"Stand fast, champions of the light, and no foe shall overcome us! Before our faith the uncounted hordes of the Lich King, the savagery of the orcs and the unholy monstrosities of the Burning Legion were broken with righteous fury. Now those who choose to imitate Sargeras' fallen legions shall share their fate! "
It wasn't exactly a true claim of course. This new foe was clearly ancient beyond human reckoning, and if what the magi claimed was true, it may have been Sargeras who was the imitator rather than vice versa. That didn't matter to Paladin for these creatures were just as foul and unholy as the next, if in different shades.
Just as the Alliance was a righteous mix of many noble races working toward common good and the Horde a coalition working for common survival, the new enemy before him was also a mixture of different daemon types, crazed fanatical tribesmen reminiscent of the Vyrkul, filthy vermin and horrible man-beasts that, despite the similarity, possessed none of the nobility of the Tauren. He had heard still other creatures existed in this Legion of Debauchery, such as malicious dwarfs, blood-mad elves and yet worse races, but fortunately he had yet to see them.
Raising his hammer, Paladin Luc Dawnbringer blessed the soldiers at the forefront with light-backed vigor. Energy and morale renewed, the frontline footmen hacked at their barbarian foes with greater zeal than before, blessed by the magnificent powers of the divine. Reacting quickly Luc next healed a Dwarven Footman with a cut to his throat and instantly sealed up the wound. Though woozy from loss of blood the soldier continued to fight, albeit weakly, barely deflecting a blow aimed at his helmet. Still the dwarf gave a cry of thanks.
The Paladin smiled sadly; these men deserved whatever aid he could provide, for he knew none of them were making it out alive.
In truth it was a hopeless suicide mission, a desperate rearguard action. All volunteer. Their mission was only to buy enough time for evacuation forces to teleport away those still inside the city. Luc and his forces of about a hundred or so would hold the city gate (which, as far as he could tell, was the only real entrance into the city) to buy time. A hundred against a horde of thousands, at least. The original plan had been for them to hold until the all-clear was given for command, whereupon the group's mage would create a portal to teleport the surviving squad mates out of there. At the same time, aircraft above would contest the walls to prevent the enemy from gaining them and buy time for the military of the natives to move equipment.
At first the skirmish went smoothly, with the mage temporarily freezing the gateway solid and then blasting dozens that managed to come through with well-placed icicle projectiles. Those who made it past the magical barrage had to deal with the Alliance's heavily armored footsoldier. Unfortunately the enemy had adapted, sending daemonic dogs through a hole in the ice. Ice, fireballs, even arcane blasts all dissipated before the foul collars of the beasts. Zealous marauders took advantage of the distraction to break through the Ice Gate. Dawnbringer had brought his own Light to bear to defend the mage, only for the collars to have the same effect. In desperation Dawnbringer had charged in with his own mighty hammer, helped by footmen who could spare themselves from holding the front. After a brief but vicious fight he and the footmen hacked and smashed the dogs to pieces, but it was too late for the mage. The mage had been weak, unable to fight a foe designed specifically to hunt her kind and Luc had failed to protect her.
A failure made all the more horrible by the small fact that that mage, Eliza, had been his wife.
Luc attempted to use the Light to heal a beleaguered Footman at the front only for a sudden blow to slice through the boy's neck entirely, putting him well beyond salvation on this plane of existence. The Paladin adjusted accordingly, and beseeched the light to magnify its intensity. Ever faithful, the Light did as commanded, and a few marauders at the front were blinded by its sheer luminosity. The Footmen took advantage of the distraction to plant swords through unprotected ribs. Unfortunately others shielded be press of bodies from the blinding light pushed aside their afflicted fellows to the ground and charged in regardless. A Footman who overextended himself was tackled to the ground while another took a Warhammer to the helmet, its tip penetrating through steel.
It was true that many in the order looked at the Magi of Daralan with suspicious eyes. Mages had long been thought of as fools who coaxed their own corruption, to be tolerated only because Duty and Honor demanded so (this was the same mantra that forced the Holy Orders to tolerate unholy Warlocks, though with far greater reluctance). Yet Dawnbringer had looked past the dogma and seen the Light in this mage's every action. During the campaign against the Lich King he had seen her risk her life to protect Tuskarr refugees from mighty Jormundar wyrms of the Ashen Wastes, brave a blighted village to teleport Wolvar children to safety, and lead a daring assault into a Nerubian lair. The pair had worked together on these missions, at first only as distant partners, then as friends and, finally, as more than friends. It was after the campaign of suppression against the Worgen of Grizzly Hills (who were unfortunately unlike the noble Gilneans in every manner) that he had asked the obvious question, and she had accepted. The rest was, as they say, history.
Luc sighed. Now it really was history. His only solace was that his wife lay in the gentle comforting arms of the light now. In the past he might have given to grief and anger, throwing himself at the enemy in reckless abandon and extreme prejudice. He certainly had after the Great Betrayal of Lordaeron, when Arthas had butchered his father's kingdom in a few days. Many of his brothers had been lost to the Scourge or else driven to the insane zealotry of the Scarlet Crusade. He himself had come close to joining the latter, but was ultimately inspired by the example of Lord Fordring and chose a higher path. A path of enlightenment that allowed him to overcome the lower road to vengeance that in turn led to a life of unending murder.
However another possibility that the Paladin was intellectually honest enough to admit was that over the course of Azeroth's endless conflicts he had become so acclimated to death that not even that of one as close as his wife could provoke an extreme emotion. Indeed this new conflict had only given him greater loss, and both he and his wife had lost trusted friends, including the best man at their wedding, in a raid on a Vermin-burrow the week before. Though that raid was ultimately successful in that they rescued the captives, the pair and a handful of fellow soldiers had only escaped by the skin of their teeth.
Suddenly, a command roared out and the fur-clad marauders pulled back. Luc shouted out a command of his own, ordering his footmen, warriors and guardsmen back into a centralized formation. The Paladin commander took a quick survey of his own forces and noted the dismal results. In the last thirty minutes more than two thirds of his original force had been worn down by successive waves of barbarians, beasts and daemons. The former admittedly did not offer his force supreme difficulty and indeed seemed to have a modus operandi that favored lots of space and duel-like scenarios, neither of which could be found in the crowded gateway. Worse for the savages as the narrow path filled with bodies room to maneuver was likewise limited, resulting in yet more causalities for the invaders. This did not deter the invaders in the slightest. By estimation his force of a hundred probably killed almost three times its number but the zeal of the enemy was impeccable.
In particular the Daemons posed a terrifying and ferocious otherworldly threat that could not be easily countered. Earlier a handful of Daemons with blades made of hellfire and burning runes had assaulted his position with maddening fury and a lust for blood that could be felt as well as seen. Their charge temporarily broke the shield wall, their blades remarkably capable of hacking through steel and soul alike. It was a point of pride that his men did not waver, and though clearly intimidated by their new foes they reorganized, and had combined to work together to hack them to insubstantial dust. The Light had done its particular part for its hallowed properties are the antithesis of all daemon kind.
Now a new foe was coming. The savages outside the gate began beating their shields and chests. Next came a chant, spoken over and over again. Curious Luc took out a scroll his wife once gave him, a marvel in magic that had allowed global empires to function. Thanks to the efforts of Archmage Rosetta and her supporters Alliance adventurers had traveled across three worlds with minimum difficulty in understanding the locals.
He quickly read its arcane words and instantly the nonsensical became translatable, though it still didn't make sense.
'Chosen! Chosen! Chosen!"
Chosen?
"Chosen! Chosen ! Chosen! "
Above the deafening roar of the crowd a clanking of solid metal on pavement could be heard. Luc felt his heart begin to race; this would not bode well.
"Chosen! Chosen! Chosen!"
Luc hurriedly ordered his men to reload what crossbows they had left in their possession. In rows, so a sudden rush couldn't take advantage of the lapse in formation. He needn't have worried.
"Chosen! Chosen ! Chosen!"
The savage crowd parted, revealing fifteen giants of metal and muscle from which hung an aura of pure malevolent might. Skulls, some stylized and others horribly real, adorned the armor. Strange and foul symbols that hurt the eye to perceive covered other portions of the armor. Though not physically as large as the Vyrkul of the Icy North that was their closest familiar, just from appearances alone Luc could tell they were more formidable in spades.
His men hastily finished reloading the crossbows, their hands starting to shake as they hadn't before.
"Chosen! Chosen! Chosen!"
A one-armed warlord stepped in front, a creature of such malice that reality itself seemed to reject his presence. Mounted on a giant snarling dog of brass and blood the size of an ox reality seemed to twitch under the man's very presence. Strange colors emanated from his form, leering faces hung in the air one moment before dissipating instantly as the eye blinked. Somewhere, perhaps over the crowd or perhaps in the paladin's own mind, he could hear the terrifying screams of the damned as they endured unimaginable torment.
The Tenor of the crowd changed
"Champion! Champion! Champion!"
The champion's eyes swept across the foe before him, moving calmly across the remaining forty or so footmen who, though clearly frightened, nevertheless stood motionless in their posts. Then the eyes of the scion of Darkness met that of the champion of the Light, and remained locked. Around the champion the vibrant colors seemed to intensify with new passion while Luc felt the Light magnify within him.
Luc knew he was not suited to a direct fight. Among those of his order he had chosen to specialize in the path of healing and rejuvenation rather than that of explicit defense or retribution. While Dawnbringer abstained from neither, nor feared the prospect of either, he recognized the disadvantage he would shortly be in.
Yet, and the Paladin stole a glance here at the body of Eliza, he would not shirk from his duty. He never had and never would.
Suddenly a corpse broke through a crowd, a ghoulish figure that was more skeleton than flesh, more rags than skin. Its skull was sunken, its chest maimed with all sorts of fell-wounds. It took the Paladin several long moments to realize it was a man still, not a cadaver. Yet it was also clear that he would not remain so long.
The pitiful creature tripped and fell to the dirt as the crowd fell silent. Blood and bile poured from his mouth as the body twitched and spasmed. Then, with laborious difficulty the man picked himself up, breathing deep and heavy. For a moment the paladin was tempted to heal the creature, yet the Dark Marks branded into the ghoul-man's skin caused him to hold back.
Cracking, the head lifted itself slowly up towards the now frightened footmen, flickering between the soldiers of the ranks. Then, with eyes locked up Luc, the man bellowed a simple declaration but not one in his own tongue, but that of the humans of Azeroth.
'HER HARBINGER COMES!'
With his last bit of energy expended the man collapsed.
It was then that the Champion, the Harbinger raised his sword in the air in a primitive salute, a gesture his followers aped. Without further preamble his warriors charged past him as one, the still-chanting fur-clad barbarians flowing behind him.
"Footmen! Open Fire!"
Two dozen bolts sprang through the air, burying into flesh and steel. Yet, no matter where they buried, they seemed to do not nothing more than aggravate the Chosen and did nothing to halt the momentum of their charge. Even a shaft to the eye could only slow the brute briefly. The daemon-corrupted man stopped for a pair of long moments before snarling loudly, pulling the shaft from the socket (with the eyeball gruesomely still attached!) and charged towards the man who fired it. One volley was all that could be unloaded in time. Hastily, and with greater trepidation than before, the Footmen lifted their shields one last time.
Like a brick thrown through glass the Chosen crashed into the Footmen wall. Crashed through it. Footmen were hurled backwards or else only narrowly kept their footing. Other soldiers tried in vain to slice or stab through the Chosen metal yet only one made through the joint succeeded. And that just made the injured Chosen angrier. The Chaos soldier's avenging strike cleaved straight through the man's helmet and buried itself halfway down the skull. Other Chosen tackled fallen foes, pinning them with crushing weight the iron warriors tore through steel carapace with animalistic savagery.
To make matters worse the periodic aircraft fire from the top of the walls had ceased. Guttural noises could be heard above.
Something was in the air. The Paladin's determination strained for a moment as his anger and rage rose to a crescendo, the desire to kill and murder threatening to overwhelm training, discipline, and even the Light's presence itself! Willpower prevailed. Luc shook off its affects, though his men were not so lucky. Several of them visibly struggled to suppress the sudden homicidal urge to fight with reckless abandon, while at least two abandoned what was left of the shield line entirely to charge in hacking haphazardly into the enemy mass. They were swiftly surrounded and torn apart. Whether the result was distraction or total disorder the marauders took advantage of the ill-discipline to press forward. Already they had passed out of the gateway and into the field surrounding it. No longer constrained by the tight confines of the gatehouse the superior numbers of the marauders rushed across the flanks of the footmen.
The situation had already deteriorated beyond any salvation, Luc noted with a rising panic. Yet he also knew that the evacuation needed more time, that he would have to buy it.
Turning to the heavens he screamed with all his might
"Light give us strength!"
Ever faithful, the Light responded graciously. Men who previously had felt terror and hopelessness in their hearts suddenly were renewed by otherworldly zeal and fresh vigor. Their blows now hit harder, and with burning light that made even the flesh of the Chosen sting. Still the power of the foul Daemon Darkness hung over their foes, and as yet only a few had been wounded, not destroyed.
That would change.
Luc may not have specialized in the combat applications of the light, but he would not, could not shy away from it here. He and his men were doomed, as he had known they were from the beginning, but every life saved by delay to the enemy forces made the death more glorious and worthwhile. Luc believed firmly with all his heart that just as the heroic defenders of Mt. Hyjall bought time for Stormrage's plan to come into fruition, delay would only serve to help the forces of the Alliance and Horde build a stronger position to destroy this foe once and for all.
His hammer beamed so brightly with the light that it seemed to him that the tiniest portion of the sun had fallen from the heavens. In fact he could feel the light shining over his entire body. Hopelessness and fatalism disappeared entirely. With a battle cry the Paladin charged into the melee.
The first mighty blow with his hammer slammed into a chosen's pauldrons. Charged with his holy might his blow did what no Footman axe or sword could do and dented it inwards. The Chosen's focus immediately shifted to this new threat. In a blurred motion the chaos warrior slashed his fel-crafted sword across the Paladin's chest. Steel bent before its path as if it were little more than leather armor .From the first strike alone the Paladin nearly fell, and perhaps would have had not the enchanted jewels socketed in his armor by Draenei artificers willed to life. As with all tools of that Light-Blessed race, the jewels themselves held fragments of magical or divine energy. As the blade slashed into a particularly large jewel it chipped and sung when struck, but ultimately arrested the momentum.
The speed of the blade surprised Luc, but merely affirmed a past comparison. Here were the corrupted blademasters of the Everchosen, just as the Burning Blade clan exemplified martial arts of the Horde. For a moment he wished he was a Paladin of the martial variant, a follower of the retribution path.
Unnoticed by the Paladin the ground trembled as the champion of the Blood God, unable to suppress his mount's innate bloodlust nor that of his own mount any longer, stormed forward. The two ton combination of brass and iron crashed through several marauders, goring them as it past. Those unlucky enough to fall beneath the creature were ground to paste beneath it. The Harbinger eagerly joined, his sword cleaving across the skulls of two more chaos men. There was no shame, no regret in the killing of allies here; after all it did not matter from where the blood flowed, only that it continued to do so.
Meanwhile, Dawnbringer discovered quickly mortal man could match the Chosen's reflexes. Only the light-enhanced of Dawnbringer allowed him to keep up- barely. The Paladin deflected the Chosen's next chop deftly however he had no opportunity to take advantage of the triumph. An instant later and the sword were narrowly deflected off his side, followed by a third blow to the groin. The Chosen pulled back to thrust it directly towards the sternum. Luc tried to parry the blow but here the superior strength of the barbarian forced it through, and then through steel and jewel armor alike.
The Paladin labored in vain to suppress his cry. The terrible corrupting magic endowed in his blade sapped his strength, poisoned his blood and set his very spirit afire.
In desperation he called upon the healing properties of the light once more. Then, just as the barbarian was about to strike again Dawnbringer amplified the light and redirected it. A Forsaken Apothecary had once told him, in a rare moment of peace between their two factions, that what could heal could easily kill in larger quantities. The adage proved true here.
A brilliant flash of blinding light slammed down onto the chaos warrior from the heavens. For a moment a deep, terrifying scream echoed across the battlefield. The Light judged the Chosen, judged his every action, sin and daemon enhancement, judged his very soul itself. And then it cleansed. Dawnbringer watched in awe as it burned away everything in its charge to 'purify and renew'.
When the light dissipated a few chunks of scarred armor and scorched gore fell to the ground. Only dust marked the rest. Dawnbringer bowed his head in both gratitude for the Light's intervention and some faint feelings of sadness that his foe had become so corrupted that his soul was truly past redemption.
There were only thirteen footmen left now. Using the blinding burst of light as cover (for it had briefly stunned the barbarians) the soldiers maneuvered around the Paladin and formed a defensive circle. Weakened, exhausted by an hour of conflict the shield wall was a pathetic shadow of its normal glory. But as a last stand at least they would die together. For his part Dawnbringer knew he had expended too much energy in the last attack and his defense would now suffer.
Before the barbarians could charge something large and mechanical howled a dread cry of hate, rage and bloodlust combined. It slammed through the barbarian ranks violently and then, without stopping a moment, slammed into the Footmen.
All fourteen men were sent flying. Two were crushed underneath the thing's long strides. Another got back up and tried to drive his sword through its eyes. The creature growled and then impaled its attacker on its blade horn in the same manner of a woolly rhino of Northrend. The Footman vomited up a stream of bile, blood and gore onto the creature and its master. Most appallingly the creature seemed to relish and grow strength from it.
Now the barbarians hit the shattered force. In group and formation the Footman was more than a match for any barbarian. Armor, steel and discipline ensured the bulwark of the Alliance suffered far less causalities than the frothing, blood-mad, berserk and unwieldy barbarians. Alone however, was a different story as marauder skill, ferocity and experience of constant bloodshed gave an impressive edge. The numbers of the barbarians made the contest only more one-sided. Even as he glanced three barbarians tackled one Footman to the ground while another physically overpowered a second, wrenching the heather shield from weakened grasp. Before the he could recover the barbarian slammed his club into the Footman's neck hard enough for a loud, audible crack to be heard over the din of battle.
No hope for survival, only for further delay. Despite being thoroughly exhausted Luc dragged himself up for one last sortie.
One last time the Light answered his pleas. Light bathed him its glory. His mallet shone so brightly to be blinding. His spirit and fledging morale was momentarily restored.
With a last battle cry the Paladin thundered towards the Chaos Champion. However others had different ideas. Two marauders, eager to achieve glory from killing the enemy commander, rushed into his path. The first leapt at the Paladin, his dual blood-caked swords seemingly aching for a refresher. Luc did a half turn with his arms at shoulder length and swung. The Hammer caught the flying barbarian right in the chest and hit so hard that it caused a several inch long indentation. Needless to say the barbarian did not get up.
The Champion was yet distracted by the blows of one of the last footmen, his mount still trying to shake off the impaled, dying man. The second was more cautious and with a spear and shield adopted a more defensive stance. Dawnbringer blinded him with a blast of light and before the marauder could recover slammed the hammer into his knees. Luc sprinted past the collapsing man, eager to save his most powerful blow for the champion himself. Other marauders rushed after him, but they were not yet close enough to interfere with his path.
The Champion caught sight of him, the menacing glare nearly breaking the Paladin's spurt of bravery. His axe waved out in an obvious signal of a challenge, an aspect of his culture held to be nearly sacred. Most of his followers wisely backed off. One blood-mad, foaming, naked Berserker ignored the warning, rushing forward. Before the Paladin could even raise his guard the berserker split in two. His frontal half landed a full ten feet from his other half. Amazingly the warrior attempted to crawl forward still, his one arm barely holding onto his cleaver, his sanguine eyes fixed upon his potential prey. The Paladin brought the hammer down on his skull.
Behind the Paladin the last remaining footmen wearily rallied, not even the Light's basking glow able to stop feet from quaking. That they would stand at all was a testament to their courage, integrity and honor. Traits lost on these barbarians.
The Champion waved his axe again, this time with impatience. The Paladin lifted his hammer in acknowledgement, knowing that this challenge could only buy his men- and the city behind him- more time. Behind the Champion the marauders began to bang weapons against shields rhythmically, while the newly arrived Beastmen brayed.
Now was his only chance. The Holy warrior rushed towards the unholy. The Champion dismounted, his mount growling but stationary.
Using his waning reserves of energy the Paladin unleashed a burst of holy energy at his foe. The Champion's collar glowed malevolently and as the attack hit the energy redirected into it, absorbed as completely as the his wife's frost had been absorbed by the hound's from earlier.
The Champion gave an audible snarl as if the ineffectual blow was a mortal offense. Now the champion lumbered forward to meet the Paladin's charge. Luc was pushed back, unable to withstand the 1 ton momentum. His glowing hammer reached out only to be dashed aside by the champion's axe. Before the Paladin could pull back the second blow, made with the flat of the blade, and nearly backhanded the Paladin off his feet.
As the Champion brought his axe down the Paladin unleashed a burst of Blinding Light. Such was the high intensity of the attack that it blinded everyone around; footmen, chosen, clanging barbarians and braying beasts and even momentarily disoriented the Champion. Luc attacked again only to groan in pain as the axe unerringly deflected the blow and dug into his arm. As the Paladin prepared to heal a second blow scrapped off part of the calf on his right leg.
Too simplistic, too straightforward. What would his wife say? She who had always gently mocked his order's inflexible morals, hierarchal rules and emphasis on tradition. Eventually Eliza's emphasis on critical thinking and creativity affected her then-friend, and it was a severe deviation that led Luc to even consider pursuing Eliza in the first place. Though some in the order had derided him as tainted the Light never forsook him and glowed as brightly as before.
The rigid, straightforward duels of his order could not work here. This was a foe beyond him in every conventional manner, immune to his light-backed powers and as above him in dueling skill as a Tauren was a Gnome in height. But though Luc was unable to harm the Champion with sorcery, that didn't mean he couldn't affect others…..
As the Champion fully recovered from the daze Luc reached out with his nearly depleted reserves of the Light to two braying, jeering Beastmen directly behind him. With another exertion he attacked them mentally with the light. Not enough to kill but to enrage. The creatures screeched and, forgetting their place and the duel unfolding before them, rushed towards the hated human magician.
The surprised Chaos champion turned, his axe swirling to catch the two frothing, furious beasts that appeared to the entire world to be charging at him rather than at his enemy. In a single swipe two came to equal four, however the distraction gave the Paladin what he needed.
With all the might and stamina he could muster the paladin leapt in the air and brought his glowing hammer down just as the champion turned. With a loud, deafening crack the hammer hit the man's face so hard his skull did a 110* degree angle around in its socket. Not done, the Paladin called upon the last reserves of the Light he could command. After a few moments a massive, Light spawned hammer formed above the Harbinger's head, towering over it like the Executioner's axe.
"Now feel the Light's justice!'
Out of the corner of his eye he a moving shadow faintly appeared but had no time to reflect as the Hammer crashed down with the force of a Blackrock locomotive. The Light was so blinding that not even Luc could pierce through it. It was one of the strongest spells known to his order, a literal Execution Sentence, and though Luc's spell was less powerful than some of the mightiest Paladins in the world it would have burned a Mogu or Ogre to ash in nothing flat.
.
Which was why Luc could never have expected the axe to emerge from the fiery inferno. Nor, at such a speed, would he have been able to react to it in time even if he had anticipated it.
The axe drove deep, impaling the man through the lung, breaking open his rib cage, even penetrating the spinal cord. Not even the Light could heal that. Luc should have collapsed to the ground but something animated him still…
Agony hit the Paladin as energy far fouler and more painful than the axe itself spread throughout his body. A fel force more ancient and malevolent than even the Old Gods chained at the heart of Azeroth set every nerve on fire. Blood, fire and scenes of carnage seized control of his vision, the clamor of war beckoning. The land smelled of blood and brass, his tongue drowned in the metallic tang of blood.
Beside him the Harbinger pulled the axe from the Paladin, the fel force that now permeated the holy warrior serving to prevent him from falling. Setting his axe aside on his mount the one armed warrior stretched his hand out towards his skull, his hand lingering on the glowing red hot collar. Then, with a violent twist, the Harbinger forcibly set turned his head back to the correct position. The warrior glanced briefly at the fragments of his mount, the instrument of Khorne that had served him since his mistress had first raised him up long ago. Melted beyond recognition the steed had saved its master from a fate even dwarf steel and brass collar couldn't protect against.
Will not of his own animated Luc's limbs, commanding him to rise was it should be impossible to stand. Fire poured into his veins and his vocals sized up. The Holy warrior's eyes met that of the Champion and in an instant images flooded his mind of past figures, beaten in battle, which were forced to announce the Champion's presence to his next victims. A fate that would soon befall a Paladin, a fate that would see him transformed into the Harbinger of the Harbinger.
Desperate, Luc cried out for the Light.
Pain beyond reckoning, tenfold worse than the previous debasement, attacked his soul as the forces of corruption and anti-corruption locked in combat. His body, mind and soul the battlefield to be warred over with Scorched Earth. The Paladin's vision faded out until only a distant bright white light remained a fragment of hope cast before one on the precipice of a life of utter madness and despair. Luc ran for its holy luminesce even as the screams of his men filled his ears, the jeers of Daemons his skull, and finally the laughter of Thirsting Gods in his very soul.
A.N. This little story has been in the works since even before I started Chapter Three but I had major issues with deciding where I wanted to go with it. Hopefully I concluded it in a satisfactory manner though the I had the end winner determined from the beginning.
Onto specific reviews, in reverse chronological order
Eoftar I commented on your review in private chat but I wanted to summarize some of what I said here for other readers, which is mostly in regards to the series of short stories I write for 'Azeroth meets the End Times', in contrast to my other story, is going to mainly focus on the lowest of the four factions, those at the bottom of the society. Clan Recundus is an example of that, a bottom clan so weak and powerless comparably to the the Skaven that it would be classified as a 'Rabble Clan'- which is a clan type the Skaven don't even bother to record. All it really had were a handful of Stormvermin, slaves and clanrats. The latter two troops are types that are used for numerical effect only- that is, in terms of quality, wield scraps of weapons and armor (doubly so for a poor clan that can't afford to give them better), are poorly trained and of course poor in morale. Lorewise these troops are so low in quality Skyre weapon teams don't even bat an eyelash firing into their hordes for they believe they are worthless, and in several End Times scenarios these two units were repelled even when they had a numerical advantage of 20-1!
The Footmen is impressive by Warhammer Standards, as it is a base grunt troop with the steel armor, shielding, and sword of a elite knight, along with having small crossbows in game. Scrapped together rusted iron or even wooden weapons of slaves and clanrats are going to have trouble penetrating that barring a lucky blow to the visor or weak joint (which most Skaven wouldn't have the knowledge to look for) and the only way I could see them being killed barring those blows was when the Skaven swarmed over them (which is something they do in lore) . That is made harder by the tight formation of the footman and the low maneuverability of the room. That said Skaven leaders view these troops as worthless, easily replaceable and thus often use pure attrition with them to wear down their foes. The loss of large numbers does not matter in the slightest to the Skaven, or even Beastmen or Chaos commanders, for they have such numbers that almost never run out. Stormvermin are better, and I think I did have them inflict causalities on the footmen, though 1 vs 1 I wouldn't consider the two equal.
To emphasize again Recundus is a dirt poor clan that could only barely afford the services of a Enshin ripoff or a minor Skyre team . Richer clans are far more formidable and can bring the services of the Four Greater clans in much greater numbers and quantity. If the Alliance chooses to make judgments from this battle they would do well to remember that the Skyre team actually broke through their lines, that the rip-off Enshin assassination squad killed several members. Neither Alliance/Horde is in for an easy time when it encounters a Clan like Mors for instance...
MadFrog Thank you for the kind comments sir!In response to the criticism you need not fear as I have both victories for all sides planned ahead .
reality deviant Thank you for the comments as well! I cannot say what the forces of the Old Gods say as of yet, but I can promise that I have some Warlock scenes planned in the future, and that they may well shed light on the Burning Legion's views (or at least that of certain daemons).
Lord-of-Change Thank you for your comments! To your criticism I will again promise victories of all sides, as well as losses, however I want to note that, lorewise in WHF, the forces of Chaos and Skaven probably do lose far more than they win (up until recently).Even in those victories, including those in the End Times, they take far more causalities than the order factions. It does not matter though, for Beastmen, Corrupted Man, Daemons and Skaven have such numbers to be easily replaceable . Archaon himself does not care if his forces take grotesquely disproportionate losses.
I have a belief that the forces of WC are more qualitative and technologically advanced overall than the order factions of WHF . The Alliance basic linemen has the armor of a WHF knight, they possess far more tanks and aircraft (including aerial aircraft carriers) and have far more common, though weaker, magic (I will get more into this in another post, but basically in WHF you generally will have 1 magician maybe for 8-10k troops) . Same advances apply for the Horde, though they rely as much on physical durability and savagery than armor . Add to this the persistent ranged weakness of almost all Chaos forces barring Chaos Dwarfs and Tzeentich Daemon forces (no dedicated ranged 'core units' for majority of Chaos armies, though rich enough Skaven clans can hire enough Skyre rats to compensate) which will cost them at the ranged portion of almost every fight. That said, again, the numbers of Chaos and Skaven grunts i such they can afford to take much greater causalities than their WHF order equivalents as well as WC.
Moonreaper666 My friend, I am afraid you are guilty of high ending here and perhaps of not looking deep into context. Certainly there are impressive examples of exceptional individuals or entire clans but my goal here is to best take account the prowess of the whole rather that high end individuals, though they too have their place. I mean do you use the world's greatest jogger record to judge the running speed of the average man, do you use genius of Hawking, Einstein or other famous and brilliant name to judge the most common intellect of mankind!? In the novels I have read (re: all of them) Chaos marauders are generally shown to be far tougher than Empire soldiers true, but only in personal or individualistic combat. In formation fighting the Marauders lapse, requiring much movement and maneuverability, and are more often beaten by the Empire than not. This is recognized by Chaos Champions themselves who sometimes try to fix it, like the warlord in Angelika Fleischer's novel 'Liar's Peak' who pointed out that the Empire always wins because of its discipline and tried to get his soldiers to act in a orderly fashion (he failed) In the Blackhearts Omnibus (where I believe you got that 9-1 quip) the Empire eventually does prevail through formation tactics and pushes the Chaos force back.
As Valkia and other novels show us, the median age for Chaos Marauders is 18-19. Those who live longer than thirty in the warrior culture are in fact considered a rarity, especially if they haven't gone on to become something better (like a Chaos Warrior) . Assuming the Chaos Warrior had only minor mutations and assuming average potrayal I would pit, 1 vs 1, a Footmen and a Marauder at even Marauder is more powerful and stronger, however the Footmen by now are going to have a high average experience from all the recent wars fought as well as superior weapons and armor . An orc grunt I think would prevail against the Marauder 1 vs 1 as the grunt has superior strength and endurance (barely) but it would still be close.
In regards to the Gorehunt tribe it is a spectacular example (though the 7e AB notes the Araby armies numbered in the thousands, not millions) but without explanations we know little. We know little of the weapons and armor that Araby sent against them, in what exact number, and the equipment/mutations of the Khorne tribe. Did the Arabyans send their slave armies armed loosely that gave the Chaos Warriors so many causalities, did they send riflemen ect? We know they eventually sent in great beasts but what exactly were those beasts like? In the novels Chaos Warriors are more often than not potrayed as powerful fighters and Empire formations can only hold out so long against them, but they still take many causialties (particularly if they were fighting Dwarfs or Elfs) and are vulnerable to ranged fire. For a Khornate tribe ET Archaon has the Skrallamor, one of the most famous and powerful tribes of Khorne (compared to a minor clan like Gorehunt) , take huge causalities in assaulting Averheim and later Athel Loren.
Actually I am under the opinion that the fact that WC being less brutal and grimdark is, in fact, a bonus rather than a con. Its what allows them to unify easier and together into cohesive forces, to dominate in wars across three planets, to advance miraculously in all things within a single lifetime while Order factions of WHF are all portrayed as arrogant, xenophobic, and backward. Consider that Chaos, as a faction, is one that thrives on the sins of mortals and they are facing here a comparatively more innocent faction (though both ALliance/Horde have done terrible things) This is in fact a major advantage I believe, as if the Order factions in WHF could unify successfully it is the opinion of two very important people that they would have won. The first is Josh Reynolds, the author of the first and final End Times book, who said bluntly that if Elves/Dwarfs/Humans had all put aside their differences early on, they would have won the End Times. The second is Archaon himself who states in the beginning of Glottkin that a Human/Dwarf/Elf alliance was a major detriment to his plan.
I could go on, but I don't want my comment section to be longer than the story! Needless to say I am confident in both the chances of the Alliance/Horde and that of the Everchosen Legion, whose success in the last few years has been total. That is why I matched the two together as I believe they are so even. I do indeed consider the Everchosen scarier force than the BL, and while I have a lot more to say on the subject, in total force the Chaos Gods are indeed stronger than Elune (who is really the only WC god/goddess) though Elune is probably stronger than any non-Nagash non-Chaos God, and has a far easier time projecting her power on the mortal plane than others.