, the Leech and the Red Dragon were nowhere to be found, and worse they had stolen one of his master's books. Such was the fury of his master that Daemon Prince began to obliterate several of the surviving Marauders, Beastmen, Warriors and Daemons with more than a few of Hjalmar's fellow sorcerers being killed off as well.
It was fortunate that each tome within his master's library had been subtly enchanted so that the Daemon Prince as well as a select few Sorcerer Lords (which Hjalmar himself was one) could "feel" its presence whenever it left their bastion. The Tome he sought was not far now, he could feel it calling to him, seeking to return home to the Wastes. He could not help but be curious though about the nature of the Tome itself, what sort of arcane secrets did it contain which would make someone traverse the Wastes and lay siege to a Daemon Prince's home?
He would find out soon enough he supposes. For now, caution was a necessity for it was even darker now; it was the time when the Leech's kind would awaken. He wondered with a bit of wariness if the Red Dragon was here as well, if such were the case then he was glad that he was accompanied by twenty seven of the Everlasting, they had started off with thirty but the long journey from the North had not been all smooth sailing.
Smelling the foul stench of one of the beastmen drawing close to his position, Hjalmar turned his gaze towards the creature which approached him. Looking to his left, the Sorcerer Lord saw an Ungor timidly approach, the creature bowed in subservience to him and spoke crudely in the Dark Tongue.
'Master…' spoke the beastman in a voice which seemed both rasping and guttural 'man-flesh near, two'. The Ungor then pointed towards the distance west of their position and the Sorcerer Lord quickly switched to his Witchsight to see what it was. His eyes saw the world no longer in the mundane colours of reality but instead he saw it through the Winds of Magic.
The First thing Hjalmar saw was the familiar spiritfire of himself which blazed brightly like a miniature star. He saw the spiritfires of the Everlasting and the powerful enchantments which bound their souls to their armour, the Sorcerer Lord saw those of the beastmen as well, they were dim candles compared to both he and the Everlasting. Shifting his gaze towards where the Ungor pointed, he saw two mortals, mere human children walking closely together as wolves which reeked with Dhar were cautiously surrounding them but not attacking.
Curious thought the Sorcerer Lord for when the Leech and the Red Dragon had attacked his master's home, they had brought legions of skeletons, zombies and bodiless wraiths, but not wolves. Regardless, he saw that the two mortal youths were heading in the same direction where the Tome was. Were the two prisoners being taken to the Leech? If such that would mean that Vampire would need to feed, it would be weakened.
Quickly switching back to his mundane sight, Hjalmar cast his gaze to the Ungor who still looked upon the Sorcerer Lord with subservience. 'Tell your kin to follow those two' ordered the Sorcerer 'do not slay them yet, follow and report back to me, do this well and Tchar will grant you his favor.'
The Beastman's eyes widened at the mention of receiving glory from Tzeentch, the Ungor quickly bowed and scampered off. The sorcerer could hear its harsh, guttural voice speaking to the other beastmen and soon they began shouting praises to Tzeentch before running off. With a slight grin underneath his helmet, Hjalmar was pleased to have, as they say, killed two birds with one stone.
Not only did he rid himself of the beastmen whose presence annoyed him, there was a good chance that the dumb brutes would draw the attention of the thieving vampire. Hjalmar had little intention of helping the animals but once they start a fight with the Leech's minions, the Sorcerer Lord would be in a good position to study and gauge the strength of his adversary so he could plan accordingly.
Cautiously looking over his right shoulder to see the wolves which followed them, Adalhard Wever could not help but notice that there was something unnatural about the animals. He could have sworn that the wolves had an intelligent glint in their eyes, something which went beyond the normal, animal cunning. He felt the grip of his older sister's right hand tighten around his own left hand, Adalheid gave him a nervous smile but he could see the barely concealed fear in her eyes, in her other hand, she carried a candle-lit lantern .
Adalhard felt conflicted over his sister's presence here, on one hand; he was relieved to not be alone here in the forest with night falling. On the other hand, he felt like he was being babied by Adalheid who had done so since they were children, she had been protecting him from a lot of the other boys in town who were bigger and stronger than he. Warily looking to the wolves once more, Adalhard noted that the animals were no longer watching them, instead they were looking at something else.
One of the wolves gave a quick series of barks before the rest of the pack dispersed into the darkness, leaving the two of them alone. What could have driven them off? He thought with worry for the closest things they had to weapons were wood cutting hatchets. His answer soon came when a loud and dreadfully all too familiar bleating sound began to fill the air.
Beastmen! He thought with terror, as soon as the bleating began, the wolves began barking once more and there were shouts of pain and loud, high-pitched whines. He suddenly felt his sister tugging at his hand as she was trying to drag him away. No words were needed to be said as Adalhard allowed his elder sister to lead them way away from the ensuing battle between the beastmen and the witch's wolves.
The sounds of the fighting between the mutants and the wolves echoed across the night air. Mentally praying to Sigmar and Taal for protection, the baker's son and his sister ran as fast as they could, towards where the witch had laired and hoping that the Wolfenhexe would offer them shelter and protection.
Adalhard's heart began to pound like a drum within his chest, never had the boy run so fast in his life. His terror granted him speed as adrenaline coursed through his body, no doubt the same could be said for his sister. Quickly hearing the loud screeching of several bats ahead of them, Adalhard called for his sister to duck and she let go of his hand while dropping her lantern.
Swiftly throwing themselves to the ground as the swarm of bats flew passed them; Adalhard felt the painful impact as his body collided with the ground. Groaning in pain, the baker's son felt sore all across the front of his body, looking about to find his sister, he saw that Adalheid was also getting up.
'Are you all right?' rasped his elder sisters as she looked to him.
'I am' was all Adalhard said before another series of loud roars pierced the air. Looking back with mounting terror to see if the beastmen were following them, they could see nothing of the mutants who sounded like they were still struggling with the witch's pets. Hearing an audible footstep ahead of them, Adalhard's heart skipped a beat as he quickly turned to see what it was.
In front of the boy and his sister, past the meager light created by the lantern Adalheid had dropped, he saw a writhing mass of shadows moving within the darkness. 'It seems you children have come at a poor time' came a smooth and seductive voice from within the living shadows. Gently stepping out of the mass of darkness, Adalhard saw the witch of whom the folk of his town had made a pact with.
Just as the others had described the witch, the Wolfenhexxe was barely clad in strips of fur garments while a mask of bone covered her face, emerald green light glowed from the eye sockets of the wolf skull. The witch's hands also glowed with the same baleful green light, her nails were long and sharp, and each one looked like they could be the points of a dagger.
'Run along now little morsels…' spoke the witch in a hissing voice without even looking at them, her gaze was focused on where the bats had flown to 'I shall be along shortly'. Not needing any further encouragement, both Adalhard retrieved the lantern his sister had dropped and both of them ran off into the woods, leaving the witch to deal with the beastmen.
As they ran, Adalhard began to hear a long, lone wolf howl which chilled him to his very soul…
Watching intently as the battle between the beastmen and the wolves played out, Hjalmar noted a faint stirring within the Winds of Magic. Shortly after the fight had begun, he saw the swarm of bats which were also tainted by Dhar, descend upon the beastmen. Their bats harried the beastmen, attacking them with fang and claw as the remaining wolves savaged their legs and tried to bring the beastmen down.
The Everlasting were already moving around the Sorcerer Lord to form a defensive phalanx. Locking their shields with one another to form a formidable wall, they scanned the darkness around them with eyes which saw the world through Witchsight alone. Hjalmar continued to observe the battle and he saw the pattern of which the Dhar-tainted animals fought, it was clear to the Sorcerer Lord that they were being guided by a greater intelligence.
Could the Leech be near he thought? As he further surveyed the area and he saw that there was one lone wolf running towards the fray. This wolf he quickly noted was practically wreathed in Dhar like a cloak while the Amethyst Wind of Shyish had filled its very essence. The Vampire! He thought with surprise, the one who had stolen his master's tome!
Resisting the urge to order the Everlasting to mobilize, he thought that perhaps he should watch and see first. With his vision focused entirely upon this vampire which had taken the form of a wolf, Hjalmar was soon able to get a clear look at the creature which ran towards the beastmen, its fur was a fine glossy coat of purest black, its eyes glowed emerald green with Dhar and he noted that its head was covered by a skull which was not its own. He saw the vampire leap onto the back of a gor which had dug its spear into another wolf, the vampire bit into the back of the gor's neck and it tore the flesh and fur off of the beastman and exposing its spine to the world.
The beastman roared in agony as the vampire-wolf's claws gouged great bloody rents into its back, Hjalmar noted that the vampire was using magic to imbue its own strength. The Sorcerer Lord had precious little experience in dealing with the blood-drinkers, from what he had read though, Vampires supposedly get stronger with age. Both he and the Everlasting then should probably expect to face an opponent with great, supernatural strength; he hoped that the enchantments upon their armour would hold.
The Vampire quickly leapt off of the back of the beastmen and it went towards a spear wielding Ungor which busy trying to keep back three wolves. The vampire lunged towards the back of the Ungor's right thigh and with one swift jerk of its head; it tore away the meat which covered the bones. The unfortunate beastman fell to its side and the wolves it tried to keep away were quick to begin tearing at its flesh.
The Vampire continued this series of assaults, it focused on the beastmen who were either battling several wolves at once or targeted those larger and stronger ones who were leading their kin. Hjalmar could see the further swirls of Dhar in the Winds of Magic, the bodies of the wolves, bats and beastmen slain in the battle had begun to twitch as the Vampire infused their bodies with magic. The corpses soon began to rise back, the beastmen gave a low moan as they clutched their weapons or lurched towards their still living kin.
Quickly switching back to his mortal sight, Hjalmar ordered the Everlasting to advance. While he was confident that the claws and fangs of the bats and wolves would not be able to do any real harm to his warband, the addition of the now zombified beastmen could prove to be a fatal distraction against the vampire. Following the heavy steps of the Everlasting, Hjalmar began to draw upon the Winds of Magic, he would need to make this quick if they were to put the vampire down.
An aura of lightning surrounded Hjalmar's armoured body, the crackling electricity around his weapons intensified as Tzeentch granted him a small extra measure of power. The Sorcerer Lord heard the voice of a beastman cheering as the creature caught sight of the Everlasting; the morale of the beastmen was quickly bolstered as they began praising his name as well as that of his patron deity.
Several bats shifted their flight and they began to assail the Everlasting, their screeching and chittering proved to be nothing more than an annoyance to Hjalmar as their claws and fangs scratched against the helmets and armour of his master's warriors. Raising his staff high, Hjalmar whispered words of power and a stream of lightning burst out from the top of the staff. Several of the bats were struck by the jolts of electricity and their ruined bodies fell in charred husks which crumbled to dust as soon as they struck the ground.
Those wolves who were busy tearing into the flesh of beastmen had quickly set their gaze upon the Everlasting. A loud series of barks came from the black furred wolf he recognized as that of the vampire's and several of the wolves quickly ran off into the forest while those who clearly were undead, stayed and fight. One undead wolf leapt towards the left leg of an Everlasting, its jaws clamped down upon the enchanted steel greaves which had once protected flesh and bone.
With contemptuous ease, the Everlasting warrior thrust his enchanted sword into the undead wolf's back, the blade cut through its flesh and severed the spine as easily as if the warrior were cutting through air. Around Hjalmar, similar scenes played out, the undead wolves attacked the Everlasting who felt nothing of pain, the teeth and claws of the animals proved useless against their imbued plate armour. The zombified beastmen on the other hand proved to be of a slightly more dangerous prospect as they hurled spears, rocks and fired arrows at the Everlasting, most of which only scratched the enchanted armour of the Chaos Warriors.
The Everlasting cut down the zombified beastmen as easily as they had done with the wolves, the surviving beastmen continued to chant the name of Hjalmar and Tzeentch as they fought their undead kin with renewed vigor. Muttering more spells, the Sorcerer Lord obliterated more of the bats with fire and lightning, their furry bodies were reduced to ashes and bones. From his recent experience of fighting the undead, Hjalmar had learned that one of the best methods of destroying them was to either sever the head, cut up the bodies into several small pieces, burn them, or basically to do whatever it takes to make sure that there would be nothing left to bring back.
Bellowing an order to the Beastmen in the Dark Tongue and telling them to sever or destroy the heads of the dead, the Beastmen quickly obeyed and they fell upon the dead in a savage frenzy of ripping, tearing and smashing. Soon the forest became silent as the last of the undead were slain, the only sound Hjalmar could hear was the ragged breathing of the beastmen and wind blowing against the leaves.
'Regroup and march!' commanded the Sorcerer Lord and with perfect precision, the Everlasting reformed their previous marching formation. Time was of the essence now; they needed to be swift lest the Vampire escape into the night with the Tome in hand.
With paws swiftly landing upon the grassy earth, Meike von Königsbrandt continued to run in her lupine form, the remnants of her pet wolves were following her back to the cave. Despite having the advantage of speed, the vampire knew that she did not have much time to prepare her defenses. Already, the vampire was focusing her will upon the bones which littered the entrance of her current home.
As she ran, she could feel each of the bones begin to vibrate as dark magic began to infuse them. The skeletons of beastmen, skaven, ogres, greenskins and a few humans were already slowly pulling themselves together to form up into her own personal army. Already, she had plotted out how to deal with these northern barbarians, all she needed to do now was to get them to cave, once they were inside the trap would be sprung.
Continuing to run at full pace, she picked up the smell of the two mortals the villagers had sent to her. Although she had fed the previous night and had need of only one of the mortals this evening, the vampire supposed that if things get rather difficult, she could use a second helping. Literally barking commands towards her pets, the pack of wolves changed their course to face the mortals.
As they drew closer to the two, Meike could see their heartfires and smell the fear on them, as intoxicating as it normally was, the vampire had little time to savor it. Loudly barking towards the mortals, she saw them turn their heads towards the pack of wolves. The vampire noted that one of the mortals, the girl was trying to protectively place herself in front of the boy who was clearly the girl's sibling.
Willing her body to change back to its normal shape, Meike felt the familiar agony as her bones crumbled to dust and began to reshape itself. With a loud hiss of pain, the muscles and tendons beneath her flesh began to twist as well while clumps of fur fell off to reveal smooth, pale skin. The transformation took only a few moments, she had been moving when it began but never did her step falter and with a graceful step forward, she stood still for moment.
Standing upright upon her own bare feet, Meike placed her hands around her head and gently cracked some of the kinks out of her neck bones. Lowering her gaze upon the mortals who were a bit shorter than she was, the vampire imposed her will upon the two who had been staring at her in both horror and morbid fascination, no doubt the boy was looking at other things as well for the wolf skull was the only thing which remained on Meike. Easily dominating their minds, she then commanded them to follow her.
No other words were needed to be said as the two youths obeyed the vampire, already she could feel the power of the Chaos Sorcerer who led the warband to be drawing closer. No doubt that the Sorcerer would be tracking her position through Witchsight. By all means then she thought, let them follow her, for she was ready for them.
The pursuit of the Leech not take Hjalmar and his warband very long. They soon arrived at the mouth of a cave which was saturated with Dhar. The Sorcerer Lord also noticed that the ground was completely churned up outside of the the cave; no doubt the Vampire had an army of undead minions inside. This would be the perfect sort of place for a trap he thought, looking towards the remaining beastmen which had followed him, he gave the creatures orders to enter the cave.
The Beastmen obeyed Hjalmar and they converged around the entrance of the cave while Sorcerer Lord checked for any sort of arcane defenses. Through his Witchsight, Hjalmar saw no particular forms of magical traps or glyphs which would unleash a deadly spell upon the unwary. What caught his eye though was that amidst the presence of refined Dhar, he saw the raw, solidified essence of Chaos itself, Warpstone.
There was a large amount of Warpstone within the cave he realized with interest for the Sorcerer Lord was quite knowledgeable in the ways of alchemy and the forge. With all that Warpstone, he could brew powerful elixirs or craft mighty weapons for his master's army. Perhaps this quest was not a waste of time after all he thought with an avaricious grin.
Looking upon the weak spiritfires of the beastmen as they began to cautiously enter the cave, Hjalmar watched and waited to see what the vampire had in store for them. Nothing happened at first as they moved deeper into the cave where he felt the presence of the Tome; he was relieved that at least, it had not been moved yet. Eventually, the Sorcerer Lord caught sight of a series of skeletal constructs; each one carried an object which reeked of Warpstone. At a closer look, Hjalmar noted that the skeletons were those of Skaven and immediately he knew what weapons they carried.
The skeletal skaven hurled their deadly glass spheres of poisonous warpstone gas towards the beastmen. In mere seconds, several of them fell, twitching and writhing as blood pooled within their lungs and throats. Those beastmen at the front who had managed to avoid the gas were quickly fighting their way back and trying to get out of the cave but those who were at the back of the group misinterpreted their kin's sudden violence as treachery.
The beastmen quickly fell into fighting one another like orcs, they ended up slashing and stabbing at one another in the dark as the skeletal skaven hurled more of the poisoned globes. Annoyed at how useless the beastmen turned out to be, Hjalmar ordered the Everlasting to cut a path through them. The ghostly warriors obeyed and they grouped up into a phalanx formation while the Sorcerer Lord remained outside with two of the Everlasting to watch him.
In perfect unison, they stepped forwards, into the cave with their armoured legs moving in symmetry. The beastmen looked to the Everlasting with hope at first but their hope soon turned into confusion and fear as the Everlasting brought their enchanted weapons down upon the beastmen. Caught between the bulwark of daemon-steel and the further explosions of poison gas clouds, the beastmen fought with the desperation of cornered rats, the irony was not lost upon Hjalmar.
In the end, their resistance proved useless for each of the Everlasting had once been a mighty Warrior of Chaos who had fought in countless wars. Each of them had retained all of their knowledge and skill of battle and warfare, each of them were no longer bothered by the mundane weaknesses of flesh and blood. As the screams of the beastmen eventually died down, the Everlasting continued to walk further into the cavern, the poison gas which had killed so many beastmen had no affect on the Warriors who even had no need to breathe in the first place.
The skeletal skaven quickly backed away from the Everlasting, Hjalmar may have interpreted this as the usual cowardice of their living kin but in the case of the Vampire though, it seemed likely that they had something planned. The march of the Everlasting was slow but steady as the cavern seemed to become more narrow.
Eventually, they came to what seemed to be a hastily erected series of barricades made from bones. Behind the barricades, Hjalmar saw more skeletal Skaven, each one seemed to be armed with a variety of the deadly weapons used by the ratmen. Two pairs of the skeletons carried a device he recognized as a Warpfire Thrower while another two pairs carried the rotating black powder weapons called Ratling Guns.
The undead ratmen operated their weapons as proficiently in death as they had done in life, the Warpfire throwers unleashed gouts of liquid, emerald fire which super-heated the armour of the Everlasting. Arcane runes of protection placed upon the armour of the Chaos Warriors glowed brightly as they tried to protect their owners; many of those which had not been imbued with spells of fire resistance eventually were overwhelmed. A number of the Everlasting at the front, whose bodies shielded their comrades behind them, fell to their knees as the armour which housed their souls was reduced to molten metal, those who marched behind pushed ever onwards, heedless of their losses.
In such an enclosed space with little to no cover to use, the Everlasting were forced to rely upon their shields and armour but it was known that the ratmen imbued their insane sciences with debased sorcery. The Ratling Gunners opened fire upon the Everlasting and the hail of bullets they unleashed were enough to stagger and knock back the ghostly warriors whose armour began to become dented before being torn up. Each bullet he saw was a glowing piece of sharpened warpstone, each one proving rather effective in tearing up the Chaos-imbued armour of the Everlasting.
Before Hjalmar knew it, nearly half of the Everlasting had been destroyed before one of the skaven flame weapons suddenly exploded in a ball of green fire. With a quite word of thanks towards Tzeentch, Hjalmar saw that the other weapons crews had been caught in the explosion as well with only one of the Ratling Gun crews still remaining. The skeletal gunners continued their volley of fire until steam began to hiss out of the gun and like the fire thrower, it exploded.
Thankful as well that the technology of the skaven was also at times, unreliable, Hjalmar watched the remainder of the Everlasting press on. Those who had survived were sporting various rents in their armour or patches of melted steel, the magic which kept the souls imprisoned and the suites of armour animated was now bleeding out. Hjalmar's thankfulness quickly turned into muttered curses as the damage that had been done was just too much.
It was highly likely now that even if he does get the Tome back, he would only have two of Everlasting, the ones who stayed behind to protect him as his protectors back to the Chaos Wastes. Ordering the remaining Everlasting who had gone inside to press on further, he felt the stirring of Dhar within the cave. The survivors soon came into a chamber which was littered with various pieces of broken machinery, waiting at the other end of the chamber though, Hjalmar saw dozens of skeletal warriors waiting for the Everlasting.
Seeing the bones of greenskins, beastmen, skaven, ogres and a few human ones standing in serried ranks, the Sorcerer Lord saw what looked to be a mummified Ogre leading them. The Ogre mummy lifted a huge cleaver towards the Everlasting and it gave a silent command to charge. The remaining Everlasting marched on without a word, as did the skeletons, no war cries were shouted, no orders were made, only the sounds of their boots and skeletal feet stepping upon the cavern floor.
When the two silent armies met, their blades clashed in showers of sparks as bones were crushed and pulverized into dust. Despite the damage they had sustained, the Everlasting still proved to be more than a match for most of the skeletons, the only ones who were of any sort of real threat were the Ogres, Orcs and larger breeds of Beastmen. The undead though had numbers and it was clear that they were not mindlessly attacking the Everlasting.
Skeletal goblins, skaven and ungors leaped on to the Everlasting, trying to throw off the swings and thrusts of their attacks while the larger skeletons brought their weapons to bear. Cursing once more at this quick change of fortune, Hjalmar knew that he would be unable to claim the book now. He would have to find the nearest warband of either Beastmen or Warriors from the Brass Keep and garner their support.
With one last look into the cave, Hjalmar sought the vampire who led this army. Following the traces of Dhar and Shyish, he was able to find his nemesis who was sitting cross-legged upon a fur rug while the spiritfires of the two mortals he had seen earlier were nearby. Focusing his vision upon the Vampire so that at the least he could get a good look at it, Hjalmar became surprised to see that the vampire was not one of the two who had attacked his master's sanctum.
As his Witchsight became so focused to the point that he may as well have been looking at the vampire with his own eyes, Hjalmar saw that it was pale skinned, aristocratic looking woman who was wearing nothing at all. The skull of a wolf lay near the vampire woman whose eyes blazed with the emerald green light of necromantic magic. Her lips moved parted and moved as she whispered spells which either reanimated the fallen skeletons or further imbued them with magic.
Switching back to his normal sight, Hjalmar shook his head to banish the momentary disorientation before looking towards the entrance of the cave. This was not over he thought with cold anger, he would come back with a true army and when he did, he would offer the bloodsuckers' soul to Tzeentch. Ordering his last two Everlasting to follow him, Hjalmar left the cave entrance, plotting his revenge.
Watching with fear as unnatural light filled the eyes of the Wolfenhexxe, Adalhard and his sister could not help but stare at this unnatural display of witchcraft, they knelt and pressed themselves upon a smoothed, round corner of rock wall. Father Hubert had been right; the witch was indeed a necromancer for the bones of the dead had begun to move at her command. The sounds of fighting outside soon died down and an eerie silence filled the cavern.
The glowing light on the eyes of the witch eventually began to flicker and dim until they saw a pair of shining obsidian orbs. The witch then just blinked for a moment and she looked at them with a predatory smile which caused Adalheid to tighten her protective embrace around him, the side of his face was pressed tightly upon his sister's chest. The witch slowly got up to her feet, her form was illuminated by the dying candle in his sister's lantern.
Seeing the witch of whom was not only completely naked now but also very attractive in the way noble-born girls are, Adalhard could not help but feel more than a bit aroused. The witch slowly walked towards them, the boy noticed that there was a slight wobble in her steps as if somewhat drunk.
'They are all gone now' said the witch in a regal voice 'my pets will keep watch for anymore that seek to trespass within my home.' The witch knelt down on one knee in front of the two of them and Adalhard struggled not to keep his stare at the witch's lady parts. 'So which of you children are here to keep me warm this night?' questioned the witch.
'I am, ma'am' replied Adalhard with nervousness and he felt his sister's grip tighten a little.
'Take me instead!' Adalheid suddenly then said with a mixture of fear and desperation.
'How touching' said the witch as she stroked a bloodied finger upon his sister's cheek. 'Unfortunately I am absolutely famished now' the witch then said as she smiled and the boy noticed the unusually long fangs she had, Adalhard quickly realized with terror what the witch truly was.
'Don't worry too much though little morsels' the Wolfenhexxe then said with a smile which was rather predatory 'I will make sure that both of you will only have sweet dreams for tonight…'