Chapter 3

Two nights after the slaughter of the Chaos Dwarfs the band finally had to rest. Though most of its members had been blessed by Khorne with superior endurance, they were still only mortals. This meant that, although they could go for long distances without rest, eventually rest was necessary.

Chirard called the halt at sunset, aware that his followers were having a hard time keeping up with him. Truth to tell, he himself was starting to have trouble catching his breath. Running for two days and nights without stopping was no mean feat, even with so great an incentive as the Brass Mountain before him. As the band broke ranks for the first time in days, he allowed himself to sit down. His altered form made this difficult, but by no less comfortable.

As night fell, the warband divided into its various hosts. Though all followed Chirard, the warriors came from different backgrounds and so often were best able to rest (for relaxation was impossible to a true devotee of Khorne, outside of battle) in their own groups, each with its own commander. Chirard had no problem with this, for he knew he did not need to fear treachery. That was for followers of the weakling sorcerer god Tzeentch. Any challenges to his authority would be made openly or not at all. There was only one rule: No killing. Sixty six warriors was few enough to reach the Brass Mountain, they would not shame themselves before Khorne by so thinning their own ranks as to make success impossible.

The Bloodbull, Hrard, lead his herd of Gors and Ungors to the eastern section of the camp. There, they amused themselves by fighting in head-butting contests. Again, Chirards no-fatality rule was scrupulously observed, though a great deal of lood was spilled from non-mortal wounds. Chirard had attended such competitions many times since his own horns had sprung and found them to be far more than simple tests of strength. Agility, speed, and endurance were all part of it, as was a subconscious ability to calculate which angle would lead to the most damaging head-butt. On the whole, he approved of the practice, as it toughened his beastman contingent immensely. Ultimately, of course, Hrard would win, but it would keep them all entertained until he did.

The humans were now lead entirely by Gorat, who until now had only commanded Chirard's small but elite force of Chaos knights. The departure of Teron Bloodfiend had left the human infantry leaderless, so they rallied to Gorat, who was both amused and annoyed. He had disliked Bloodfiend and relished taking his command, but on the other hand he had a cavalryman's disdain for the infantry. Lyudmila Zapolskik's departure had not caused similar problems, as she had commanded Kislevite traitors, all of whom had left with her. The knights had organized a joust to entertain themselves, while the infantrumen sat around fires comparing scars and war-stories, drinking Khargaast- a heady mixture of alcohol and blood, and a byword in all Chaos camps. Though he had little use for the Pleasure God in most respects, Chirard blessed whichever Slaaneshi alchemist had first brewed the stuff. Since all Khorne worshippers swore Khargaast tasted best when the blood was fresh, Chirard felt Khorne would understand. This particular…Dwarfish vintage, made two nights ago was particularly good.

As for himself, Chirard sat facing the Brass Mountain, contemplating what he might find there. A battle, to prove himself as a leader once again? His instincts said not. A duel then, to prove that he was stil a great warrior on his own? Possibly, but he had a feeling there would be more to it then that? What else could it involve, though? Tzeentch might test a folowers wits with guessing games and riddles, but Khorne? The idea was absurd!

The morning came soon enough. Chirard and his warband began their trek once again, but soon found there way barred by yet another obstacle. A large Slaaneshi warband, consisting of approximately ninety warriors and two daemonettes, had somehow found its way this close to the Brass Mountain. Chirard knew he had to fight. Not because they were in the way. They weren't; in all honety, Chirard could have easily detoured around them with relatively little time lost. No, there were three other reasons that conflict was inevitable. First, Chirard was Khornate, which meant that all things of Slaanesh were his enemy. Secondly, he was Khornate and thus running from a fight was unthinkable. But it was the third reason that forced the issue. The third reason was this: The Prince of Chaos was Khorne's greatest enemy, and had been since His/Her/Its "birth" seven thousand years ago. In that time, the Pleasure God had been gaining strength. If these Slaaneshi were to gain access to the Brass Mountain, the home of Khorne on earth, who knew what damage they might do to the Lord of Battle? It was Chirard's duty to engage these hedonistic scum, in order to protect his Lord.

Chirard had no illusions this fight would be as easy as the skirmish of two days before. These were Chaos worshippers, which made things trickier. They would be as ffamiliar with the terrain as he, they were fanatics, and they had a potent (though effeminate) God backing them. Moreover, they outnumbered his force, and had daemonic support. Still, it wasn't all bad news. They had not spotted his scouts which meant the element of surprise was with him. Moreover this close to the center of Khornate power, their daemons would be weakened, while any he summoned forth would be stronger than normal. Finally, the leader of the warband, though formidable looking, did npt have any visible mutations, which meant that s/he was likely ineperiencd, or not greatly favored by Slaanesh. All in all, Chirard liked the odss he was facing.

He and his warband approached silently, getting within fifty yards of their foe before lettig loose their warcry:

"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!"

With that they charged healong into the foe, weapons and armor glinting in the sun.

Howeer, things quickly went downhill from their. First and foremost, Chirard's scouts had made a very greivous error. They had failed to correctly identify the leader of their enemy. It was not the powerfull, though mutation-free chaos knight, as tey had told him, though their mistake was somewhat explained by the fact that this knight held the warand's banner. Rather, the leader was a heavily mutated, and presumably highly experienced, woman(?) at the forefront of the band. She stood seven and a half feet tall. Her skin was dead white, like snow, and her head was completely bereft of hair. She had no legs, instead her lower body had changed into that of a a snake, complete with rattle. Two of her four arms ended in the crab-claws so favored by Slaanesh. The other two gripped the pommel of a massive Greatsword. All in all,Chirard looked forward to a great challenge, as it would of course be he himself who challenged her.

But there were other problems as well. Apparently, his scouts (if they survived this, Chirard swore they would wish they hadn't) had been detected. Thus the enemy, forewarned of an assault, had sacrificed four of their number (presumably also getting rid of some) to summon further daemonic help.

Chirard was… not frightened (for of course no Khornate warrior was ever afraid) but…anxious when he realized what they had summoned.

An Otla'siisio'akshami.

Greater Daemon of Slaanesh.

Keeper of Secrets.

Trouble thought Chirard, not even breaking step in his charge. Definitely trouble.

End Chapter 3