- Pronouns
- He/Him
Beastmen don't care about what non-Chaos gods do aside from serving as targets for desecration, though.
Warhammer Fantasy: A Dynasty of Dynamic Alcoholism
- Thread starter torroar
- Start date
- Mature
-
- Tags
- warhammer warhammer fantasy fantasy intrigue happens male protagonist ck2 quest belief stronk count of cannons drunken wisdom foes in the shadows graf of guns if you have a question check the front page first it begins... mountain vietnam ogres paranoia rising unseen enemies everywhere use the search function before asking waifu wars wake the bull
Dmol8
The Undead Unhinged Lunatic of the Web
- Location
- Belgrade,Serbia
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
Figured as much, we had this talk before, but my muse was hot and so I struck some words out. I at least managed to write it all out, my brain usually gets constipated when I get an idea like that. Should I try to modify him into an Urlic blessed werewolf? Or would he have been press ganged into the Cult of Ulric already?
NSMS
Probably evil, unfortunately.
- Location
- A rapidly widening tear in the fabric of reality
The Quakeriders
[Race: Human/Ogre]
[Origin: Ostland]
[Description: It started as a simple drunken joke between two friends- recently graduated Ogre Luthroar and ambitious stablehand Fynn Stabler. A human, riding an Ogre into battle the way a knight would a horse. It was ridiculous, stupid, and yet the idea stuck with them both through the hangover. Over the coming years it became a common topic of discussion between them, until eventually? They tried it. And to their surprise... it worked. Not easily, and not without complications, but nonetheless- it worked.
Flush with success, the pair gathered the few Ogres and Humans who could be persuaded to try it out with them, and hired themselves out as mercenaries. And despite the incredulous looks and disbelief they regularly met, remarkably successful ones. With time their numbers have grown and their equipment improved, but the goals of their two founders have remained the same. And so they have reached their current state- a band of thrill seeking adrenaline junkies, Ogre and Human alike outfitted like knights, forever looking for the rush of their next battle.]
[Numbers: 20 Ogre 'steeds' and 40 - 50 Human 'Riders'. The Ogres wear moderately heavy plate armour with back-saddles/seats for riders and carry heavy weapons, and the humans wear half-plate and carry lances, bows, and spears/polearms as primary weapons (holstered on the Ogres' backs), along with swords to act as a back-up and anti-boarding weapon. The extra humans are due to an excess of human volunteers compared to Ogres, and act as back-up riders due to higher casualty rates among the humans in the group. They are led by Luthroar Knightbearer Goldhoarder Longstrider and 'sir' Fynn Stabler]
[Race: Human/Ogre]
[Origin: Ostland]
[Description: It started as a simple drunken joke between two friends- recently graduated Ogre Luthroar and ambitious stablehand Fynn Stabler. A human, riding an Ogre into battle the way a knight would a horse. It was ridiculous, stupid, and yet the idea stuck with them both through the hangover. Over the coming years it became a common topic of discussion between them, until eventually? They tried it. And to their surprise... it worked. Not easily, and not without complications, but nonetheless- it worked.
Flush with success, the pair gathered the few Ogres and Humans who could be persuaded to try it out with them, and hired themselves out as mercenaries. And despite the incredulous looks and disbelief they regularly met, remarkably successful ones. With time their numbers have grown and their equipment improved, but the goals of their two founders have remained the same. And so they have reached their current state- a band of thrill seeking adrenaline junkies, Ogre and Human alike outfitted like knights, forever looking for the rush of their next battle.]
[Numbers: 20 Ogre 'steeds' and 40 - 50 Human 'Riders'. The Ogres wear moderately heavy plate armour with back-saddles/seats for riders and carry heavy weapons, and the humans wear half-plate and carry lances, bows, and spears/polearms as primary weapons (holstered on the Ogres' backs), along with swords to act as a back-up and anti-boarding weapon. The extra humans are due to an excess of human volunteers compared to Ogres, and act as back-up riders due to higher casualty rates among the humans in the group. They are led by Luthroar Knightbearer Goldhoarder Longstrider and 'sir' Fynn Stabler]
Last edited:
pucflek
Verified simpleton
- Location
- Czech Republic
If Chaos Gods could go around uncontested the world would already be a hellhole.
If Guvuar actually becomes a semi-prominent minor god, that could give him a mojo to affect bull-related stuff enough that he could make a not large but statistically noticeable dent in number of minotaurs in Ostland due to the chaotic mutations just not going that way because hey, Bull is a holy symbol, and unless you have a total supremacy here, thats just not gonna really fly as well as it used to.
This would consume too much food. Wouldn't be able to deploy away from population centers for long periods of time.
Would be interesting in a pitched battle though. The extra reach and attacks from the mounted human might be capable of turning this into something truly devastating in a fight.
NSMS
Probably evil, unfortunately.
- Location
- A rapidly widening tear in the fabric of reality
I'm assuming that Ogre mercenaries can charge Ogre-appropriate prices (thus supporting appropriate baggage), and that in a pinch the Ogres can survive by eating rocks and trees.
pucflek
Verified simpleton
- Location
- Czech Republic
The humans should be ranged and spear only. Your average ogre is so tall that even when leaning, human could never reach an actual enemy unless you were fighting another band of ogres/minotaurs/chaosspawn... You get what i mean.
Having backup sword/hatchet in case you fall out of your seat is good idea but it should not be listed as a primary weapon.
Like Fellas, i get that writing merc squads is neat and all, but do realize that it costs Torroar spoons to actually review this stuff and then tell you if it is or isn´t viable. Throw together a group in DMs and we can all try to peer review the ideas to see if they are actually passing common reason muster before you throw it out here.
Last edited:
NSMS
Probably evil, unfortunately.
- Location
- A rapidly widening tear in the fabric of reality
That's basically what it's there for, yeah. That, and as an anti-boarding measure to hack at anybody who tries climbing on the Ogre. I'll add a note to clear that up.
The proper term is Children of Ulric. They are canon in a sense that they are mentioned in- universe but only as a myth. It is up to Torroar if he makes them canon and real, although I personally desperately hope they are.
Heinkel's Hunters
[Race: Human]
[Origin Hockland]
[Description: While Magnus the Pious brought much peace and safety to the Empire there are still many horrors and terrors within its border. With the northern Provinces focused on defending its shores and the Southern Provinces marching to aid the dwarfs, It has left a military vacume that many are not confterble with. Is it just paranoia? Perhaps,but in this Grim and Dark world it is better to err on the side on caution. Enter Heinkel's Hunters. "A merry band of huntsman from Hockland answering the nations call to help their fellow countrymen." Or so they claim, most likely they are poachers and other neerdowell seeing an opportunity for a better payday. Still, they are competend with a bow and make for good woodland scouts. With better mercs all drawn to Kislev and the might of the Empire preoccupied there is an opportune time to get a foot into the mercenary business and make profits and a name for themselves.]
[Numbers: 90 Archers, 24 Veteran Archers, 1 Hunts-captain Heinkel]
PS. Think Empire Archers and Huntsmen from TWW. You don't live long out in the forest as poachers without developing a certain mix sense of caution, opportunism and risk assessment. Kislev is paying well but the situation there is way to hot (lol) for these mercs taste and the same goes for Fredy, not to mention the casualties in the battles he gets into. They are mostly looking for "calmer" parts in the Empire where the job competition has lessend due to the exodus of mercs and state troops. So I don't' expect to be anything more than a footnote in the rumor mill. I am mostly wrighting this for fun and to get an idea out of hy head after reading about the merc situation and other sugestions.
[Race: Human]
[Origin Hockland]
[Description: While Magnus the Pious brought much peace and safety to the Empire there are still many horrors and terrors within its border. With the northern Provinces focused on defending its shores and the Southern Provinces marching to aid the dwarfs, It has left a military vacume that many are not confterble with. Is it just paranoia? Perhaps,but in this Grim and Dark world it is better to err on the side on caution. Enter Heinkel's Hunters. "A merry band of huntsman from Hockland answering the nations call to help their fellow countrymen." Or so they claim, most likely they are poachers and other neerdowell seeing an opportunity for a better payday. Still, they are competend with a bow and make for good woodland scouts. With better mercs all drawn to Kislev and the might of the Empire preoccupied there is an opportune time to get a foot into the mercenary business and make profits and a name for themselves.]
[Numbers: 90 Archers, 24 Veteran Archers, 1 Hunts-captain Heinkel]
PS. Think Empire Archers and Huntsmen from TWW. You don't live long out in the forest as poachers without developing a certain mix sense of caution, opportunism and risk assessment. Kislev is paying well but the situation there is way to hot (lol) for these mercs taste and the same goes for Fredy, not to mention the casualties in the battles he gets into. They are mostly looking for "calmer" parts in the Empire where the job competition has lessend due to the exodus of mercs and state troops. So I don't' expect to be anything more than a footnote in the rumor mill. I am mostly wrighting this for fun and to get an idea out of hy head after reading about the merc situation and other sugestions.
Last edited:
- Location
- A Pit Of My Own Making
- Pronouns
- He/Him
An Empire, Long Divided, Must Unite! (Warhammer CK2 Myrimidian Quest)
Don't think Voik (the QM) liked my ideas either. Sad.
Curses! I'll get you-uh, I mean... them? Next time?
Maybe gangsters.
Blackout
Fed By Comments
- Location
- Who knows?
They do show up as very real rather than just myth in a couple of places in canon, like WFRP 4th edition, Gotrek and Felix, and the Black Plague novels. But yeah, up to Torroar if he wants to use them.
I've mentioned them before, somewhere, I thought. Yes, the Children of Ulric exist. No, they are not open about their nature at all. As in, very much not open about it at all. There's, like, one werewolf lady who is in a circus I think somewhere, but even then they get moving and skedaddling whenever the people of the Empire get especially twitchy about strange transformations. Which is often. The Children of Ulric who live in Imperial Society are either very much out on the fringes, or deep within the Cult itself, and their existence is nothing but legends to most all people. Frederick, for instance, who is friends with the Ar-Ulric, does not know about them.
So it still doesn't quite work about one rocking up as a mercenary, sorry.
So it still doesn't quite work about one rocking up as a mercenary, sorry.
- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
That just gets you killed sooner or later. Mercenaries still have to engage with society, after all, and military men in this setting are hardly free of superstition.
NSMS
Probably evil, unfortunately.
- Location
- A rapidly widening tear in the fabric of reality
Probably even more superstitious than the average person, honestly, seeing as they're more likely to have run into the weird and spooky stuff.
MrRobot
In doubt there's always the Sun!
I was referring to torroar's post how they are this huge secret an all that even freddy wich is super high rank and from guntar's ethernal dismay extremely popular amongst ulcrians have no idea of what they where.
Damn.
I guess the green tide is a lot more focused on the Dwarven Karaks than I thought.
Well, I'm glad they had their happy ending, somewhere where they can really call their own.
Dmol8
The Undead Unhinged Lunatic of the Web
- Location
- Belgrade,Serbia
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
It's fine. First time hearing about the werewolf lady. Good to know there are Children of Ulric running around even if we probably won't see them.
- Location
- 2450 Coffs Harbour, NSW, Australia
Its still a possibility that Clan Moulder hired Clan Eshin to kidnap Kattarin for them.
Spikes, Horns, and Stone 4
[] Planning to go somewhere?
-[] Speed First: The Druchii are attempting to make a swift but steady retreat. Now it is time to strike them hard and fast, while giving yourself room and ability maneuver. Specifically with your various cavalry, and the Vapor Tanks as well. Surround, overwhelm, try to cut them off before they can even get back to the Black Arks. Let the infantry and the rest come behind afterwards, and push forward.
-[] Split Forces: You can't have an accurate tally of your forces, but you can trust your commanders in Anna, Arthur, Urgdug, and others to follow your wishes as best as they possibly can.
--[] Claw of Dominion, Larger Ark with Ghrond Leanings
---[] 2/3 Forces
--[] Fortress of Eternal Torture, Smaller Ark with Clar Karond Leanings
---[] 1/3 Forces
-[] Through The Skies: Ride with the Whitewings, Roland, Natasha, Kerillian, and Sadrina after the Coven. If you can take them in the skies before they can get back to the Arks, they won't be able to assist against the fleet and the boarders already present. This choice can only be taken if pursuing towards the Claw of Dominion, regardless of any other choice.
Spikes, Horns, and Stone 4
The answer, of course, is immediate.
"Damn right we are!" You yell, raising Brain Wounder high with one hand while grabbing a flask with another.
You don't have time to uncork it properly, and so instead just tear the stopper out and drain the contents within. All around you, in the same Ostlander instinct, hundreds and thousands of soldiers do the same with their own personal flasks. In an instant, gallons upon gallons of ostka, beer, wine, Bugman's Best, kvas, koumiss, to even just plain old rotgut, are drunk down into the gullets and guts of your people. The elves, of course, are likely somewhat revolted by the sudden infusion of so many distinct scents into the air, but you don't really concern yourself with that at the moment. A cheer goes up, next, both from your gesture and your words.
"Listen up," you continue, snapping your fingers thrice in a distinct fashion that has Oskana shuffle over to you, ducking and half-crouching to let you crawl atop her once more. "We're advancing! All of us! Anna, Arthur, Urgdug!" You shout, making three heads swivel. "Two thirds split towards the larger Ark, the rest to the smaller! Cavalry go out first, then everyone else! See to it!"
Trusting in your family as they begin shouting their own orders, you concern yourself with the enemies you'll be personally contending with.
"Everyone up! Whitewings, with me! They don't get to run and hide!"
The noise from the mercenary Bretonnians is a fair bit more ragged, which is not surprising considering all they've dealt with largely on their lonesome, but there is some vitality in their lungs yet. Roland, too, joins in with them, having remained unhorsed from the largest of the Pegasi that he is guest to alongside its rider. The only other issue, of course, is that Sadrina and Kerillian cannot simply leap up into the air to ride atop any of the other Pegasi. Instead, they look to you at the same time that you look to them. Speed will be a bit of an issue, you know that, but at least you'll have them in the air with you, and by now you know damn well that their bows will be that much better with elevation. All of this passes in an instant, veterans of centuries locking eyes with your own, a twitch of your gaze towards Oskana who lets loose a squawking huff and then hunkers further.
No words are needed as the elves come aboard your faithful gryphon, even when she lets loose a rumbling whine as her powerful wings begin to practically slam against the ground as she hefts herself upwards. Going purely by the laws of some scholars, though not all, there is no reason why a beast such as a gryphon should be able to fly. The rear half's bones are not hollow, yet the skeleton remains perfectly functional. The wingspan should not be able to heft their sheer weight. And most certainly, they should not be able to simply deny gravity itself and launch themselves vertically. But then, those scholars are the sorts to try and protest that gryphons, great eagles, giant owls, giant wolves, certain subspecies of boar utilized by greenskins, and many other such beasts should not exist for one reason or another.
But they do, and so Oskana rises up into the air with two plate-armored Hohenzollerns, a Handmaiden of the Everqueen, and a Waywatcher of Athel Loren on her back and then angles forward into pursuit alongside a group of Bretonnians upon snow white Pegasi. It is a harder heft for her than before, all things considered, much later in the battle after fighting a dragon and now carrying that much more weight. Not so much, however, that Oskana cannot manage it. Her pride and stubbornness, a perfect match for any Ostlander, is more than enough to ensure that she begins advancing through the sky directly towards the mass of Sorceresses attempting to flee back to the safety of their Ark. Below you, the cavalry is forming up into concentrated clumps before each of the gates, all of them slamming open now that the Druchii are on the retreat. You hope the irony burns like acid in their minds. The Coven's backsides are facing you, but so too are the teeming gleaming spears and crossbows of the rest of the Druchii below, as are the two massive edifices that are the Black Arks. This will not be easy. None of it.
"FOR THE EMPIRE!" You bellow.
"OSTLAAAAAND!" Natasha shouts.
"In the name of the Lady!" Roland calls from nearby.
"Isha watch over us," Sadrina murmurs in Eltharin under her breath, her magically formed blue bow sparking into existence as she reaches out and grasps for it.
"Let Kurnous bless my shots," Kerillian grunts in Fan-Eltharin.
From below, distantly now given the sheer cacophony of so many thousands of shifting feet and hooves and beating of wings and rustling of metal and leather, you can distantly hear the rest of your family.
"For Morr, and the Empire!" comes the noble shout of Arthur, his huge obsidian blade held high.
"HRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" roars Urgdug, loud as a dragon and then some.
"DRIVE US FORWARD," Anna's call fills the air, earsplitting in volume but as ever flat in tone.
And then the Titan Cannons go off through their two gates as the barrel throwers let loose.
(Forward And Splitting: 44+Finally On Offense(10)+Remaining Artillery(15)-Druchii Discipline(10)-Last Beasts(10)=49/100)
(Rising Up And Forward: 46+Fatigued Noble Riders(10)+Assembly of Heroes(20)-Mighty Coven(10)-Supreme Sorceress(15)=51/100)
(The Boarded Fortress: 73+Assets Elsewhere(20)+Total Assault(10)-Remaining Defenses(10)=93/100)
(Clawed Seas: 58+Zealotry(15)+Esoteric Arms(10)-Most Monsters(20)-Dragon(15)=48/100)
(Claw Boarders: 61+High Matriarch(25)-Scattered Defenders(10)=76/100)
(Single Asur Seeks Khaine-Blessed Druchii For Murder Purposes: 23+Handmaiden of Isha(20)-The Shroud of Khaine(30)=13/100)
Now that you are higher in the air, not immediately on top of a corkscrewing dragon, and more importantly over the walls which had previously been blocking your vision, you can perceive far more of the battlefield than before. Such as seeing two great furrows being liberally blown into the flexing and bending lines of the Druchii, courtesy of the Titan Cannons, as well as a number of incendiaries come flying down amongst them from the barrel throwers. Shortly before the cavalry hits them, at least. The first impact, you miss, mostly because what must be the very dregs of all the remaining harpies between both Black Arks come screeching into your sight, clawing and biting with all their might as one of the sorceresses raises her staff and releases some sort of multi-colored burst of light. It frustratingly delays you, stymying your advance through the air if only through sheer capacity for suicidal annoyance. At least, that was what you thought at first.
Then one of them manages to latch onto you, and you get far too intimate a look at one of their faces, the disturbingly elven face stretched and bent with its screeching. What could have, should have, was an outright Druchii face, was split and cracked from within. Black bile spilled past triangular teeth and spattered across your armor and face. Eyes bulge from their sockets, one literally bursting with that same strange bile, all of which sizzles and burns against you. Not enough to actually begin dissolving your flesh or the like, but it certainly stings. It is definitely not normal for them, or at least you would guess so despite your relative inexperience with harpies in general. That gesture and light from one of the sorceresses transforms that unwholesome gesture into something worse the more you think on it. You brain the harpy with Bokdrungni and send it toppling down just in time to catch Sadrina muttering something under her breath behind you, but the harpies make it impossible to hear her words.
You do, however, hear the thundering roar of cannons, both below and in the waters from the fleets of Ostland and Nordland.
(One Third: 74+10+15-10-10+Ogre Charge(15)=94/100)
(Two Thirds: 80+10+15-10-10+Advancing Vapor(20)-Druchii Arrogance and Pride(40)=65/100)
(Natasha Dispel Attempt: 54+Natasha Martial(11)+Enhancing Armor(10)-15=60/100)
(Aerial Chase: 45+10+20-10-15-Dark Wings(15)=35/100)
(The Boarded Fortress: 49+20+10+Boarded Shock(10)-Druchii Outrage(10)=79/100)
(Clawed Seas: 62-20-15+15+10-Danger Close Defenses(10)=42/100)
(Claw Boaders: 73+25-10=88/100)
(Single Asur Seeks Khaine-Blessed Druchii For Murder Purposes:41+20-30-Distractions of Battle(10)=24/100)
Alarm spills through the bond by way of Natasha, her awareness of the Winds spiking something in her mind. Your wife raises her hands, thrusting them forwards and grimacing as she works to blunt or deflect something that you can only partially perceive through the bond. A curse escapes her lips, however, and no sooner than you have hacked away the very absolute last of all the harpies than you can see what she was attempting to stop. The coven is completely aware of your pursuit, it is impossible to mistake it for anything else, and the Supreme Sorceress herself is half-twisted at the waist, glaring back with absolute hatred towards all of you. She tears the head of her staff through the air diagonally, and several rips in reality appear. Some of them, you see with relief, are rimed over with ethereal frost and close prematurely, much to the displeasure of the Druchii, but too many more are successfully opened. Bloated, sagging Rot Flies of Nurgle emerge out into the air, immediately despoiling it with their horrendous stench. Two are cut in half by Natasha's closing of their portals on them, but the remaining Druchii upon Dark Pegasi that are approaching more than make up for their absence.
"Gods damn that woman, how many things like this does she have!" You snarl.
"She's over a thousand years old, that's a lot of time to form a lot of contracts," Sadrina answers you promptly, even as she shoots an arrow into an approaching Druchii's face.
Words cease to be worth the breath as the newest clash in the air comes upon you. Swooping, diving, ducking, swirling, spinning, dozens of pairs of wings flap and buzz and beat in the air. Oskana, thankfully, does not actually bite any of the Rot Flies, but she does manage to swallow down half of a Dark Pegasus and a third of its rider at one point. Brain Wounder touches daemon, Dark Pegasi, and Druchii, at one time or another, while arrows fly, lances puncture, and swords flash. At one point you find yourself sideways again, Natasha clinging on to you, the elves dexterously and almost improbably managing to hold themselves in place with nothing more than their feet upon the tangled buckles and chains of the saddle. All while continuing to fire their arrows. It also lets you see below, as the army has followed your wishes. A full third has split off, hammering their way towards the Fortress of Eternal Torture, and for that matter you find to your surprise that the Druchii have just started to split as well. Two thirds of them are heading for the larger Black Ark, and yet even based on their heraldry you think it is as much of literal convenience of distance than anything else that each contingent is retreating to which Ark. A shame for the Druchii to potentially have to deal with such haphazard matters.
You'll have to do your best to make sure they won't have to deal with it for long.
Another set of bloody trenches have been blown into the Druchii lines, courtesy of the Titan Cannons, and at this point you're relatively sure that those things have racked up more kills individually than almost anyone else. Though the Vapor Tanks are both doing their best to match them. Even from up here, you can see the absolutely ruinous drive that Little Guvuar has managed. It is absolutely drenched in gore, and Anna atop it just as much, the continually functioning deathspinner modification endlessly spinning thanks to its connection to the vapor engine, taking what is normally a short temporary slaughter into a continual one. It cuts, it slashes, it tears, it grinds. The cavalry are wheeling about for further charges, cycling in and out, near her, while the infantry and ogres are now fully evacuating out of the walls. Urgdug, of course, is impossible to miss. An ogre charge's effect, seen from above, is truly remarkable to see. Witnessing ranks upon ranks of Druchii simply be smashed to paste before them as Urgdug leads the charge towards the Fortress of Eternal Torture – Anna and Arthur leading the other contingent towards the Claw of Dominion – and outright smashes aside a smaller way hydra in a single hit. It does not survive the ogres that follow Urgdug, its regenerative capabilities not quite up to the task of being healing while being trampled by more than a hundred ogres.
"Damn her!" Natasha cries from next to you. "I can't…!"
She is straining, all of a sudden, as mightily as she can. You can feel the old, bitter self-loathing, the recriminations of never matching up, as she does so. There is worry, a desire that somehow the battered and blasted wizards and elven Spellweavers should have manage to leap up and onto the Whitewings and accompanied you. But time was not on your side there, and it is not on your side now. Natasha is your only main magical support here, a fact you realize is only somewhat offset due to the fact that the coven is mainly focused on retreating rather than fighting. Otherwise your wife, no matter how much you love her, could have found herself overwhelmed. This becomes quite evident as the Supreme Sorceress, apparently quite frankly having had enough of your ever so slightly gaining pursuit and the battle itself, has drawn out some hefty looking scrolls from the saddlebags of her Dark Pegasi.
(Dispelling Attempt: 17+11+10=38/100)
Reality shudders, shakes, and then screams. It is a noise that makes something in your soul tremble before there are drums somewhere in the distance of your mind that sets it aside. The Whitewings and their Pegasi stutter in the air, dipping slightly as the freeze up. The screams are not just reality, you realize, only as the Supreme Sorceress does something to the scrolls that causes them to evaporate into the air in colored motes of light that swiftly disappear. The screams come from what she has summoned next. Natasha tries her best, a faint bit of blood spilling from her Widow-touched eye, and yet two huge holes appear in reality, facing straight down, and from them come the screaming…whatever they are. The sight burns at your eyes, as only the most unnatural things have before, and you hear a strangled sound escape Sadrina as she stares at them, horror clear on the Handmaiden's face. Nearby, in the air, one of the Whitewings outright vomits uncontrollably for a moment, straight through the holes of their concealing helmet and onto their own lap and the back of their Pegasi.
They are…horrific.
The first is a thing of crimson and black, of brass and white exposed bone, horns and spikes stretching out from its torn up skin to reveal glowing musculature beneath. A pair of broken horns, what used to be a crown of them, sprouts up from its head. It is a daemon of Khorne, or at least it once was, that you are sure, but you have never seen one of their kind in this fashion. Not with a rictus of pain like that, not like those you have seen that were outraged that the world was not dead and burning at their feet just yet, but actual true pain. Pain from their own bodies, a hated sort of bitter pain which emanates from its entire being, such as it is. If it can even be called that, given that only the top half of it looks like that. For that pained, mishappen mass, is not all of the creature. It has been…grafted, somehow, to what looks like the legs of a spider. If a spider was the misbegotten child of a pile of gears, springs, and metal plating. They shuffle and whine, thick cables of glistening metal pumping and whirring, even as the creatures land with heavy crashes directly onto the ground from dozens and dozens of feet upwards. Their arms are not spared either, for one is a humongous crab claw-like creation, with clamping, snapping teeth at its terminus, and what looks like a cannon replacing the forearm and hand of the other arm. It screams at the world, at itself, at everything. The other, a disgusting fat mass of green of bile and rotting exposed entrails, was clearly once a thing of Nurgle. But they are not, now. No longer.
You don't know how, but it feels truly as if reality itself is informing you despite your utter lack of comprehension and knowledge of these thing that they are not of the Chaos Gods any longer. A rejection acknowledged by something beyond your ability to properly know, a separation that is instinctually and intimately understood. They belong to someone else. Something else. And the very second that your mind dares to touch upon that topic, a full-body shiver comes across you body. A strange pressure comes across you, as if something infinitely vaster than you was not quite paying attention to you, but rather like a flick of its gaze might have come peripherally near you. A ghost of an impression, and it is more than enough.
They are daemonic, yes, but something else altogether than any other you have ever heard of.
"What…in the hell…," you choke out as Natasha just spits out some blood from her mouth where it freezes on her armor.
"Soul Grinders," Sadrina whispers, just as horrified as before. "She…she formed a contract with…no, that's…the madness to…the Forge wouldn't…,"
It is Kerillian who snaps both of you out of it.
"Focus, glaikits! We have foes to fight and prey to kill!"
(One Third: 66+10+15-10-10+15+Minority Split(10)=96/100)
(Two Thirds: 25+10+15-10-10+20-Majority Split(10)-Soul Grinders(15)=25/100)
(Aerial Chase: 39+10+20-10-15-15-Coven Drawing Deep(5)=24/100)
(The Boarded Fortress: 60+20+10-10+Waves of Boarders(15)-Unleashed Monsters(20)+Slave Rebellion(5)=80/100)
(Clawed Seas: 35-20+15+10-10+Desperate Boarding(10)-Unhindered Dragon Run(20)=20/100)
(Claw Boarders: 81+25-10=96/100)
(Single Asur Seeks Khaine-Blessed Druchii For Murder Purposes: 53+20-30-10=33/100)
You can barely see what happens next for the next several seconds. The coven raise their arms as one, chanting to each other, and then what feels like a localized windstorm starts swamping each and every one of the Whitewings, Oskana included. Your vision is obscured by magical winds, buffeting you this way and that, with Kerillian crying out in alarm as she is nearly flung off the gryphon entirely before you catch her. It is a brief thing, reaching out and grasping her by the armored forearm and then hauling her back into Sadrina's grip before your armor starts to negatively affect the Asrai. One of the Whitewings lets loose a high pitched yelp as their Pegasus is thrust downwards with immense force, almost flattening the Bretonnian against their mount as the airborne equine's wings are nearly crushed downwards.
"Gods damn him, where are you!?" You can just barely hear Sadrina howl in outrage as she fires her bow seemingly at random outwards into the air.
"What are you shooting at?!" Kerillian calls out to her, even as she shoots her own arrows towards the Druchii fliers and the remaining daemonic entities in the air.
"I'm trying to find Dreadbringer," is the Handmaiden's grim reply, "I refuse to accept that he can truly simply disappear from all methods of seeking!"
It would be nice to encourage her, but you don't have the breath in your lungs or the energy to spare, grappling onto the saddle with one hand and trying to keep Brain Wounder in your grip. Not with these near blinding winds buffeting you, a true kaleidoscope of colors flashing about and filling the air as the coven works to delay you further. They are not pausing long enough to make for more aggressive defense, something you find yourself frustratingly grateful for. If they had, you would likely be having much more trouble. But then again, all they want is to get back within the Black Ark's defensive perimeter, at which point you know for a fact that things are going to become much more difficult. It wasn't like the Druchii on the damn thing all up and left their posts after the initial landing impact, that would be absurd. Not that what you're doing isn't absurd in its own way, part of you notes dryly as you see one of the Whitewings give out a pained scream as they lose their lance, the wood and metal both superheated to the point that it essentially half-explodes in their grip. A particularly high-pitched scream escapes their helm as splinters of wood and metal pepper them and their horse as well, a matching whinnying scream coming from the Pegasus.
(One Third: 81+10+15-10-10+5+10+10-20+5+Divided Defenders(10)=106/100)
(Two Thirds: 77+10+15-10-10+20-10-15+15+Hefted Titan Cannons(15)=92/100)
(Aerial Chase: 88+10+20-10-15-15-5-Remanned Black Ark Defenses(10)=63/100)
(The Boarded Fortress: 75+20+10+15-10-20+5+10-Zealots of Anath Raema(10)=95/100)
(Clawed Seas: 54-20-15+15-10=24/100)
(Claw Boarders: 91+25-10-No More Reinforcements(10)+Slayers Seeking Death(20)-Utterly Surrounded(20)=96/100
(Single Asur Seeks Khaine-Blessed Druchii For Murder Purposes: 69+20-30+Beeeching Another(10)=69/100)
"Gods damn them, we – huargh!" Your cursing is cut off as Oskana corkscrews in the air without warning, your eyes only barely catching the ominously glowing shaft of black metal which nearly struck you all.
Less than a second behind you, it explodes with the smell of sulfur and ecstatic pain filling the air. How the Druchii got a concept to become a scent, you don't particularly care to know the details. On the other hand, Oskana is then knocked about mid-air as another payload from another bolt thrower strikes her directly in the side of the head. There is a resounding dull clang as the wicked barbs of the metal, and the metal head of the large bolt, both flatten themselves against your gryphon's skull, just shy of hitting her directly in the eye. There is no great shimmering from the rune on her breastplate, but you don't need there to be. You know, in your heart, that what just hit her would have been an almost assured killing blow if it were not for the rune transfiguring her entire body into something altogether unnaturally tough and durable. Which both lends credit to the Runelord who forged it, and more despicably to the Druchii who just managed to fire a bolt thrower at her damned head while midflight and hit the bloody target.
If the oversized bolt had been another one of those magically enchanted exploding ones, you highly doubt that you or any of the other passengers on your gryphon would have been nearly so well off.
"Fuckin' glaikit roaster bawbag!" Kerillian screams angrily and fires off a trio of arrows in a single salvo off into the winds to where you can't see.
You can only hope that she hit the target, because if that Druchii weapon's team was accurate enough to hit Oskana's head in the midst of all this, you don't want to give them more chances to try again. But worse than any of that, however, is the fact that such attacks can only mean one thing, and one thing only – that you've passed back within the protective aegis of the Black Ark's defenses once more. Which means that you are direly out of time. They've kept you back with daemons, with blasts of magic, and now they have the Black Ark itself aiding them. If you are going to try and catch the Coven, to bring them to close battle, to cut them down and keep them from getting further away, it has to be now, right now.
"Come on!" You urge Oskana, "You can do it girl, come on!"
Your loyal gryphon trembles with effort at this point, all the intense flying and combat and weight more than you regularly train her with. There just aren't enough hours in the day for all of that, on top of the four hours spent sparring and training regularly. Nevertheless, she does not spare breath from her lungs to make any noise, instead simply beating her wings harder, hitching her paws and talons under herself so that her profile is a reduced as possible as she makes every possible effort to strain herself to actually reach melee range with the damned Coven as they keep making their escape. Around you, either having come to the same conclusion as you after years of experience as Pegasus riders or because they are simply following your lead, the Whitewings began urging their own mounts to try and surpass their usual limits. All the while, Sadrina starts praying out loud, with far more aggression behind it than you would normally think to hear. Not just to Isha, it seems, but to Kurnous as well. The Handmaiden of the Everqueen grasps at something in the air, clasping her hands around something only half-formed, this time not of the exploding silver blue of her usual magically formed arrows, but something of a darker amber and silver.
(One Third: 80+10+15-10-10+15+10+10-20+Surging Slave Rebellion(10)=110/100)
(Two Thirds: 100+10+15-10-10+20-10-15+15+Full Lobbing(10)=125/100)
(Aerial Chase: 65+10+20-10-15-15-5-10+Final Desperation(10)=50/100)
(The Boarded Fortress: 27+20+10+15-10-20+10+10-10+Control Fane Taken(15)=67/100)
(Clawed Seas: 41-20-15+15+10-10-Obliterated Fleet(20)=1/100)
(Claw Boarders: 65-10+20+25-20+10+Unleashed Djinn(25)=115/100)
(Single Asur Seeks Khaine-Blessed Druchii For Murder Purposes: 83+20-30+10+10=93/100)
You are distracted from the praying, the chase, the winds, the magic being thrown about, and just about everything else for just the briefest of seconds.
It is impossible not to be, after all, when the earth below lights up so vibrantly.
Speed, then, is of the essence, and so hence the order for the grenadiers to remove themselves from the longer equation in favor of the shorter. Shoulders and arms burn as they pump bomb after bomb over the clashing shield and spear lines. The Titan Cannons, hefted up on the shoulders of the few ogres not dedicated to charging the lesser of the Black Arks, fire out their grapeshot, shredding two great trenches into the retreating Druchii. The barrel throwers have launched their payloads continually, and new splashes of incendiary death are coming down even now amongst the enemy. Guns fire, crossbows twang, spears and pikes and metal and wood scrape and squeak and break.
Meanwhile she watches, she waits, and she is coated in crimson from head to toe. An expected outcome from standing atop the vapor tank equipped with a deathspinner device. The Druchii unfortunate enough to be caught up within its grasp are reduced not to pulp, not mashed like a vegetable, but are torn apart into slurry. To chum, if one were to consider a nautical reference for the dissolution of Druchii as their bodies are struck by the merciless grinding prowess of Little Guvuar. It should be horrifying, to be covered in such viscera, such thick layers of emulsified muscle fiber and powdered bone with thick hardening soup of blood.
It is not.
She has lost the capability to feel such things outside of rare circumstances, which these happen to not be.
In this case, it is well, rather than unfortunate, that she is so. Or at least that is what her memories tell her.
She waits until the last lobbing of the last bombs are done, just as they are halfway through their arc.
"ADVANCE." She bellows as loud as her lungs can allow, and then some, a minor crafting and manipulation of the Winds to manipulate the wind, expanding her breath and noise outward into the ears of many.
Most importantly, however, they reach the innards of the vapor tank and the crew within, who are deafened for the most part to the outside world.
Little Guvuar let out a throaty metallic growl as excess vapor escapes some of its valves before thundering forward past a hastily formed gap in the line by the soldiers. It is not as fast as a horse, by any means, but it can certainly work up some speed to itself. Especially given how she had ordered it to build up pressure when it had been made to keep stationary while firing its guns. She had needed to plan, to speak with Arthur, and yet time was slipping through their fingers while the enemy had begun to make it up the enormous ramps they had laid down when the invasion had arrived. None of which is her true focus at the moment, for all that her mind considers all she sees and hears, from Arthur's orders to his black-armored knights, to the aerial battle above, to the fact that a third of their forces under Uncle Urgdug have practically disappeared into the Fortress of Eternal Torture – an act of sheer bludgeoning and violent success that she and Arthur's own detachment have thus far failed to match.
No. None of these require her main focus.
The half-mechanical daemons with cannons for arms, on the other hand, do.
Anna von Hohenzollern cracked her neck from side to side as the tanks pushed into and then through the Druchii lines. Icey shields form around her as she crouches down, deflecting the spears and blades that are haphazardly stabbed at her, thick and heavy chains of ice practically spilling from her palms as she draws deeply upon her magic. Screams fill her ears from Druchii throats as they are churned apart by the tank's forward armament, while others are attacked by the soldiers following in the war machine's bloody wake. The daemons see them coming, it is impossible for them not to. Wherever they went, wherever they strode, the wrought utter ruin upon their foes. It did not matter if they were of Ostland, Ostermark, or elsewhere. It did not even seem to matter overmuch if they walked over some of the Druchii who were distracted or otherwise just a little bit too slow, not to the daemons. Never in her life had she heard of such things, but it didn't matter.
The plan was set, all that was left was to carry it out.
Ahead, the Khornate spider-daemon sees her coming. It has killed many, but she will not let it kill many more. The cannon on its arm turns, rotates in the socket, fires, and Little Guvuar shudders and shakes as it is struck. A dull bell-like sound emanates as it rocks in its own frame, but the tank continues to move, faster even somehow as if desperate to reach the foe. The undulating of its mechanical legs is disconcerting, that much is clear, based on the horrified screaming and vomiting by some of the soldiers with less stalwart constitutions and wills upon simply seeing the creatures. Anna works, instead, on forming yet more chains, layering and lengthening them again and again. It is all theoretical at this point, but there remains some precedence before. Chains have been used before. She has seen her mother do similar in spars to her father, but never anything on this scale or in a situation this dire.
Beneath her, Little Guvuar fired its cannon directly at the spider-daemon, and sent it stumbling backwards, a heavy bruise showing up on its right shoulder. It did not blow the limb off, it was a glancing blow, but a glancing blow from a cannonball fired at close range is still a significant amount of damage. Soon, she knows, there will be more. Especially as the daemon, crimson and brass, falls to the instincts of its twisted origin, and begins clattering forward at shocking speeds. Its legs smash aside or smash down Druchii who cannot get out of the way as it bellows and screeches, swinging its claw about this way and that. Quite fearsome, for those who had to worry about such things, surely. Anna simply inhaled deeply and then stood up, revealing herself fully to the battlefield once more. Her hands flung backwards behind her back and then forwards as she hurled two heavy hooks forward – attached to which were the chains she'd spent all this time making.
They flew, hard and fast, faster and harder and further than she ever could have managed with pure strength. They were, after all, flying according to her will and grasp of the Winds more than anything else after a certain point. The spider-daemon, its mechanical portions whirring and clanking, advanced, but didn't bother trying to deflect such comparatively miniscule things. Especially when they did not directly strike it. Instead, the spider-daemon began to react only as the chains began to whip and wind themselves about the upper arms, the shoulders, the elbows, and then back towards each other as Anna crisscrossed the lengths in her hands and about her feet. It screeched again, the noise enough to partially deafen her, her left ear popping and then going numb as a trickle of blood began to dribble down that side of her face. But by that point, the hooks were already on their way back, at which point Anna threw them to the sides and down, down towards the tank.
Down, beneath the skirt of its armor, and up into the iron spokes of its wheels.
A faint hitch followed, the advance of Little Guvuar stuttering in the faintest of measures.
"NOW." Anna bellowed, once more enforcing the reach and strength of her voice beyond mortal means.
Within the vapor tank, a crewman warily hauled out a small cask, one marked with a rune of absolute alcoholic authority – that of Clan Bugman. It was not a centuries aged cask of Bugman's Best, nor was it even Bugman's New. It was another concoction altogether, not even meant for consumption by anyone who wished to be alive after consuming it had they possessed organs to dissolve. It was something that had been asked for, paid for, personally by none other than Anna von Hohenzollern in conversation with Bugman himself. Officially, it was not even a drink, despite possessing such a high alcoholic content that even for dwarfs it was essentially a poison. It was, in fact, the industrial runoff from the Bugman Brewery itself, collected for experimental purposes. The cask, then, was swiftly cracked, and poured into a small funnel directly into the chambers of the vapor engine itself.
In later analysis, the time between Anna's order, the draining of the small cask, and the vapor tank nearly shaking itself apart was less than two seconds.
As it was, the tank nearly tore itself apart from the inside, its wheels spinning so hard and fast that they nearly ripped right off the axels. The chains, thus, were pulled taut with incredible speed, hard and tight. The spider-daemon's bellowing became a confused screech as the chains were pulled against itself, suddenly hauling and binding its arms across its own chest, claw and cannon both pointed now solidly at the ground and pressed against each other and the rest of the spider-daemon. The daemon's skin was torn from sheer friction as the chains ripped across its body and bound it up like a trussed hog, while Anna slammed her hands down against the tank and formed a stubby ramp beneath Little Guvuar which had the end result of the vapor tank – accelerating all the while even as its four wheels performed dual duty as chain winches – pushing up and forwards. The deathspinner, spinning harder and faster now, was yet mundane, at least until magical ice began to coat its hooks and blades, and began to not simply cut at but tear into the spider-daemon's chest and stomach. Its scream now, such blinding rage filling the air, became one of utter pain as it found itself rapidly disemboweled within seconds. The deathspinner chewed through gristle and muscle until it reached the bones and metal reinforcements within, something that Anna found curious but dismissed in favor of the still-living daemon. Up close, its head was practically as big as her, and its eyes focused upon her with that same blind fury and hatred, now so mixed with pain. It snapped, it snarled, it bit at her fruitlessly until Anna stamped again on the roof of the vapor tank just as the barrel of the installed dash cannon pressed up against the daemon's jaw.
At which point Little Guvuar roared, and suddenly the spider-daemon no longer had a head at all.
Nearby, Anna heard a collapsing clatter of metal and meat, and so half-turned to see the Black Knights of Morr having successfully lanced and hammered down the other spider-daemon's legs to force it lower to the ground. Her brother, Arthur, had leapt from his horse, and was just finishing decapitating the daemon with the Night's Razor, the magical blade smoothly parting the daemon apart as he swept the oversized weapon back and forth with ease. Around him, and around her as well, the Druchii were thoroughly forced back. It had taken a while, far too long in her estimation, but there were now those loyal to the Empire marching up the same ramps the Druchii had marched down only a short time ago.
They had, in fact, successfully managed to begin a proper invasion of the Claw of Dominion.
It was just unfortunate that she could see no future in which they conquered it properly enough to prevent its escape, not with how the Winds were reacting and how she felt the Ark itself shuddering.
"SAMWISE." She shouted. "ARE MY WEAPONS READY?"
From behind her, she heard his voice, hearing the clatter of what she'd asked him and the surviving engineers to do gather for her after they'd lost their cannons on the walls.
"YES, MA'AM!"
"DO IT."
With that, Anna closed her eyes and drew as deep on the Winds as she ever had before. More, in fact. Her strength and grasp of magic had grown since Karak Ungor, but she had never risked fully utilizing it. It was not an emotional decision, but a strategic one. If she lost herself to her magic once again, to a greater extent than before, the results would be terrible for the continued functioning of the school, her family, and the province. She was, by virtue of accomplishment and duty, significant enough that an abrupt loss of living on her part would be quite the issue. But, at the same time, this seemed to be that rare time when it might well be worth risking. At least, that was what her memories of herself and her previous actions told her.
So she waited the few seconds it took for them to withdraw the weapons of the dead from their bags, and throw them forwards. Water splashed upon them from flasks and cups, thankfully aimed enough that the guns would still fire, the powder and matches kept dry. Matches were lit, spark-vests utilized, and then Anna exhaled as she reached forth for that water, for it was easier to freeze what was already there than to summon it fully from the Winds themselves. Then, with a wrenching will that immediately had blood start trickling down from one of her nostrils, a great pounding pain in her head and a wave of weariness which threatened to knock her out from exertion entirely, she lifted her hands. And dozens upon dozens of crossbows and lit handguns raised up from behind her. The Druchii were still fighting, everyone was still fighting, and yet many paused to see as Anna von Hohenzollern rose to a full standing position, blood pouring down from her nose as great wings of wood and metal formed at her sides and back. Barely chips of ice, so many chips of ice held and pressed together in loose yet binding holdings, so many not-quite-hands, hefting them all up and at the ready. Dozens of lit handguns, blastguns, and pistols, along with dozens of loaded crossbows.
She did not speak, she simply exercised her will, and so a rain of death began to fall upon the Druchii at close range while Little Guvuar reversed off the dissolving ramp and began driving forwards once more, the chains disappearing in accordance with her desires.
And the fighting continued, with few noticing as single amber and silver arrow flew down from the skies above.
She is the only one who is cheery, for your heart has become a leaden weight as the crushing realization and pain of failure arrives. The Coven has escaped you, and your mounts, simultaneously repelling your attempts to reach them and accelerating their own flight with Dhar manipulations of the winds. The defenses of the Black Ark stymied you too much, forcing dodges and maneuvers which further cut speed. The sheer volume of fire is too great, Natasha exhausted after deflecting what she could, dispelling what she could, and attacking when and where she could. You love your wife, but she is only one woman, and not the greatest wielder of magic present. None of the Eonir or wizards were in any condition to come aid you, a fact you regret terribly in this moment. You've seen off every harpy the enemy has, and the rest of their dark riders, but there remain Dark Pegasi in the sky, but there are sorceresses on each and every one. There is no more progress to be made here, not now, and so you and the Whitewings have begun to ascend to try and get out of immediate range from the enemy to discuss next moves. Natasha is slumped forward on the saddle, just trying to catch her breath and recuperate.
"Is he dead, then?" Kerillian asks brusquely, quite annoyed herself after the damned hassle of even getting this far.
"No, no," Sadrina mutters, "But I have him. I see him. I can track him. He's…how in the hell is he that far in the Ark already?" She jerks her head back, eyes unfocused and seeing something only she can see.
"Where, where is he?"
"The central Tor – the control tower," she points at the massive tower in the very center of the Ark, the exact same place that the Coven was rushing towards.
In fact, at this very moment, you can see a second cloud of sorceresses at the very top of the tower, and based on how defensively they are huddling in the air they are not particularly happy to see the Supreme Sorceresses return. At the same time, this increased elevated view lets you see the battlefield truly for the first time in a good while. The Claw of Dominion is ever so subtly shaking in its moorings, and you get the feeling that its swift and violent arrival may well be repeated in reverse all too soon. Your troops have managed to get onto the ramps themselves, and are just starting to enter the Ark proper, but they are not likely to be fast enough. All that said, there are a number of fires on the effective rear of the Ark, and you can see evidence of fighting down below from where it appears that the fleet has boarded. What remains of the fleet at least – much to your dismay, it looks as if more than two thirds of the ships you started the fight with have simply ceased to be, sinking down into the Sea of Claws as the waters churn with beasts. In fact, what few ships you still have left are clearly retreating outright, even as they are continually pummeled by war machines on the walls of the Black Ark, the monsters, and the last remaining dragon rider from before. On the other hand, the Fortress of Eternal Torture is absolutely being swarmed by the banners of Laurelorn, Nordland, and Ostland, to the point that you swear you can see the Sea Eagle being raised at the highest tower of the smaller Ark. Or something blue and gold, in the far, far distance.
"We can't just let them get away," Kerillian grumbles, "Not when we've gone this far."
"I agree," Sadrina nods before looking back to you, her eyes outlined in that amber-silver glow. "There is essentially no chance at all that we could stop the Ark itself from ejecting itself back into the waters of the sea. But…I think we can still make an attempt at Dreadbringer."
"Where was all that fear from before?" You ask her, eyebrow raised.
She flushes, but looks you right back in the eye, her gaze luminous.
"I just watched a human banner be raised over an Ark," she points over at the Fortress of Eternal Torture, "I am watching a mighty Druchii army retreat. I have heard a Supreme Sorceress declare her intent to retreat, and seen Dreadbringer defied by his own kind. These are not ordinary things. Furthermore, we would not be attempting to make our way to the enemy on foot," she pats Oskana's flank. "This would become a targeted strike, nothing less, nothing more."
A thought comes upon you, one which furrows your brow.
"But what of Eldyra, her companions?"
Sadrina bites her lip, looks away, then back to you with determination in her gaze.
"If she was a prisoner of their highest, she would be stationed in the most prestigious quarters."
And she points, once more, to the central tower that stretches so high to the sky.
"The Coven, the Supreme Sorceress, their rivals, Dreadbringer, an Asur to rescue, and…," Kerillian trails off as she leans to the side, squinting slightly. "And some of your own, as well, thunderfoot," she says to you.
"Wait, what?" You blink, glancing at her. "You can see that far?"
"I can only see some of the colors at this distance, but I recall no Druchii wearing blue and white," she shrugs at you. "Or orange."
"Blue and – oh shit," your eyes widen as you realize the only ones who it could be. "The High Matriarch!?"
The woman is insane. She can't possibly have fought her way through the entire Black Ark to there. At least, that is what you want to think, but you can't properly say that. Not about the greatest representative of a God, especially one such as Manann. One escorted by the greatest templar knights of said God and Cult as well. There are no reinforcements for her, no way for her to get off the Ark, not with the fleet shattered and retreating. But it is only as you think that, glancing back to said broken remnants, that you have a stark and cold realization. You do not see the absolutely massive vessel that she sailed in on. The literal floating cathedral of Manann is nowhere to be seen, not on the top of the water at least. You spot what might be the Fair Fregar which has beached itself onto the Ark, but no Slayer Pirates manning it either.
Ah.
Now you see how and why she might have taken such a suicidal tack to this fight, and who better to accompany that than a bunch of dwarf Slayers?
"We can do it," Sadrina says, imploring you now. "We can rid the world of a great evil, and if we are successful and if we are swift, we can do this before we are overwhelmed! We can fly out and away, even if the Ark departs the shore!"
The shining hope, the passionate fervor, it is so bright and earnest it almost hurts.
"I owe the bawbag an arrow in the eye," Kerillian grunts, her wholly black eyes glinting with a fair bit more hungry cruelty and murderous desire than Sadrina displays.
"Frederick!" Roland calls, the Bretonnians now coming close enough for you to speak. "What shall we do!?"
Choices
1 Hour Moratorium
GM Note: Apologies for paucity of vote options, but sometimes that's how it shakes out.
Choice 1:
[] Skystrike: The Ark is set to leave soon, and there is no way you can stop such a thing. But you can draw as much blood from the Druchii as you can, to show them that they should never have come to Ostland. It is time to kill their leaders, and matters will only be helped by them fighting with each other. The Supreme Sorceress and her unknown rival, their Covens set against each other. Dreadbringer, who is murderously opposed to both for daring to sound a retreat, regardless of which order it was done. All of which seems to be involving the High Matriarch and her retinue, as well as Slayer Pirates, all at the top of the tallest tower in the Black Ark, where the defenses such as the bolt throwers are not liable to reach you. It will, of course, be immensely dangerous, but at the same time, you will have yourself, Natasha, Oskana, Sadrina, Kerillian, and the Whitewings. But afterwards, you could scour the tower for Eldyra, rescue her, and fly free. Let the Druchii flee, their leaders dead, and know fear at human hands!
OR
[] Something Else (Write-In)
OR
[] Let Them Go: You have all suffered here today. It is enough.
Choice 2:
[] Have Them Hold Position: If the Ark is truly about to leave, your fleet too broken to stop them, you'll not have a single Ostlander be carried away on the damn thing if you can help it. Have the swiftest of the Whitewings rush down to inform Anna or Arthur of this fact, and have them hold positions below, to not advance into the Ark. They can kill the Druchii from there, and while they will suffer from the enemy being able to hide within the Ark's defenses, it is simply not worth it for them to advance too far in and not be able to escape once the Ark leaves shore. Plus, they still have the Titan Cannons and Barrel Throwers for counter-artillery fire.
OR
[] Something Else (Write-In)
-[] Speed First: The Druchii are attempting to make a swift but steady retreat. Now it is time to strike them hard and fast, while giving yourself room and ability maneuver. Specifically with your various cavalry, and the Vapor Tanks as well. Surround, overwhelm, try to cut them off before they can even get back to the Black Arks. Let the infantry and the rest come behind afterwards, and push forward.
-[] Split Forces: You can't have an accurate tally of your forces, but you can trust your commanders in Anna, Arthur, Urgdug, and others to follow your wishes as best as they possibly can.
--[] Claw of Dominion, Larger Ark with Ghrond Leanings
---[] 2/3 Forces
--[] Fortress of Eternal Torture, Smaller Ark with Clar Karond Leanings
---[] 1/3 Forces
-[] Through The Skies: Ride with the Whitewings, Roland, Natasha, Kerillian, and Sadrina after the Coven. If you can take them in the skies before they can get back to the Arks, they won't be able to assist against the fleet and the boarders already present. This choice can only be taken if pursuing towards the Claw of Dominion, regardless of any other choice.
Spikes, Horns, and Stone 4
The answer, of course, is immediate.
"Damn right we are!" You yell, raising Brain Wounder high with one hand while grabbing a flask with another.
You don't have time to uncork it properly, and so instead just tear the stopper out and drain the contents within. All around you, in the same Ostlander instinct, hundreds and thousands of soldiers do the same with their own personal flasks. In an instant, gallons upon gallons of ostka, beer, wine, Bugman's Best, kvas, koumiss, to even just plain old rotgut, are drunk down into the gullets and guts of your people. The elves, of course, are likely somewhat revolted by the sudden infusion of so many distinct scents into the air, but you don't really concern yourself with that at the moment. A cheer goes up, next, both from your gesture and your words.
"Listen up," you continue, snapping your fingers thrice in a distinct fashion that has Oskana shuffle over to you, ducking and half-crouching to let you crawl atop her once more. "We're advancing! All of us! Anna, Arthur, Urgdug!" You shout, making three heads swivel. "Two thirds split towards the larger Ark, the rest to the smaller! Cavalry go out first, then everyone else! See to it!"
Trusting in your family as they begin shouting their own orders, you concern yourself with the enemies you'll be personally contending with.
"Everyone up! Whitewings, with me! They don't get to run and hide!"
The noise from the mercenary Bretonnians is a fair bit more ragged, which is not surprising considering all they've dealt with largely on their lonesome, but there is some vitality in their lungs yet. Roland, too, joins in with them, having remained unhorsed from the largest of the Pegasi that he is guest to alongside its rider. The only other issue, of course, is that Sadrina and Kerillian cannot simply leap up into the air to ride atop any of the other Pegasi. Instead, they look to you at the same time that you look to them. Speed will be a bit of an issue, you know that, but at least you'll have them in the air with you, and by now you know damn well that their bows will be that much better with elevation. All of this passes in an instant, veterans of centuries locking eyes with your own, a twitch of your gaze towards Oskana who lets loose a squawking huff and then hunkers further.
No words are needed as the elves come aboard your faithful gryphon, even when she lets loose a rumbling whine as her powerful wings begin to practically slam against the ground as she hefts herself upwards. Going purely by the laws of some scholars, though not all, there is no reason why a beast such as a gryphon should be able to fly. The rear half's bones are not hollow, yet the skeleton remains perfectly functional. The wingspan should not be able to heft their sheer weight. And most certainly, they should not be able to simply deny gravity itself and launch themselves vertically. But then, those scholars are the sorts to try and protest that gryphons, great eagles, giant owls, giant wolves, certain subspecies of boar utilized by greenskins, and many other such beasts should not exist for one reason or another.
But they do, and so Oskana rises up into the air with two plate-armored Hohenzollerns, a Handmaiden of the Everqueen, and a Waywatcher of Athel Loren on her back and then angles forward into pursuit alongside a group of Bretonnians upon snow white Pegasi. It is a harder heft for her than before, all things considered, much later in the battle after fighting a dragon and now carrying that much more weight. Not so much, however, that Oskana cannot manage it. Her pride and stubbornness, a perfect match for any Ostlander, is more than enough to ensure that she begins advancing through the sky directly towards the mass of Sorceresses attempting to flee back to the safety of their Ark. Below you, the cavalry is forming up into concentrated clumps before each of the gates, all of them slamming open now that the Druchii are on the retreat. You hope the irony burns like acid in their minds. The Coven's backsides are facing you, but so too are the teeming gleaming spears and crossbows of the rest of the Druchii below, as are the two massive edifices that are the Black Arks. This will not be easy. None of it.
"FOR THE EMPIRE!" You bellow.
"OSTLAAAAAND!" Natasha shouts.
"In the name of the Lady!" Roland calls from nearby.
"Isha watch over us," Sadrina murmurs in Eltharin under her breath, her magically formed blue bow sparking into existence as she reaches out and grasps for it.
"Let Kurnous bless my shots," Kerillian grunts in Fan-Eltharin.
From below, distantly now given the sheer cacophony of so many thousands of shifting feet and hooves and beating of wings and rustling of metal and leather, you can distantly hear the rest of your family.
"For Morr, and the Empire!" comes the noble shout of Arthur, his huge obsidian blade held high.
"HRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" roars Urgdug, loud as a dragon and then some.
"DRIVE US FORWARD," Anna's call fills the air, earsplitting in volume but as ever flat in tone.
And then the Titan Cannons go off through their two gates as the barrel throwers let loose.
(Forward And Splitting: 44+Finally On Offense(10)+Remaining Artillery(15)-Druchii Discipline(10)-Last Beasts(10)=49/100)
(Rising Up And Forward: 46+Fatigued Noble Riders(10)+Assembly of Heroes(20)-Mighty Coven(10)-Supreme Sorceress(15)=51/100)
(The Boarded Fortress: 73+Assets Elsewhere(20)+Total Assault(10)-Remaining Defenses(10)=93/100)
(Clawed Seas: 58+Zealotry(15)+Esoteric Arms(10)-Most Monsters(20)-Dragon(15)=48/100)
(Claw Boarders: 61+High Matriarch(25)-Scattered Defenders(10)=76/100)
(Single Asur Seeks Khaine-Blessed Druchii For Murder Purposes: 23+Handmaiden of Isha(20)-The Shroud of Khaine(30)=13/100)
Now that you are higher in the air, not immediately on top of a corkscrewing dragon, and more importantly over the walls which had previously been blocking your vision, you can perceive far more of the battlefield than before. Such as seeing two great furrows being liberally blown into the flexing and bending lines of the Druchii, courtesy of the Titan Cannons, as well as a number of incendiaries come flying down amongst them from the barrel throwers. Shortly before the cavalry hits them, at least. The first impact, you miss, mostly because what must be the very dregs of all the remaining harpies between both Black Arks come screeching into your sight, clawing and biting with all their might as one of the sorceresses raises her staff and releases some sort of multi-colored burst of light. It frustratingly delays you, stymying your advance through the air if only through sheer capacity for suicidal annoyance. At least, that was what you thought at first.
Then one of them manages to latch onto you, and you get far too intimate a look at one of their faces, the disturbingly elven face stretched and bent with its screeching. What could have, should have, was an outright Druchii face, was split and cracked from within. Black bile spilled past triangular teeth and spattered across your armor and face. Eyes bulge from their sockets, one literally bursting with that same strange bile, all of which sizzles and burns against you. Not enough to actually begin dissolving your flesh or the like, but it certainly stings. It is definitely not normal for them, or at least you would guess so despite your relative inexperience with harpies in general. That gesture and light from one of the sorceresses transforms that unwholesome gesture into something worse the more you think on it. You brain the harpy with Bokdrungni and send it toppling down just in time to catch Sadrina muttering something under her breath behind you, but the harpies make it impossible to hear her words.
You do, however, hear the thundering roar of cannons, both below and in the waters from the fleets of Ostland and Nordland.
(One Third: 74+10+15-10-10+Ogre Charge(15)=94/100)
(Two Thirds: 80+10+15-10-10+Advancing Vapor(20)-Druchii Arrogance and Pride(40)=65/100)
(Natasha Dispel Attempt: 54+Natasha Martial(11)+Enhancing Armor(10)-15=60/100)
(Aerial Chase: 45+10+20-10-15-Dark Wings(15)=35/100)
(The Boarded Fortress: 49+20+10+Boarded Shock(10)-Druchii Outrage(10)=79/100)
(Clawed Seas: 62-20-15+15+10-Danger Close Defenses(10)=42/100)
(Claw Boaders: 73+25-10=88/100)
(Single Asur Seeks Khaine-Blessed Druchii For Murder Purposes:41+20-30-Distractions of Battle(10)=24/100)
Alarm spills through the bond by way of Natasha, her awareness of the Winds spiking something in her mind. Your wife raises her hands, thrusting them forwards and grimacing as she works to blunt or deflect something that you can only partially perceive through the bond. A curse escapes her lips, however, and no sooner than you have hacked away the very absolute last of all the harpies than you can see what she was attempting to stop. The coven is completely aware of your pursuit, it is impossible to mistake it for anything else, and the Supreme Sorceress herself is half-twisted at the waist, glaring back with absolute hatred towards all of you. She tears the head of her staff through the air diagonally, and several rips in reality appear. Some of them, you see with relief, are rimed over with ethereal frost and close prematurely, much to the displeasure of the Druchii, but too many more are successfully opened. Bloated, sagging Rot Flies of Nurgle emerge out into the air, immediately despoiling it with their horrendous stench. Two are cut in half by Natasha's closing of their portals on them, but the remaining Druchii upon Dark Pegasi that are approaching more than make up for their absence.
"Gods damn that woman, how many things like this does she have!" You snarl.
"She's over a thousand years old, that's a lot of time to form a lot of contracts," Sadrina answers you promptly, even as she shoots an arrow into an approaching Druchii's face.
Words cease to be worth the breath as the newest clash in the air comes upon you. Swooping, diving, ducking, swirling, spinning, dozens of pairs of wings flap and buzz and beat in the air. Oskana, thankfully, does not actually bite any of the Rot Flies, but she does manage to swallow down half of a Dark Pegasus and a third of its rider at one point. Brain Wounder touches daemon, Dark Pegasi, and Druchii, at one time or another, while arrows fly, lances puncture, and swords flash. At one point you find yourself sideways again, Natasha clinging on to you, the elves dexterously and almost improbably managing to hold themselves in place with nothing more than their feet upon the tangled buckles and chains of the saddle. All while continuing to fire their arrows. It also lets you see below, as the army has followed your wishes. A full third has split off, hammering their way towards the Fortress of Eternal Torture, and for that matter you find to your surprise that the Druchii have just started to split as well. Two thirds of them are heading for the larger Black Ark, and yet even based on their heraldry you think it is as much of literal convenience of distance than anything else that each contingent is retreating to which Ark. A shame for the Druchii to potentially have to deal with such haphazard matters.
You'll have to do your best to make sure they won't have to deal with it for long.
Another set of bloody trenches have been blown into the Druchii lines, courtesy of the Titan Cannons, and at this point you're relatively sure that those things have racked up more kills individually than almost anyone else. Though the Vapor Tanks are both doing their best to match them. Even from up here, you can see the absolutely ruinous drive that Little Guvuar has managed. It is absolutely drenched in gore, and Anna atop it just as much, the continually functioning deathspinner modification endlessly spinning thanks to its connection to the vapor engine, taking what is normally a short temporary slaughter into a continual one. It cuts, it slashes, it tears, it grinds. The cavalry are wheeling about for further charges, cycling in and out, near her, while the infantry and ogres are now fully evacuating out of the walls. Urgdug, of course, is impossible to miss. An ogre charge's effect, seen from above, is truly remarkable to see. Witnessing ranks upon ranks of Druchii simply be smashed to paste before them as Urgdug leads the charge towards the Fortress of Eternal Torture – Anna and Arthur leading the other contingent towards the Claw of Dominion – and outright smashes aside a smaller way hydra in a single hit. It does not survive the ogres that follow Urgdug, its regenerative capabilities not quite up to the task of being healing while being trampled by more than a hundred ogres.
"Damn her!" Natasha cries from next to you. "I can't…!"
She is straining, all of a sudden, as mightily as she can. You can feel the old, bitter self-loathing, the recriminations of never matching up, as she does so. There is worry, a desire that somehow the battered and blasted wizards and elven Spellweavers should have manage to leap up and onto the Whitewings and accompanied you. But time was not on your side there, and it is not on your side now. Natasha is your only main magical support here, a fact you realize is only somewhat offset due to the fact that the coven is mainly focused on retreating rather than fighting. Otherwise your wife, no matter how much you love her, could have found herself overwhelmed. This becomes quite evident as the Supreme Sorceress, apparently quite frankly having had enough of your ever so slightly gaining pursuit and the battle itself, has drawn out some hefty looking scrolls from the saddlebags of her Dark Pegasi.
(Dispelling Attempt: 17+11+10=38/100)
Reality shudders, shakes, and then screams. It is a noise that makes something in your soul tremble before there are drums somewhere in the distance of your mind that sets it aside. The Whitewings and their Pegasi stutter in the air, dipping slightly as the freeze up. The screams are not just reality, you realize, only as the Supreme Sorceress does something to the scrolls that causes them to evaporate into the air in colored motes of light that swiftly disappear. The screams come from what she has summoned next. Natasha tries her best, a faint bit of blood spilling from her Widow-touched eye, and yet two huge holes appear in reality, facing straight down, and from them come the screaming…whatever they are. The sight burns at your eyes, as only the most unnatural things have before, and you hear a strangled sound escape Sadrina as she stares at them, horror clear on the Handmaiden's face. Nearby, in the air, one of the Whitewings outright vomits uncontrollably for a moment, straight through the holes of their concealing helmet and onto their own lap and the back of their Pegasi.
They are…horrific.
The first is a thing of crimson and black, of brass and white exposed bone, horns and spikes stretching out from its torn up skin to reveal glowing musculature beneath. A pair of broken horns, what used to be a crown of them, sprouts up from its head. It is a daemon of Khorne, or at least it once was, that you are sure, but you have never seen one of their kind in this fashion. Not with a rictus of pain like that, not like those you have seen that were outraged that the world was not dead and burning at their feet just yet, but actual true pain. Pain from their own bodies, a hated sort of bitter pain which emanates from its entire being, such as it is. If it can even be called that, given that only the top half of it looks like that. For that pained, mishappen mass, is not all of the creature. It has been…grafted, somehow, to what looks like the legs of a spider. If a spider was the misbegotten child of a pile of gears, springs, and metal plating. They shuffle and whine, thick cables of glistening metal pumping and whirring, even as the creatures land with heavy crashes directly onto the ground from dozens and dozens of feet upwards. Their arms are not spared either, for one is a humongous crab claw-like creation, with clamping, snapping teeth at its terminus, and what looks like a cannon replacing the forearm and hand of the other arm. It screams at the world, at itself, at everything. The other, a disgusting fat mass of green of bile and rotting exposed entrails, was clearly once a thing of Nurgle. But they are not, now. No longer.
You don't know how, but it feels truly as if reality itself is informing you despite your utter lack of comprehension and knowledge of these thing that they are not of the Chaos Gods any longer. A rejection acknowledged by something beyond your ability to properly know, a separation that is instinctually and intimately understood. They belong to someone else. Something else. And the very second that your mind dares to touch upon that topic, a full-body shiver comes across you body. A strange pressure comes across you, as if something infinitely vaster than you was not quite paying attention to you, but rather like a flick of its gaze might have come peripherally near you. A ghost of an impression, and it is more than enough.
They are daemonic, yes, but something else altogether than any other you have ever heard of.
"What…in the hell…," you choke out as Natasha just spits out some blood from her mouth where it freezes on her armor.
"Soul Grinders," Sadrina whispers, just as horrified as before. "She…she formed a contract with…no, that's…the madness to…the Forge wouldn't…,"
It is Kerillian who snaps both of you out of it.
"Focus, glaikits! We have foes to fight and prey to kill!"
(One Third: 66+10+15-10-10+15+Minority Split(10)=96/100)
(Two Thirds: 25+10+15-10-10+20-Majority Split(10)-Soul Grinders(15)=25/100)
(Aerial Chase: 39+10+20-10-15-15-Coven Drawing Deep(5)=24/100)
(The Boarded Fortress: 60+20+10-10+Waves of Boarders(15)-Unleashed Monsters(20)+Slave Rebellion(5)=80/100)
(Clawed Seas: 35-20+15+10-10+Desperate Boarding(10)-Unhindered Dragon Run(20)=20/100)
(Claw Boarders: 81+25-10=96/100)
(Single Asur Seeks Khaine-Blessed Druchii For Murder Purposes: 53+20-30-10=33/100)
You can barely see what happens next for the next several seconds. The coven raise their arms as one, chanting to each other, and then what feels like a localized windstorm starts swamping each and every one of the Whitewings, Oskana included. Your vision is obscured by magical winds, buffeting you this way and that, with Kerillian crying out in alarm as she is nearly flung off the gryphon entirely before you catch her. It is a brief thing, reaching out and grasping her by the armored forearm and then hauling her back into Sadrina's grip before your armor starts to negatively affect the Asrai. One of the Whitewings lets loose a high pitched yelp as their Pegasus is thrust downwards with immense force, almost flattening the Bretonnian against their mount as the airborne equine's wings are nearly crushed downwards.
"Gods damn him, where are you!?" You can just barely hear Sadrina howl in outrage as she fires her bow seemingly at random outwards into the air.
"What are you shooting at?!" Kerillian calls out to her, even as she shoots her own arrows towards the Druchii fliers and the remaining daemonic entities in the air.
"I'm trying to find Dreadbringer," is the Handmaiden's grim reply, "I refuse to accept that he can truly simply disappear from all methods of seeking!"
It would be nice to encourage her, but you don't have the breath in your lungs or the energy to spare, grappling onto the saddle with one hand and trying to keep Brain Wounder in your grip. Not with these near blinding winds buffeting you, a true kaleidoscope of colors flashing about and filling the air as the coven works to delay you further. They are not pausing long enough to make for more aggressive defense, something you find yourself frustratingly grateful for. If they had, you would likely be having much more trouble. But then again, all they want is to get back within the Black Ark's defensive perimeter, at which point you know for a fact that things are going to become much more difficult. It wasn't like the Druchii on the damn thing all up and left their posts after the initial landing impact, that would be absurd. Not that what you're doing isn't absurd in its own way, part of you notes dryly as you see one of the Whitewings give out a pained scream as they lose their lance, the wood and metal both superheated to the point that it essentially half-explodes in their grip. A particularly high-pitched scream escapes their helm as splinters of wood and metal pepper them and their horse as well, a matching whinnying scream coming from the Pegasus.
(One Third: 81+10+15-10-10+5+10+10-20+5+Divided Defenders(10)=106/100)
(Two Thirds: 77+10+15-10-10+20-10-15+15+Hefted Titan Cannons(15)=92/100)
(Aerial Chase: 88+10+20-10-15-15-5-Remanned Black Ark Defenses(10)=63/100)
(The Boarded Fortress: 75+20+10+15-10-20+5+10-Zealots of Anath Raema(10)=95/100)
(Clawed Seas: 54-20-15+15-10=24/100)
(Claw Boarders: 91+25-10-No More Reinforcements(10)+Slayers Seeking Death(20)-Utterly Surrounded(20)=96/100
(Single Asur Seeks Khaine-Blessed Druchii For Murder Purposes: 69+20-30+Beeeching Another(10)=69/100)
"Gods damn them, we – huargh!" Your cursing is cut off as Oskana corkscrews in the air without warning, your eyes only barely catching the ominously glowing shaft of black metal which nearly struck you all.
Less than a second behind you, it explodes with the smell of sulfur and ecstatic pain filling the air. How the Druchii got a concept to become a scent, you don't particularly care to know the details. On the other hand, Oskana is then knocked about mid-air as another payload from another bolt thrower strikes her directly in the side of the head. There is a resounding dull clang as the wicked barbs of the metal, and the metal head of the large bolt, both flatten themselves against your gryphon's skull, just shy of hitting her directly in the eye. There is no great shimmering from the rune on her breastplate, but you don't need there to be. You know, in your heart, that what just hit her would have been an almost assured killing blow if it were not for the rune transfiguring her entire body into something altogether unnaturally tough and durable. Which both lends credit to the Runelord who forged it, and more despicably to the Druchii who just managed to fire a bolt thrower at her damned head while midflight and hit the bloody target.
If the oversized bolt had been another one of those magically enchanted exploding ones, you highly doubt that you or any of the other passengers on your gryphon would have been nearly so well off.
"Fuckin' glaikit roaster bawbag!" Kerillian screams angrily and fires off a trio of arrows in a single salvo off into the winds to where you can't see.
You can only hope that she hit the target, because if that Druchii weapon's team was accurate enough to hit Oskana's head in the midst of all this, you don't want to give them more chances to try again. But worse than any of that, however, is the fact that such attacks can only mean one thing, and one thing only – that you've passed back within the protective aegis of the Black Ark's defenses once more. Which means that you are direly out of time. They've kept you back with daemons, with blasts of magic, and now they have the Black Ark itself aiding them. If you are going to try and catch the Coven, to bring them to close battle, to cut them down and keep them from getting further away, it has to be now, right now.
"Come on!" You urge Oskana, "You can do it girl, come on!"
Your loyal gryphon trembles with effort at this point, all the intense flying and combat and weight more than you regularly train her with. There just aren't enough hours in the day for all of that, on top of the four hours spent sparring and training regularly. Nevertheless, she does not spare breath from her lungs to make any noise, instead simply beating her wings harder, hitching her paws and talons under herself so that her profile is a reduced as possible as she makes every possible effort to strain herself to actually reach melee range with the damned Coven as they keep making their escape. Around you, either having come to the same conclusion as you after years of experience as Pegasus riders or because they are simply following your lead, the Whitewings began urging their own mounts to try and surpass their usual limits. All the while, Sadrina starts praying out loud, with far more aggression behind it than you would normally think to hear. Not just to Isha, it seems, but to Kurnous as well. The Handmaiden of the Everqueen grasps at something in the air, clasping her hands around something only half-formed, this time not of the exploding silver blue of her usual magically formed arrows, but something of a darker amber and silver.
(One Third: 80+10+15-10-10+15+10+10-20+Surging Slave Rebellion(10)=110/100)
(Two Thirds: 100+10+15-10-10+20-10-15+15+Full Lobbing(10)=125/100)
(Aerial Chase: 65+10+20-10-15-15-5-10+Final Desperation(10)=50/100)
(The Boarded Fortress: 27+20+10+15-10-20+10+10-10+Control Fane Taken(15)=67/100)
(Clawed Seas: 41-20-15+15+10-10-Obliterated Fleet(20)=1/100)
(Claw Boarders: 65-10+20+25-20+10+Unleashed Djinn(25)=115/100)
(Single Asur Seeks Khaine-Blessed Druchii For Murder Purposes: 83+20-30+10+10=93/100)
You are distracted from the praying, the chase, the winds, the magic being thrown about, and just about everything else for just the briefest of seconds.
It is impossible not to be, after all, when the earth below lights up so vibrantly.
=======================================================================
Thousands and thousands of years of experience, knowledge, and power are blown to pieces as the grenadiers exhaust their entire supply of explosives in a single ongoing tossing salvo. Ineffecient for long-term fighting, but long-term has ceased to be a concern. The Winds are condensing, curdling, forced and wrenched into position, visible across the entire Black Ark which perches on the transformed shoreline. She can see it, concentrating into several locus points across the Ark. Too many are too far, more than likely too well defended, to reach. The Ark is trembling, ever so slightly, but for a construction of its size and potency such slight trembles are already causing low level earthquakes across the shoreline. Soldiers new and old are risking stumbling and falling here and there.
Speed, then, is of the essence, and so hence the order for the grenadiers to remove themselves from the longer equation in favor of the shorter. Shoulders and arms burn as they pump bomb after bomb over the clashing shield and spear lines. The Titan Cannons, hefted up on the shoulders of the few ogres not dedicated to charging the lesser of the Black Arks, fire out their grapeshot, shredding two great trenches into the retreating Druchii. The barrel throwers have launched their payloads continually, and new splashes of incendiary death are coming down even now amongst the enemy. Guns fire, crossbows twang, spears and pikes and metal and wood scrape and squeak and break.
Meanwhile she watches, she waits, and she is coated in crimson from head to toe. An expected outcome from standing atop the vapor tank equipped with a deathspinner device. The Druchii unfortunate enough to be caught up within its grasp are reduced not to pulp, not mashed like a vegetable, but are torn apart into slurry. To chum, if one were to consider a nautical reference for the dissolution of Druchii as their bodies are struck by the merciless grinding prowess of Little Guvuar. It should be horrifying, to be covered in such viscera, such thick layers of emulsified muscle fiber and powdered bone with thick hardening soup of blood.
It is not.
She has lost the capability to feel such things outside of rare circumstances, which these happen to not be.
In this case, it is well, rather than unfortunate, that she is so. Or at least that is what her memories tell her.
She waits until the last lobbing of the last bombs are done, just as they are halfway through their arc.
"ADVANCE." She bellows as loud as her lungs can allow, and then some, a minor crafting and manipulation of the Winds to manipulate the wind, expanding her breath and noise outward into the ears of many.
Most importantly, however, they reach the innards of the vapor tank and the crew within, who are deafened for the most part to the outside world.
Little Guvuar let out a throaty metallic growl as excess vapor escapes some of its valves before thundering forward past a hastily formed gap in the line by the soldiers. It is not as fast as a horse, by any means, but it can certainly work up some speed to itself. Especially given how she had ordered it to build up pressure when it had been made to keep stationary while firing its guns. She had needed to plan, to speak with Arthur, and yet time was slipping through their fingers while the enemy had begun to make it up the enormous ramps they had laid down when the invasion had arrived. None of which is her true focus at the moment, for all that her mind considers all she sees and hears, from Arthur's orders to his black-armored knights, to the aerial battle above, to the fact that a third of their forces under Uncle Urgdug have practically disappeared into the Fortress of Eternal Torture – an act of sheer bludgeoning and violent success that she and Arthur's own detachment have thus far failed to match.
No. None of these require her main focus.
The half-mechanical daemons with cannons for arms, on the other hand, do.
Anna von Hohenzollern cracked her neck from side to side as the tanks pushed into and then through the Druchii lines. Icey shields form around her as she crouches down, deflecting the spears and blades that are haphazardly stabbed at her, thick and heavy chains of ice practically spilling from her palms as she draws deeply upon her magic. Screams fill her ears from Druchii throats as they are churned apart by the tank's forward armament, while others are attacked by the soldiers following in the war machine's bloody wake. The daemons see them coming, it is impossible for them not to. Wherever they went, wherever they strode, the wrought utter ruin upon their foes. It did not matter if they were of Ostland, Ostermark, or elsewhere. It did not even seem to matter overmuch if they walked over some of the Druchii who were distracted or otherwise just a little bit too slow, not to the daemons. Never in her life had she heard of such things, but it didn't matter.
The plan was set, all that was left was to carry it out.
Ahead, the Khornate spider-daemon sees her coming. It has killed many, but she will not let it kill many more. The cannon on its arm turns, rotates in the socket, fires, and Little Guvuar shudders and shakes as it is struck. A dull bell-like sound emanates as it rocks in its own frame, but the tank continues to move, faster even somehow as if desperate to reach the foe. The undulating of its mechanical legs is disconcerting, that much is clear, based on the horrified screaming and vomiting by some of the soldiers with less stalwart constitutions and wills upon simply seeing the creatures. Anna works, instead, on forming yet more chains, layering and lengthening them again and again. It is all theoretical at this point, but there remains some precedence before. Chains have been used before. She has seen her mother do similar in spars to her father, but never anything on this scale or in a situation this dire.
Beneath her, Little Guvuar fired its cannon directly at the spider-daemon, and sent it stumbling backwards, a heavy bruise showing up on its right shoulder. It did not blow the limb off, it was a glancing blow, but a glancing blow from a cannonball fired at close range is still a significant amount of damage. Soon, she knows, there will be more. Especially as the daemon, crimson and brass, falls to the instincts of its twisted origin, and begins clattering forward at shocking speeds. Its legs smash aside or smash down Druchii who cannot get out of the way as it bellows and screeches, swinging its claw about this way and that. Quite fearsome, for those who had to worry about such things, surely. Anna simply inhaled deeply and then stood up, revealing herself fully to the battlefield once more. Her hands flung backwards behind her back and then forwards as she hurled two heavy hooks forward – attached to which were the chains she'd spent all this time making.
They flew, hard and fast, faster and harder and further than she ever could have managed with pure strength. They were, after all, flying according to her will and grasp of the Winds more than anything else after a certain point. The spider-daemon, its mechanical portions whirring and clanking, advanced, but didn't bother trying to deflect such comparatively miniscule things. Especially when they did not directly strike it. Instead, the spider-daemon began to react only as the chains began to whip and wind themselves about the upper arms, the shoulders, the elbows, and then back towards each other as Anna crisscrossed the lengths in her hands and about her feet. It screeched again, the noise enough to partially deafen her, her left ear popping and then going numb as a trickle of blood began to dribble down that side of her face. But by that point, the hooks were already on their way back, at which point Anna threw them to the sides and down, down towards the tank.
Down, beneath the skirt of its armor, and up into the iron spokes of its wheels.
A faint hitch followed, the advance of Little Guvuar stuttering in the faintest of measures.
"NOW." Anna bellowed, once more enforcing the reach and strength of her voice beyond mortal means.
Within the vapor tank, a crewman warily hauled out a small cask, one marked with a rune of absolute alcoholic authority – that of Clan Bugman. It was not a centuries aged cask of Bugman's Best, nor was it even Bugman's New. It was another concoction altogether, not even meant for consumption by anyone who wished to be alive after consuming it had they possessed organs to dissolve. It was something that had been asked for, paid for, personally by none other than Anna von Hohenzollern in conversation with Bugman himself. Officially, it was not even a drink, despite possessing such a high alcoholic content that even for dwarfs it was essentially a poison. It was, in fact, the industrial runoff from the Bugman Brewery itself, collected for experimental purposes. The cask, then, was swiftly cracked, and poured into a small funnel directly into the chambers of the vapor engine itself.
In later analysis, the time between Anna's order, the draining of the small cask, and the vapor tank nearly shaking itself apart was less than two seconds.
As it was, the tank nearly tore itself apart from the inside, its wheels spinning so hard and fast that they nearly ripped right off the axels. The chains, thus, were pulled taut with incredible speed, hard and tight. The spider-daemon's bellowing became a confused screech as the chains were pulled against itself, suddenly hauling and binding its arms across its own chest, claw and cannon both pointed now solidly at the ground and pressed against each other and the rest of the spider-daemon. The daemon's skin was torn from sheer friction as the chains ripped across its body and bound it up like a trussed hog, while Anna slammed her hands down against the tank and formed a stubby ramp beneath Little Guvuar which had the end result of the vapor tank – accelerating all the while even as its four wheels performed dual duty as chain winches – pushing up and forwards. The deathspinner, spinning harder and faster now, was yet mundane, at least until magical ice began to coat its hooks and blades, and began to not simply cut at but tear into the spider-daemon's chest and stomach. Its scream now, such blinding rage filling the air, became one of utter pain as it found itself rapidly disemboweled within seconds. The deathspinner chewed through gristle and muscle until it reached the bones and metal reinforcements within, something that Anna found curious but dismissed in favor of the still-living daemon. Up close, its head was practically as big as her, and its eyes focused upon her with that same blind fury and hatred, now so mixed with pain. It snapped, it snarled, it bit at her fruitlessly until Anna stamped again on the roof of the vapor tank just as the barrel of the installed dash cannon pressed up against the daemon's jaw.
At which point Little Guvuar roared, and suddenly the spider-daemon no longer had a head at all.
Nearby, Anna heard a collapsing clatter of metal and meat, and so half-turned to see the Black Knights of Morr having successfully lanced and hammered down the other spider-daemon's legs to force it lower to the ground. Her brother, Arthur, had leapt from his horse, and was just finishing decapitating the daemon with the Night's Razor, the magical blade smoothly parting the daemon apart as he swept the oversized weapon back and forth with ease. Around him, and around her as well, the Druchii were thoroughly forced back. It had taken a while, far too long in her estimation, but there were now those loyal to the Empire marching up the same ramps the Druchii had marched down only a short time ago.
They had, in fact, successfully managed to begin a proper invasion of the Claw of Dominion.
It was just unfortunate that she could see no future in which they conquered it properly enough to prevent its escape, not with how the Winds were reacting and how she felt the Ark itself shuddering.
"SAMWISE." She shouted. "ARE MY WEAPONS READY?"
From behind her, she heard his voice, hearing the clatter of what she'd asked him and the surviving engineers to do gather for her after they'd lost their cannons on the walls.
"YES, MA'AM!"
"DO IT."
With that, Anna closed her eyes and drew as deep on the Winds as she ever had before. More, in fact. Her strength and grasp of magic had grown since Karak Ungor, but she had never risked fully utilizing it. It was not an emotional decision, but a strategic one. If she lost herself to her magic once again, to a greater extent than before, the results would be terrible for the continued functioning of the school, her family, and the province. She was, by virtue of accomplishment and duty, significant enough that an abrupt loss of living on her part would be quite the issue. But, at the same time, this seemed to be that rare time when it might well be worth risking. At least, that was what her memories of herself and her previous actions told her.
So she waited the few seconds it took for them to withdraw the weapons of the dead from their bags, and throw them forwards. Water splashed upon them from flasks and cups, thankfully aimed enough that the guns would still fire, the powder and matches kept dry. Matches were lit, spark-vests utilized, and then Anna exhaled as she reached forth for that water, for it was easier to freeze what was already there than to summon it fully from the Winds themselves. Then, with a wrenching will that immediately had blood start trickling down from one of her nostrils, a great pounding pain in her head and a wave of weariness which threatened to knock her out from exertion entirely, she lifted her hands. And dozens upon dozens of crossbows and lit handguns raised up from behind her. The Druchii were still fighting, everyone was still fighting, and yet many paused to see as Anna von Hohenzollern rose to a full standing position, blood pouring down from her nose as great wings of wood and metal formed at her sides and back. Barely chips of ice, so many chips of ice held and pressed together in loose yet binding holdings, so many not-quite-hands, hefting them all up and at the ready. Dozens of lit handguns, blastguns, and pistols, along with dozens of loaded crossbows.
She did not speak, she simply exercised her will, and so a rain of death began to fall upon the Druchii at close range while Little Guvuar reversed off the dissolving ramp and began driving forwards once more, the chains disappearing in accordance with her desires.
And the fighting continued, with few noticing as single amber and silver arrow flew down from the skies above.
=======================================================================
"There you are, you bastard," Sadrina crows as she fires seemingly at nothing down below, the arrow disappearing from sight almost immediately.
She is the only one who is cheery, for your heart has become a leaden weight as the crushing realization and pain of failure arrives. The Coven has escaped you, and your mounts, simultaneously repelling your attempts to reach them and accelerating their own flight with Dhar manipulations of the winds. The defenses of the Black Ark stymied you too much, forcing dodges and maneuvers which further cut speed. The sheer volume of fire is too great, Natasha exhausted after deflecting what she could, dispelling what she could, and attacking when and where she could. You love your wife, but she is only one woman, and not the greatest wielder of magic present. None of the Eonir or wizards were in any condition to come aid you, a fact you regret terribly in this moment. You've seen off every harpy the enemy has, and the rest of their dark riders, but there remain Dark Pegasi in the sky, but there are sorceresses on each and every one. There is no more progress to be made here, not now, and so you and the Whitewings have begun to ascend to try and get out of immediate range from the enemy to discuss next moves. Natasha is slumped forward on the saddle, just trying to catch her breath and recuperate.
"Is he dead, then?" Kerillian asks brusquely, quite annoyed herself after the damned hassle of even getting this far.
"No, no," Sadrina mutters, "But I have him. I see him. I can track him. He's…how in the hell is he that far in the Ark already?" She jerks her head back, eyes unfocused and seeing something only she can see.
"Where, where is he?"
"The central Tor – the control tower," she points at the massive tower in the very center of the Ark, the exact same place that the Coven was rushing towards.
In fact, at this very moment, you can see a second cloud of sorceresses at the very top of the tower, and based on how defensively they are huddling in the air they are not particularly happy to see the Supreme Sorceresses return. At the same time, this increased elevated view lets you see the battlefield truly for the first time in a good while. The Claw of Dominion is ever so subtly shaking in its moorings, and you get the feeling that its swift and violent arrival may well be repeated in reverse all too soon. Your troops have managed to get onto the ramps themselves, and are just starting to enter the Ark proper, but they are not likely to be fast enough. All that said, there are a number of fires on the effective rear of the Ark, and you can see evidence of fighting down below from where it appears that the fleet has boarded. What remains of the fleet at least – much to your dismay, it looks as if more than two thirds of the ships you started the fight with have simply ceased to be, sinking down into the Sea of Claws as the waters churn with beasts. In fact, what few ships you still have left are clearly retreating outright, even as they are continually pummeled by war machines on the walls of the Black Ark, the monsters, and the last remaining dragon rider from before. On the other hand, the Fortress of Eternal Torture is absolutely being swarmed by the banners of Laurelorn, Nordland, and Ostland, to the point that you swear you can see the Sea Eagle being raised at the highest tower of the smaller Ark. Or something blue and gold, in the far, far distance.
"We can't just let them get away," Kerillian grumbles, "Not when we've gone this far."
"I agree," Sadrina nods before looking back to you, her eyes outlined in that amber-silver glow. "There is essentially no chance at all that we could stop the Ark itself from ejecting itself back into the waters of the sea. But…I think we can still make an attempt at Dreadbringer."
"Where was all that fear from before?" You ask her, eyebrow raised.
She flushes, but looks you right back in the eye, her gaze luminous.
"I just watched a human banner be raised over an Ark," she points over at the Fortress of Eternal Torture, "I am watching a mighty Druchii army retreat. I have heard a Supreme Sorceress declare her intent to retreat, and seen Dreadbringer defied by his own kind. These are not ordinary things. Furthermore, we would not be attempting to make our way to the enemy on foot," she pats Oskana's flank. "This would become a targeted strike, nothing less, nothing more."
A thought comes upon you, one which furrows your brow.
"But what of Eldyra, her companions?"
Sadrina bites her lip, looks away, then back to you with determination in her gaze.
"If she was a prisoner of their highest, she would be stationed in the most prestigious quarters."
And she points, once more, to the central tower that stretches so high to the sky.
"The Coven, the Supreme Sorceress, their rivals, Dreadbringer, an Asur to rescue, and…," Kerillian trails off as she leans to the side, squinting slightly. "And some of your own, as well, thunderfoot," she says to you.
"Wait, what?" You blink, glancing at her. "You can see that far?"
"I can only see some of the colors at this distance, but I recall no Druchii wearing blue and white," she shrugs at you. "Or orange."
"Blue and – oh shit," your eyes widen as you realize the only ones who it could be. "The High Matriarch!?"
The woman is insane. She can't possibly have fought her way through the entire Black Ark to there. At least, that is what you want to think, but you can't properly say that. Not about the greatest representative of a God, especially one such as Manann. One escorted by the greatest templar knights of said God and Cult as well. There are no reinforcements for her, no way for her to get off the Ark, not with the fleet shattered and retreating. But it is only as you think that, glancing back to said broken remnants, that you have a stark and cold realization. You do not see the absolutely massive vessel that she sailed in on. The literal floating cathedral of Manann is nowhere to be seen, not on the top of the water at least. You spot what might be the Fair Fregar which has beached itself onto the Ark, but no Slayer Pirates manning it either.
Ah.
Now you see how and why she might have taken such a suicidal tack to this fight, and who better to accompany that than a bunch of dwarf Slayers?
"We can do it," Sadrina says, imploring you now. "We can rid the world of a great evil, and if we are successful and if we are swift, we can do this before we are overwhelmed! We can fly out and away, even if the Ark departs the shore!"
The shining hope, the passionate fervor, it is so bright and earnest it almost hurts.
"I owe the bawbag an arrow in the eye," Kerillian grunts, her wholly black eyes glinting with a fair bit more hungry cruelty and murderous desire than Sadrina displays.
"Frederick!" Roland calls, the Bretonnians now coming close enough for you to speak. "What shall we do!?"
Choices
1 Hour Moratorium
GM Note: Apologies for paucity of vote options, but sometimes that's how it shakes out.
Choice 1:
[] Skystrike: The Ark is set to leave soon, and there is no way you can stop such a thing. But you can draw as much blood from the Druchii as you can, to show them that they should never have come to Ostland. It is time to kill their leaders, and matters will only be helped by them fighting with each other. The Supreme Sorceress and her unknown rival, their Covens set against each other. Dreadbringer, who is murderously opposed to both for daring to sound a retreat, regardless of which order it was done. All of which seems to be involving the High Matriarch and her retinue, as well as Slayer Pirates, all at the top of the tallest tower in the Black Ark, where the defenses such as the bolt throwers are not liable to reach you. It will, of course, be immensely dangerous, but at the same time, you will have yourself, Natasha, Oskana, Sadrina, Kerillian, and the Whitewings. But afterwards, you could scour the tower for Eldyra, rescue her, and fly free. Let the Druchii flee, their leaders dead, and know fear at human hands!
OR
[] Something Else (Write-In)
OR
Choice 2:
[] Have Them Hold Position: If the Ark is truly about to leave, your fleet too broken to stop them, you'll not have a single Ostlander be carried away on the damn thing if you can help it. Have the swiftest of the Whitewings rush down to inform Anna or Arthur of this fact, and have them hold positions below, to not advance into the Ark. They can kill the Druchii from there, and while they will suffer from the enemy being able to hide within the Ark's defenses, it is simply not worth it for them to advance too far in and not be able to escape once the Ark leaves shore. Plus, they still have the Titan Cannons and Barrel Throwers for counter-artillery fire.
OR
[] Something Else (Write-In)
Last edited:
- Location
- barking
so we got the chance to end dreadbringer and rescue edyria and it seems the high matriarch as well lets do this
Dreadbringer your doom has come
Dreadbringer your doom has come
pucflek
Verified simpleton
- Location
- Czech Republic
Yeah, like, seriously, thank god that the option for helping Maghda and trying to save Eldyra are the same.
OTOH, what could it cost us to do so. I don´t think the wording of the votes is entirely clear, does our army advance onto the Arks if we pick skystrike?
EDIT: Oh i am dum dum, thats two separate choices.
OTOH, what could it cost us to do so. I don´t think the wording of the votes is entirely clear, does our army advance onto the Arks if we pick skystrike?
EDIT: Oh i am dum dum, thats two separate choices.
ConfusedCanuck
Where did it all go wrong?
- Location
- Neverland
Whelp we took one Black Arc which is a massive win by itself, but the other is about to leave but I am all for a skystrike before they run away.
And I am also for holding the rest of the Ostlanders from advancing on the Arc mostly cause I do not want the Dark Elves to take even one of them as a prisoner/slave.
And damn our fleet is mostly gone but I'd argue it was a price worth paying.
And I am also for holding the rest of the Ostlanders from advancing on the Arc mostly cause I do not want the Dark Elves to take even one of them as a prisoner/slave.
And damn our fleet is mostly gone but I'd argue it was a price worth paying.