[Join the melee: Martial, 70+23=93.]
You appear mid-swing next to a Kul with a single brass horn emerging from his forehead, and take his head off his shoulders before anyone has time to react. By the time the men he was rallying are able to turn their weapons on you, the murderous tendrils of your shadow and the bewildering wisps of fog emanating from you have reached them, and you're able to cut through several more before they begin to scatter. With another burst of knives into the back of the nearest, you're gone.
Another knot of resistance has formed around a shield-wall at the border of the tempest, but the central warrior being impaled by Branulhune has the others recoil first from him, then from the figure of terror doing the impaling. As Ulgu gives their greatest terrors form in your swirling silhouette, they drop their weapons and flee into the storm, and moments later a bolt of lightning obliterates them.
A Kul wielding some sort of pike that sparks and shimmers to your Magesight is jabbing at a spectral bear, interrupting its feeding upon the fallen. It gives a silent roar and flinches away, but before the pike can find purchase in flesh or magic or wind given shape or whatever it is, you're there to slice first through the haft, then through their wrists. Then you disappear again, this time with the teleportation cantrip woven into a recast of Dread Aspect.
A wooden cage contains a misshapen beast of mouths and limbs that must be a Chaos Spawn. You cut down the Kul trying to unleash it, and then cut open the cage, and then slice the Spawn into halves, then quarters, then keep cutting until it stops trying to bite you. It takes many more cuts than it should.
It takes you almost too long to spot the gathering Ulgu, as at first you mistake it for a place you'd already visited. By the time you appear next to the Shaman, there's already a wailing adding to the din of the storm as reality begins to tear open and suck the air into the space between the physical and the Aethyr. It implodes in a scatter of arcing magical energies as the Shaman is cut down, and you flinch back and swear as the spilled blood begins to boil - more by reflex than out of any real danger, as your Belt protects you from extreme heat. You take a moment to dismiss Branulhune so the blood can fall from the blade, then resummon it as you scan the chaos for the next place to intervene.
[Ljiljana vs Kul: Learning vs Martial, 74+???+???(Widow?)+???(Tor?)+???(Dazh?)+???(Ursun?)+30(Mathilde)=??? vs 99+20-10(Losses)=109.]
Despite the hummock of snow that marks the boundary of Ljiljana's storm growing higher with buried bodies, the Kurgan keep coming. Perhaps that's only to be expected, as to the most devout of the Kurgan - which, by all accounts, would be the Kul - this would be the very definition of a holy war. To allow the Gods of the Gospodar to triumph over them could lose them the favour of their Gods, and this far into the Chaos Wastes that could be just as much of a death sentence as charging into the blizzard.
[Continued intervention: Martial, 23+23=46.]
Unfortunately the Kul seem to be catching on to your methods, as each teleportation starts to be met with shouted warnings as the most strong-willed push through the aura of confusion to meet Branulhune with their own blades. You and your shadow still reap a bloody harvest but it is now a battle, rather than a slaughter. You don't like fair fights so you switch from Shadow Knives to Melkoth's Mystifying Miasma for weaving your teleportation cantrips into, making sure that wherever you appear there is also a field of jittering time, sending even the most skilled warriors off-balance as their well-trained reactions encounter the concept of time as a variable. Blades lifting to parry a swing moving a hair too fast or too slow, feet stumbling as one moves slightly faster than the other, sights and sounds taking a fraction longer to arrive and shaving just enough time from their responses to make all the difference.
