Pi=3,155, Naggaroth
The slow movement of Glaciers that traveled from the Chaos Desert south had shaped a seemingly unending series of ridgelines that ran parallel to each other. A river that had run whenever the Gods had decided so cut a gap through many of them, now it was a road of ice. Shadows and outlines hinted at interesting things that were frozen in it since about forever, but none of the beings present cared about them.
They all cared only about the massacre. Both sides were sure that one was about to happen. For both sides the idea of peaceful coexistence was totally alien, an abomination in the eyes of their gods and a missed opportunity.
Barak ar Varbadaudassoda had led the Black Legion from the deepest regions of the Desert, the reaches that normally did not have access to the realms so far from their gods. A while ago, which might have been moments or millenia according to whom you asked they would have clashed into other, equally powerful Chaos Bands if they were to leave their lands. They did that of course, but for an eternity or two that meant that heads rolled, blood was spilled, gods were entertained and not much else changed but for the name of the Warlords.
No longer. Warbands and Clans he had fought for so long he knew them better than his ancestors found the opportunity to move elsewhere and simply vanished. Huge armies appeared, enticed, coerced and asked for allies to join their crusades against the ones not following the eight-folded path. None of them were willing to accept Barak as an equal, so he had no part in that, fighting duels and two bloody campaigns to keep his realm out of these campaigns.
And then these vanished too. The last of these had been Valaya's army, one favored by Khorne and it had taken the same course into Naggaroth. Only very few of them had made it back with tales of ambush and disgrace.
It had left him and the Legion with a huge chunk of the Chaos Desert and not much else. There were some ancient keeps ready for the taking, something Barak had promptly done. He had fought for some of these places since when Sigmar was still in the flesh and the though of having them had fired up emotions that Barak had no longer been sure he had. In the end the battles were paltry things, his Legion had fought skeleton forces, the dregs not worthy to join the crusades.
He took the keeps, learned of some secrets that would have given him a huge advantage a few decades ago and were worthless now. The victories left him the Lord of Desert and the taste of ashes in his mouth.
There were no other realms to conquer, no armies to test the Legions strength, no new slaves to take, no spoils to distribute and no fame to be won. Barak took some time to work through his frustration and realized there was only one way this could end. His Legion would split up, would tear itself apart in an orgy of blood and infighting.
He would not accept such a fate. He had shaped the Black Legion for an eternity, it was his and his alone and he would either use it to win fame for the eight-folded path or go down fighting.
The Legion had swept up minor clans and warbands in its passing and had swelled to impressive size. Still, bigger Crusades had gone from the Chaos Desert, led by legendary commanders and aided by even more impressive magics. They had failed and Barak ar Varbadaudassoda did not know how and why. His shamans and mages had cut open bodies, threw bones and consumed strange substances. If he went for Kislev they all saw the end of all things where the Legion was concerned.
Things were different for Naggaroth, there the future branched down countless paths. Some led to victory, some to defeat, all led to war. And war was all that Barak ar Varbadaudassoda knew. He had practiced war for longer than most realms existed, fought inhuman enemies and commanded warriors who had survived centuries of bloodshed. The future might seem uncertain to the mages, for him it was enough to know there would be war. And war never changes.
He had led his forces into the realm where the Chaos Desert gave way to the parts of the world that was bereft of the four god's blessing. He knew he should have remembered more about it, he had been borne there, but the passage of countless years had buried those memories under an avalanche of bloodshed.
These realms were cold, brittle and lacked the nourishment that those parts of him who were attuned to the warp needed. No matter, he would take them from the souls of the slain. Currently he tried to appraise the battlefield, to get the measure of the enemy and find the place where to employ the many-bladed instrument that was the Black Legion.
Things were not as he had expected them. Like a giant sea that had frozen to death and been covered by a funeral cloth of snow a series of ridges laid perpendicular to the Legion's line of advance. His enemies should stand out against the snow in the bright sunshine, they did not.
Closing his eyes, he looked inside, to the place where light had no entrance but the energies given off by every soul registered in his mind. Like candles in the dark they showed him where they were. Opening himself to the mundane once more he matched what he had seen with the landscape before him.
His enemies were fools. They occupied the ridgeline before him, which was the obvious move. They were too few to pull that off, they were spread too thin. He would have some of the recent arrivals mount an assault up the frozen river to keep the fools' attention and send his scouts for the left flank. When the enemy would commit his reserves he'd take his cavalry up slope and roll up the right flank. Done and done.
Reverse slope of Hill 451
The general had the speed and the cunning only a true elf would possess, the strength and resilience that being host to a demon would bring and one of the deadliest swords in a world full of them. He was reduced to fighting with binoculars, a table, maps and some arcane devices called wireless sets. Oh, how he hated the Germans.
A decade ago Malus Darkblade had been a force to behold on the battlefield, on any battlefield and Druchii life had provided plenty of opportunity to prove that. His path had let him being possessed by a demon, acquiring the Warp Sword and made him Drachau of Hag Greaf. He had lost much, including the chance ever to sleep again, lest he be taken over by the demon. He had become one of the mightiest warriors the Warhammer World held.
Then the Germans came and they took all of that away. Oh, he was still stronger and more resilient than any mortal had any right being, his sword was still able to take down any enemy, mundane or of the Empyrean. The army of Hag Graef still followed his every order.
And yet the Germans had shown him how much all of that was worth. He had sent a raid to their country to learn and they had taught him their ways, in detail, during their counter-raid on Hag Graef. They could have destroyed his city and killed every living thing in it and his forces were about as much threat to them as a child was to him. They did not complete that task to send a message, an insult if there ever was. He had lost much on that day and gained a hatred of all things German that would have seared worlds if it ever made its way into the physical world. And ever since the failed invasion into Ulthuan he had to learn their ways, turn his troops into copies of a German army so that Naggaroth and more importantly he might survive. The last years had seen him fighting his hate and trying to learn every little bit he could of the new ways to regain the position that they had taken from him. It had not made him better disposed of all things German in any way.
Malus had been taken by surprise when the Chaos Army emerged from the snow. He had expected another bout of the Hung clans he had fought the last campaign seasons so successfully. He had taken the risk of getting so far north so the nomadic warriors would not spread out as they would if they got past the valley he currently occupied. He could contain such a threat easily enough. It was just that the enemy was totally different. He faced beings that had surpassed mortal bounds and would be extremely hard to beat if they ever closed to melee range. So, his job was to make sure they never got there.
He had commandeered the best weapons Naggaroth had to offer and his army had used them though five very successful seasons. They were good, Druchii for Druchii the deadliest force in Malekith's employ. It was just that they were the few and the proud and the valley before them crawled with enemies.
There was only one way to find out if this was enough. While the enemy's scouts had passed the innocent branch that struck from the ground a while ago the enemy infantry had just reached it. His arm dropped and more than a thousand rifles opened up at once.
The first salvos were so close together that they appeared like a rather loud bang, they disintegrated into a surf of shots that rang all through the battlefield. 600 meters down-slope half-seen figures dropped and disappeared when their units marched on. Horses reared up and either dropped or started their last charge that ended quickly. Malus Binoculars revealed more, showed him where some searched for the source of their torment, showed leaders trying to regain control a chaos caused by an assault from a distance unexpected from an unseen enemy.
Some of these units slowed down while those behind them did not, causing a cluster of infantry in the open. That was what he had been waiting for.
He was about to ask for a runner when his fine elven ears registered the first "thumps". Compared to the racket of the rifles they did not seem like much and for some long seconds nothing seemed to happen. That changed when explosions blossomed all over the infantry. There was a small break after which the hits were closer to the enemy and the number of shells that exploded comparatively harmlessly in the snow lessened.
There was another salvo that improved things further before his mortars opened up for real. He had these simple-seeming weapons with him for the last three campaigns and they gave him options where none had been before. No longer would he have to storm fortified Hung camps, now he could rain death on them from afar and make them assault his rifle-equipped Druchii. Here they added to the carnage wrought by his troops. The mortars were able to lob a dozen shells per minute and tube, each of the shells killing nearly anything in a ten-meter circle and wreaking havoc even farther than that.
So far the enemy had been taking it without a chance to answer and Malus knew that would not last. Some of the infantry below broke into a run and tried to close with their far-off tormentors. A few milled around when their leaders were no longer able to provide direction or were unable to make themselves heard.
The dangerous ones went to double time, kept formation and had a clear direction. They were clad in plate armor that was too heavy for a true elven warrior and that protected reasonably well from the mortar splinters and some rifle shots. Malus became very aware how few hundred meters were between the many Chaos Warriors and his few Druchii.
He watched a Chaos Sorcerer, all flying robes, tentacles and a beak gesturing wildly and then dropping in mid-spell. He might not have too many of these sniper rifles, but those who had them were all living by the motto "Kill the mages first". Still there were things that moved like heatwaves through the clear air, shadows of things unseen and a streak of black lightning. Moriathi had sent some of her best into his army, something which brought his own set of problems, but when battle was joined he rarely had to worry about enemy magic too much.
Morathi's witches were more than a bit miffed that he used them mostly as a source of dispels and things had become a bit interesting a couple of times. Now they knew that failure would mean they would die quickly if they were lucky and his back itched less than usual.
Before Hill 451
Barak ar Varbadaudassoda was aghast. War never changes? Fuck that, it did. And if this was the campaign he might win, what was Kislev like? He could hardly see the enemy, none of his troops had any contact with them and his warriors were dying in carload lots. However this would end, his Crusade would be a lot smaller. If it would be less mighty was a very different question. If he could capture these weapons and maybe a lily-livered elf or two he would bring the blessings of the four gods to these lands with ease.
But before this bright future could happen he had to kill an enemy that managed to kill from hiding, besting warriors who had been cheating death for centuries.
"Malak, send those Screamers now or you`ll feed them. Will somebody please introduce these cowards to the beauties of a real snowstorm? Malak, send those Screamers when it is done or you`ll feed them"
Barak would have loved to see the screamers tear into the Druchii cowards, the snowstorm that rose with the suddenness of a door closing kept it from his sight. While this would keep him from watching a massacre it would also keep another one from continuing, the one his warriors had been through. Or was it?
His view was restricted to his mournival, his advisers and bodyguards, everything else was a mass of white streaks that turned to dark gray when light was lacking. Sounds were also muted by the snow and drowned by the fury of the wind. Some sounds still made it through and the most impressive were still the blasted explosions that had already taken such a bloody harvest. He doubted the Druchii rifles were still in play, but doubted he would hear or see either way. Signaling his bodyguard to look after his body he ventured another look from the Empyrean. The good news was that there were fewer of his warriors dying, and a lot of them were actually advancing in the right direction. The bad news was that he could neither make heads nor tails from what was happening at the enemy's side. There were powerful mages at work there too and whatever they did obscured his view. A real, powerful mage would be able to see more, he was a General though.
In the end it did not matter. He had more or less given up on commanding his troops when he asked for the snowstorm. He would do the same as his warriors, make his way in the right direction and close to glorious close combat. The Druchii could then show him what their rifles were worth when he forced his sword down their gullet.
A mere human would have been lost in the storm, would have been pummeled senseless by its violence and acquired frostbite within the hour. Barak, his warriors and their steeds had not been merely human for a long time now and forged their way forward, fighting wind and confusion step by step. Varbadaudassoda stopped twice to check his bearings and the battle from the warp. The bearing he got, the update remained beyond his grasp as the mages on both sides were engaged in such intense struggle that they blinded his sight.
His horse managed a hundred strides without hearing a single bullet passing too close, he got another hundred without losing a single bodyguard. Then he heard a number of explosions not too far off, heard screams and felt an invisible cloth ripping that had hung over him so far. He had expected his cover to last longer, but he would take whatever the storm had given him.
The snowstorm ended within seconds, exposing his warriors to the sun and the thrice-damned rifles again. Barak needed a few seconds to see and something like a grin pulled the corners of his mouth upwards.
Barak felt the rips in reality more than he saw them and several Screamers made their way through them. Looking like huge manta rays who had just swallowed a kraken they flew on winds that had nothing to do with such mundane matters as air. Screaming both in the physical world as well in the minds of men and monsters they turned towards the far-off ridgeline and attacked.
He would have preferred the snowstorm to last longer, for his warriors to close more with the enemy, but this was much better now. The Hung made a charge for the left flank and their ponies were at the foot of the hill. The warriors who charged the cleft in the ridgeline were rather close by now and had a chance of making it. He would give it a few more moments and then send his in heavy cavalry on the right flank, that should do the trick.
Of course, things did not work out the way he planned it, they rarely did against an opponent that he knew. They could hardly be expected to work against an enemy who had such unknown capabilities in all respects.
Something barely seen slowed the warriors that stormed the cleft. He could not detect any magic there, so there might be some traps or could it be that stuff that looked like a very thin, bright cord held his men? Whatever it was, it made for another clump of warriors in one place and he knew what would happen before it did. The explosions walked over them again and he doubted that this assault would amount to anything but sacrifices for the Gods.
The Hung were about to scale the ridge before them and many had already dismounted from their ponies when the grade became too steep. Their composite bows started to bother the defenders and he believed to see a slackening of the fire. The Screamers did just that, scream. They drove down from altitude and snatched half-seen figures from the ground.
They were old friends, if such things existed in the Chaos Desert and had been crucial in many a battle. They seemed to distract the Druchii as there were far less shots in the direction of his troops. He went for his heavy cavalry troop when a new sound reached his already abused ear. It sounded like the weapons he had learned to hate, but more powerful and the sound of them did not end. Instead there was a deep stutter that went on and on. Something glowing reached up from the ground and went for the Screamers.
Whenever that glowing stream hit the screamer recoiled as if touched by a glowing brand. Two flying demons dropped to the ground, others tried to distance themselves.
Something unseen had opened on the Warriors before the cleft as well and he knew this attack would fail. Which just meant that the cavalry charge had to succeed. He and his bodyguard cantered over to the cavalry that had formed up for their charge. Their captain was a brute named Kharn. He was a brute and would have challenged Barak in a cool minute if that would not have meant relinquishing the one love of his life, commanding the best unit of heavy cavalry there was.
"Are the children done playing already?"
"They are still at it, wouldn't it be nice to spoil the party?"
"Then let's do it."
Barak watched the line of beings that looked vaguely like horses and their riders. They were aligned mostly right and it would certainly not do to advertise his moves to such a capable enemy.
"Warriors, up there is the enemy. So happy to kill, so afraid to face us. Let us show them the error of their ways. For the four gods and the eight-folded path.
Charge."
Barak had done this, a thousand times and more, it still roused what remained of his heart. His warriors bellowed their challenge into the world in a way that roused their spirits and put terror into the hearts of their enemies. It was like a physical force, a shock wave that lightened his load and pushed him forward.
The horses started their walk at the same time. The transition to the trot was seamless and the gallop came easy. By now the chargers pounded on the ground, raised a cloud of packed snow behind them and moved like the unstoppable tsunami.
They were less than a kilometer from their target, they were on horses that would not slow down when going full-out for many miles when needed. Neither horses nor rider were human or mortal flesh, Barak knew they would not falter in the face of losses. His field of vision reduced itself at the same rate his horse gathered speed. Very soon he just saw a tunnel before himself that led to the part of the ridge that he wanted to crest. That ridge-line erupted with shots, lots of them. Horses screamed and fell, riders dropped dead from the saddle. Something hammered against the side of his chest and dug a glowing furrow without penetrating. Other shots passed by far too close for comfort and his horse had to evade fallen knights twice.
They were less than a kilometer from their target, they were on horses that would not slow down when going full-out for many miles when needed. Neither horses nor rider were human or mortal flesh, Barak knew they would not falter in the face of losses. His field of vision reduced itself at the same rate his horse gathered speed. Very soon he just saw a tunnel before himself that led to the part of the ridge that he wanted to crest. That ridge-line erupted with shots, lots of them. Horses screamed and fell, riders dropped dead from the saddle. Something hammered against the side of his chest and dug a glowing furrow without penetrating. Other shots passed by far too close for comfort and his horse had to evade killed knights twice.
And then came the incline and the charge slowed. The horses were still giving their all, but the snow was deeper and tended to give a bit. If the enemy had more of these weapons that dropped bombs from the sky things would have ended then and there. They had not, they still killed those warriors at the center. The charge slowed, slowed a bit more and then the horses found a speed they could sustain. Barely faster than a fast walk they made their way up the slope. Barak could see it already, 30 more seconds of bleeding and dying before they could do the killing.
For the first time he could see the Druchii for real. They had changed too from those he remembered. Those he remembered had been sleek killers, balancing speed and protection in their armor. These were hard to see, sporting white, bulky camouflage and sot from what cover there was or what they had made.
They were so close, so tantalizingly close. Were it not for the incline and the snow he would be between them in the blink of an eye, wrecking a glorious massacre. As things were he was like in a nightmare where things moved so slow. He saw the Druchii work their strange rifles, saw them shooting and saw the flimsy blade at the end of the weapons. They would be hard pressed to scratch the paint on his armor, let alone injure him or his warriors.
He saw the Hung on the other side of the field who had driven their ponies to a similar height as him and he saw the slender Druchii in the middle who made a chopping motion with his arm.
The explosions that followed were not spectacular, nothing compared to the weapons that wreaked havoc in the center, They were deeply buried under the snow and sent ripples through the surface between the Druchii line and him. His mind needed a second to understand and his heart another one to despair.
His horses flank's were too well armored to apply any spurs and he did not need them anyway. His steed was as much at home on the battlefield as he was and put reserves that Barak did not know about into another sprint. They gained a few meters they might otherwise have not when the mass of snow before him started to move. It did not seem like much, but it crested to his horse's chest when it reached him and it pushed. His steed's hooves lost traction and they slipped backward for a moment before both dropped into a mass of snow, horses and warriors that accelerated down every second.
Barak Varbadaudassoda's view started to tumble, to blend so much that it did not make sense and more and went black when sow covered him and his warriors even before they were all the way down.
