[] A Sulphuric Howl: Logan is Ulrican, sworn to the God of Wolves, Winter, and War. Black powder is forbidden from him as a priest of his God. But he is relatively sure that the chaos dwarfs do not use 'mere' black powder. Those conical objects are explosives. He knows that much. And he is, despite his God, a correspondent and brother to Anna von Hohenzollern. Before his passage to Middenheim he had ventured into a certain Imperial school. Regina Leitdorf wields a crossbow already, and has spent much time with dwarfs. And he knows fuses on sight It would be loud, dangerous, attention-grabbing, but if you put your faith into a vampire's magic to hide and shroud your passage in, can you do it again on the way out?
Shades of White, Black, and Grey 21
Logan let loose a small, hissed sigh before pointing at the pile of fuse-touched cylinders.
"If we're going to do this, we can do better than just knifing a single shaman," he said urgently. "This is an entire artillery park, and unless we're expecting Genevieve and Magister Cloudhorn to somehow take out every single other shaman in the camp without us, another might pick up his work."
Regina was quiet for a moment, the fire in her eyes growing fiercer, before with a frustrated noise she hunched back down into the shadows next to him. She did not put away the still faintly glowing greenskin knife, he couldn't help but note. Though she at least did reverse her grip on it and return it to hiding beneath her cloak and further out of view. Thankfully her gaze did turn to where he had pointed, and he saw a bit of realization hit her next as her eyes widened and mouth parted slightly. Then she frowned, turning his way with a furrowing of her brow. She swiveled on her heels to fully face him, and in doing so managed to loom over him.
"You would use the weapons of the enemy?"
There was a dangerous kind of quiet in her words. It was a sort of dangerous quiet the Logan knew quite well, actually.
"Neither greenskins nor Chaos dwarfs have a monopoly on using fuses," he argued, "I may be young, but I grew up with Anna von Hohenzollern as a sister and the Graf of Guns and Count of Cannons as a father. Those," he pointed again with emphasis, "Are fuses connected to individual…I don't know, bombs or whatever they are that presumably get launched by the machine next to them."
Regina was shaking her head, managing to emanate a deep and forbidding frown past the cloth covering the lower half of her face.
"And if even touching them brings corruption?" She murmured to him, eyes burning with hate for all things of Chaos.
"Then I will trust in the fires of Ulric to protect me, or purge me, as the case may be," he responded with the same absolute surety in his God that second ago she had expressed in Sigmar. "And besides, shouldn't Sigmar protect you, too?"
That, more than anything else, seemed to strike her, and she slowly shifted back so that she was no longer looming threateningly over him. Though her grimace was visible through the mask.
"Are you not beloved by the Wolf God? Sworn to never touch the weapons of 'cowardice'?"
Unspoken, of course, was the regularly utilized Sigmarite addition of 'like idiots' when it came to the matter of such things. There was much to be said of bravery, and cowardice, and the differences between the two in a myriad of situations amongst the Cult. Logan had been part of a number of them, even, which had no doubt helped contribute to his not insignificant amount of enemies.
"I can touch them," he rolled his eyes and momentarily ground his teeth, "I simply cannot
use blackpowder weapons."
"And yet you propose doing just that," both of her eyebrows now raised high enough that they disappeared beneath the lip of her hood.
Logan huffed a tired little laugh, for there was no way for Regina to know the dozens of debates he'd have over the matter.
"First of all, I have to believe that Ulric will see the bravery inherent in attempting to destroy the enemy's vile Chaos-tainted war machines and therefore greatly aid the defenders of the Everpeak itself between just the two of us," he said at rapid clip. "And if he or the Cult takes umbrage with what we do, names it as mere deception or trickery, then I will undertake whatever penance is required."
It wouldn't be the first time it would be demanded of him by a High Priest of Ulric.
He doubted – if he lived through this – that it would be the last.
But regardless of his thoughts, he waited as Regina continued to ruminate to herself and then finally formed the characteristic V salute of Sigmar and dragged it across her eyes. There might have been the faintest flicker of gold-blue light which tinged her leather and mail clad fingers as she did it, there might not have been. It was not for Logan to say outright whether or not Sigmar had actually shown the Champion something that she had initially missed. In the meantime, he listened as the machines continued to strain, roar, grumble, and rattle in place with the occasional very distant shouting of Bludwort.
"If…it worked," she finally ground out, "It could do much for the defenses if we removed their accursed creations."
"Even damaging a few irreparably could be of great benefit," he nodded. "Now, how much knowledge do you possess about war machines, explosives, and the like?"
The Champion eyes seemed to narrow infinitesimally as she thought. As she did so, Logan looked past her and into the considerably far distance to watch as the remaining lava was steadily draining away now that all of the diverting pipes had been roughly shoved into place. There were still numerous large globules which splashed down or through, or over the sides of some of them, for the greenskin's smithing expertise was clearly still quite rough and crude. But nevertheless, the greater portion of the lava was successfully being diverted. At Logan's best estimations, they truly did not have long before the lava would be fully drained off enough to allow the greenskins to advance directly up to the gates once more. Even what was left behind by the surface tension would be cooled, especially so given the snow storm which was even now still billowing over the World's Edge Mountains. Being who he was, Logan had a keener sense for the passing of the winter season than many, which meant he could tell that it was a rather strong winter which had managed to cling to life so far south in the Old World compared to the Empire. Then again, there was something to the mountains here, forever capped by snow and a stark nature besides. A mystery of Ulric, Taal, and perhaps the Ancestor Gods of the dawi to consider at a later time.
If there was a later time, that was.
"It will be careful work, we'll have to avoid the workers, but they're quite distracted," Logan muttered, glancing at the goblins that were even now frantically still trying to put the chains back around some of the daemon machines.
If he judged it right, it was quite possible that the work was nigh endless without the actual daemonic mastery of the chaos dwarfs to truly quiet the machines. Or, then again, maybe he knew nothing at all of the intricacies of such works and would not seek to know more so that his soul and mind might remain free of such potentially corrupting knowledge. All Logan needed to know was that many of the machines seemed to likely require constant work to keep chained down when not in use, and possibly even during. Bludwort had shown himself capable of suppressing them for a time, and if things worked out then the shaman
would be dead at the end of this, but Logan would be satisfied if they brought ruination to some of the accursed creations at the very least.
"We cannot simply set the pile off?" Regina jerked her chin towards the fuse-bearing cylinders.
"It would cause some damage, but," Logan shook his head, "Better to make
sure on Bludwort, right?"
The leather and chain of her gloves did not creak as she formed a pair of grinding tight fists, for the sounds both of them created were still suppressed by the spell of the vampire, but Logan imagined it would be quite loud indeed if he could.
"Very well. We shall treat it as an avalanche web," she informed him, "I have done it before, alongside the rangers. A spread out pattern, designed to cause maximum disruption and destruction."
"Great," he nodded before putting a hand on her shoulder as she made to rise again. "And we can't kill Bludwort until it's time to set them off, yes? Killing him too early, leaving his corpse to be found or presence to be missed could ruin everything."
An actual full body shudder ran through Regina at his words, and he swore he could smell the scent of a raging inferno, of actually feeling what was like a subterranean river of molten fury. It was enough to almost drive him to hiss, and as he pulled his hand away, he could almost have mistaken his fingertips from being scorched. He eyed the Champion as she gave a single begrudging nod before they began to move forward once more, this time as a pair. Around them, the world continued to rumble and thump as giants moved back and forth, some towards the gates to give more materials to the bonegrinders, and others heading back down the length of the camp and out of view. More than that, he could practically taste it in the air. The boredom of waiting transforming and becoming something inhumanly anticipatory and bloodthirsty.
They were running out of time, and fast.
(Operation Beginning: 64+Logan Intrigue(8)+Veteran Ranger Training(15)+Shadow of Heaven Beneath An Eclipsed Moon(35)-Bully Bossed Watchers(10)+Entertained By Thumping(5)-Close To The Front Lines(10)+WAAAAGH!! Excitement(10)=117/100)
It was a good thing that Logan and Regina were capable of being faster.
There was no more time for words, both of them were aware of how swiftly Morr's hourglass was flowing. They darted forward towards the cylinders, the ammo, whatever it was, and as they did so the horrible acrid smell of Chaos began to stink in his nose more and more. The energies of the WAAAAGH!! were doing a good job of suppressing them, for now, but this close, so close in fact that he practically could touch some of them if he so wished, showed that their accursed creation marked them still. He knew little of the chaos dwarfs, but based on this it was more than likely that they surely still held to their beliefs in quality. Much, it seemed, to the detriment of the rest of the world. In fact, some of the machines themselves seemed to begun grumbling and rattling in their multitudes of heavy chains as he and Regina came within range of them. One of the hellcannons, in particular, which was a discolored purple and blue compared to the others and was furthermore chained down with at least twice as many bindings as the others with some of the rusty padlocks on it actually glowing with WAAAAGH!! energies.
Then came the moment as they darted past the greenskin watchers right up to the pile, and then both paused.
Next to him, Regina's fists were clenching and unclenching, and he swore she was muttering silently to herself.
"Ulric…," Logan sighed. "Just let me do this so we can kill them."
Then he formed the U salute with his fingers, first towards the wintery sky in respect to Ulric, then reversed the sign for form an insult towards the devices he was about to use. Next to him, Regina slapped her fist a few times, a rather expected invocation of anger for a Sigmarite, and then formed her own V salute as a ward. Presumably for her own soul's sanctity as she grimaced and then reached forward and boldly grabbed a canister in each hand. Not to be outdone, Logan grabbed two himself, and immediately felt an unwholesome warmth and tingling in his hands. The launcher used with the devices seemed largely inactive compared to the others, especially the hellcannons, but it began to shudder slightly as he and Regina shifted away and began pressing their stolen explosives into the dirt and mud and slush which surrounded the war machines.
As they did so, Logan made sure to stay as aware as possible of his surroundings, especially when he and Regina had to separate to continue planting more of the explosives. There was a steady heat radiating from every single one of the daemonically forged machines, as well as a stink of sulfur, spilled blood, and other more unnatural things that clung to them. It wasn't enough to completely remove the snow from where it was, though the overall heat radiated within the war camp as a whole was doing a good job at that. What it did do was create slush and muddy mush for usage, which was somewhat convenient. What was less convenient was that the machines, however sentient as some of them were, did not appreciate their presence. Whether because they hated the power of Ulric and Sigmar being near them more than the greenskins who had been beating and chaining them up, or just liked the additional near interaction that much more, it was not something that the greenskins or Bludwort would ignore forever.
Then, as Logan returned to the pile to gather up more, he had to blink rapidly and found himself throwing up his hands in front of his eyes as an absolutely blinding flash of emerald light filled the air further to the south. Regina, next to him, was similarly affected, a sharp exhale of pain escaping her lips even with the sound as muted as it was by the spell. The earth shook terribly almost immediately after the flash, and then Logan realized that what he was seeing was no longer something restricted to the sight beyond sight granted to him by Ulric. The enormous roiling column of green was outright just visible to everyone else around, and before he could say anything more to Regina there came a raucous screaming and roaring from all around them. The WAAAAGH!!! energies filling the air rapidly began to grow thicker, more energetic, like the difference between a steady fogbank and a lightning filled thundercloud. Shocked, Logan and Regina locked eyes and then frantically began to grab more of the explosives.
(Speeding Up: 70+8+15+35-10+5-10+10-Energized By Gork and Mork(10)=113/100)
"Oh ho ho ho!!! Awwww YEAH!" He heard Bludwort bellowing, and there were some spurts of green lightning shooting up from wherever the shaman walked now, clearly sparking off from his copper and bone staff.
The earth continued to shake, and as it did, Logan began to stuff a number of the explosives next to each other just past the wheels of some of the larger-than-steamtank creations. He had to be careful, though, as the wheels had violently spun in place the moment he'd just begun to push his hand through some of the spokes. If he had not been fast enough at pulling his arm back, it might well have wrenched his forearm completely off of his body. At another point, one of the huge, squat cannons began to rock and bubble like an overfull soup pot, releasing a horrible smelling burning liquid that splashed onto the ground. Given that he watched it literally started melting a rock it fell upon, he could scarcely imagine the damage it could cause if whatever was within was launched forward. But, then again, perhaps he did not need to, he realized as he saw the rather enormous spheres next to it. These were clearly not mere cannonballs, no. These, each of them, glowed brightly with Chaos energies, a kind of cinder and ashen taint that Logan had never before experienced. He had felt the horrid powers of the Four, quite intimately and near fatally even, but this was altogether something different. It was, undeniably, incredibly potent.
So he planted a number of the stolen explosives directly under their heavy metal platform, one slid right between some of the spheres.
Only afterwards did he rejoin Regina, and both of them found that they had gathered up and used almost all of the more easily accessible explosives from the launchers, and several of those from the other piles that were more visible to the greenskins. It was, perhaps, a blessing from the Gods that they had not noticed. Or, Logan could not but acknowledge wryly, thanks to the efforts of the vampire Genevieve. There were many more than what they had used, of course, for the greenskins had clearly taken a great deal from the chaos dwarfs, but the remainder of the piles were outright right next to some of the war machines that had goblin crews scrambling over them. Logan was allowing himself to have some measure of faith in the spell work but he'd not gamble with Ranald himself about being able to walk up and grab more, especially as Bludwort walked past with gobbets of incredibly bright green sludge liberally spilling from his mouth, eyes, and ears.
There had been one heart stopping moment as the shaman was suddenly excited by something or other, ranting unintelligibly, and began to literally sprint-hobble with his staff around the machine that Logan had at that exact same moment been on the other side of leading to an unintentional circular chase that left the young wolf priest's heart pounding before he could slip behind the shadows cast by another of the growling daemonic machines. He didn't dare touch them, either, not even to rest a hand on one as he caught his breath as the shaman continued to move at a far faster pace than his hunched and wizened frame suggested should have been possible. For some reason, Logan simply knew that outright touching one of the machines, even unintentionally, would have grave and no doubt immediate circumstances.
But there was only two left at the end of it.
"Do you think it will be enough?" He asked her. "You have more experience than I with this sort of thing."
"Not this
exact sort of thing," was the dry reply, which had Logan whipping his head around to stare at her as he registered what had to have been a ghost of humor. "But I would think so. I am sure that the wretched wielders of Chaos would ensure that their weaponry can cause great devastation. In this case, hopefully righteously, it will be used for a better purpose," she shuddered in place again, radiating a palpable disgust. "Sigmar, let it be so," she added with a desperate note.
"And Ulric too," Logan added, before with a wry twist of his lips, "And maybe even Ranald might help us. "
Both devotees of rival cults shared a snort before Logan hefted the very last of the canisters to Regina, which she accepted with ginger disgust.
"How good is your throwing arm?" He finally asked her as they both shuffled away, towards the very edges of the artillery park entirely.
The camp was not particularly well lit, but there were plenty of torches lining the paths and marking out different internal camp territories. Not that it needed them as much thanks to the incredibly vibrant glow of the lava and the trails of green energies flowing through the air with increasing viscosity. Still, they took refuge near one of the torches, ready to be grabbed in an instant and light the fuse. For a short moment, Logan had hoped that there would be some extended rope or actual fuse for them to use, but given the winter winds blowing and the earth's shaking there was little chance that the fire would spread properly to where they wanted it to go. It seemed that that would have been just to convenient, and he did not know if he should curse Ranald or Gork and Mork.
"I have no way of judging," she shrugged, baffling him for an instant. "I have never partaken in any particular contest of skill involving throwing weapons, and besides which," she hefted the canister in her hands, "Never have I attempted to throw something like this. Nor have I any experience with a device such as this," a scowl strong enough to be visible through her cloth mask appeared on her face. "And thank Sigmar for that."
Logan nodded, scrutinizing the canister, and thought back to the war machine it was meant to be loaded into. There was certainly no way for it to create the proper ignition as one might expect from the innards of a cannon, and given the fact that it was by far less tainted and volatile than the hellcannons and whatever the not-Steam Tanks were, it had to be something more innately inert. Yet, at the same time, it had to be capable of firing a presumably long distance. Or, even if it were for shorter range devastation in the vein of the organ guns of the dawi, it should absolutely still be capable of reaching the close target. All of this, he ran through his mind in seconds before crouching down on his haunches next to Regina who still carefully held the canister in her hands.
"Then we'll just have to make sure. I think it flies forward, and if it doesn't begin to do so swiftly, we'll just toss it forward...there," he pointed to the nearest burial location of one of the other canisters. "Set up a chain reaction, if all is well."
"...either way, it will give them less war machines to work with," Regina muttered to herself, repeating it a few times as Logan stared at her hoisting it onto her shoulder with the fuse facing backwards.
"Right."
"Right."
The earth was shaking, rumbling, almost roiling under them now. The WAAAAGH!! energies were growing stronger, more intense, enough to almost feel like Logan's nose hairs were burning, while the smaller hairs along his arms began to raise discomfitingly. There was a strange weight to the very air itself now, growing heavier and heavier.
"Any moment now," Logan murmured to her.
"Logan von Hohenzollern," Regina murmured right back, not looking away from the war machines. "I am about to light up a daemonically infused explosive which may well have damned my soul from sheer contact, and worse from usage. It is going to, if we are correct, land amongst a prepared field of similar such explosives secreted amongst an entire gathered column of daemonically infused machines, whilst in the midst of the war camp of the largest WAAAAAGH!!! that may have struck the Old World since the time of Sigmar himself, and there is likely no chance at all that this will be quiet."
Logan paused, opened his mouth and closed it, then nodded.
"Well, you know," he cleared his throat. "Whenever you're ready. Or, I suppose, whenever you're sure we'll hit Bludwort."
Regina sucked air through her teeth in a soft hiss and whispered yet another prayer to Sigmar before resolutely nodding and pointing at the nearest torch for Logan to grab.
However.
Just as Logan's hand wrapped around the haft of the torch, fire burning on a fuel of squig fat and dung, he was flung forwards onto his face by an absolutely titanic explosion far, far behind him. As he lay there in the muck and dirt, he found himself gagging upon an air that was momentarily as thick as stone itself, simply impossible for his lungs to move one way or the other. It was only a second later that he realized that he had gone temporarily deaf, a loud and impenetrable ringing filling his ears. Gasping, wheezing upon the cloying energies which now filled the air, seemingly not simply displacing the air but outright replacing it with a flood of curling burning green mist that rose drowned him as it crept higher and higher, Logan struggle upright only to find that it was actually just past his waist. Shaking his head blearily, he turned, seeing that Regina had stumbled herself, but not nearly as bad as he out in the open, simply knocking into some crates while managing to keep her grip on the canister. She wasn't shouting at him, but her eyes were wide and hood knocked askew.
All around him, the earth began to shake so wildly and constantly that it could only be the pounding of too many thousands of pairs of feet. Even as he stubbornly grabbed at the torch and hobbled over to her, he saw dozens of goblins and orcs swarming this way and that, seemingly charging in any acceptable direction. Some were beating it each other bloody, others were shouting at one another, while larger orcs attempted to get control of the others. Goblins cackled, leapt, rolled, and in general writhed as they sprinted about. Green tendrils of electricity seemed to abruptly appear out of the mist, sometimes coming from one of the greenskins, sometimes joining the greenskins, as if it were being generated both by the solidified WAAAAGH!! and the greenskins both, feeding upon one another. Some of the tents were being pushed over, ripped apart from within, as slumbering orcs were forced awake as well. Bludwort appeared, outright levitating off of the ground, eyes boiling out of his head as lightning spewed from his eyes and an endless torrent of glowing green vomit came pouring out of his mouth. Deafened as he was, Logan could not hear but could certainly imagine the mad laughter coming from the shaman.
There was no more time.
No more time for pondering, or worries, or anything else.
It was now or never, and both of them knew it.
Logan passed the torch to Regina, who hefted the canister upright again.
Did one of the passing goblins see them? Was the shroud of Ulgu torn from them by eruption?
It didn't matter.
The flame licked the fuse, and even through the painful ringing and numbed deafness that afflicted him, Logan heard an absolutely hellish shriek of glee. It was awful, monstrous joy, crystallized and gathered, the act of destruction, the desire for it, all grasped and chained and bound into place. Whether a daemon entire or but a strand or string of its greater fabric, the very act of lighting it had awoken that which was placed within. A new heat, a blasphemous heat, grew from nothing to a raging inferno directly upon Regina and his bodies as the entire back end of the canister was soon a plume of fire, the fuse burning so much faster than any wick its length ought to have by any regular design and from any regular material. The moment it left her hands, the Champion of the Grand Theogonist grabbed him and threw the both of them to the ground with great force, outright digging in with her hands to force handholds into the ice cold ground. Given how crushed together they were, he feared that she might well have fractured the phalanges of her fingers doing so.
Then?
Impact.
(Deathshrieker Explosive Web: 58+8+15+35-10+5-10-WAAAAAAGH!!! Disjunction(20)+Dual Extreme Successes For Planting(20)+Explosive Mastery of the Dawi-Zharr(10)=111/100)
Logan, only just beginning to recover his hearing, went deaf a second time.
It was so
bright that for the briefest of moments he saw through both of his own arms and shoulders. What must have been veins and bones and joints were illuminated as if his flesh and skin were not there. He saw the same of Regina, through both arms, one shoulder, and her own arms as they huddled to the ground. Then he couldn't see anything at all, his vision going dark as if his eyes were simply overwhelmed by what had just occurred. There was a great cacophony of malicious, reverberating laughter that could be heard despite the fact that he felt trickles of blood down the sides of his face from his ears. Laughter from beyond, then. Of daemons and fire and things that should never have been brought forth, but had, that the greenskins had chained and stolen but now had no longer. One of the worst parts, however, was that he would swear he heard the faintest of dark whispers in his ears. Not of vengeance or fury, not for him.
It was wordless.
But his very soul itched as he felt the dubious sensation of
thanks before that too dissipated.
He could still feel, somewhat, and so felt himself being picked up and moved, but with a paradoxically rough gentleness that hoisted him upright and got him moving again. Regina, then. It had to be Regina. He just wished he could see, he needed to see where they were going!
And then he could.
His vision, his normal vision, of black and white and the hues between the two, was still gone from him.
But the vision that Ulric had granted him, he realized, was still there.
The cleansing fire of the God of Winter, Wolves, and War retained an ember still in his mind.
(Escaping The Blast Zone: 80+8+15+Damaged Spellwork(25)-10+5-10-20+Absolute Chaos(20)-Deafened(5)-Blinded(5)+Eyes of Winter(10)+Unleashed Destruction(15)=128/100)
And so he saw with his soul, not his body, and beheld the absolute morass they had found themselves in. Green, of course, dominated everything. It filled the air, literally up towards the sky, lightening only slightly the further up it went. It was thicker in other places, practically solid, all around him, in different shapes and heights but moving independently of the rest of it all. It took less than a second for him to realize what they were - orcs. Orcs and goblins, scrambling everywhere. All of them connected, some more than others, to a web of strands that looped and clung to each and every one of them. It was dizzying, horrifying, to be so very aware of what had to be the WAAAAAGH!!! itself as a part of all of them.
Clinging to him was Ulgu, but Ulgu like he had never perceived it before. Even after the vampire had cast upon him, he hadn't really been focused on trying to unravel the secrets of the spell. Without the other half of his sight, his natural sight, all he was left with was seeing beyond. It was not simply like an ethereal cloak, but a vast burial shroud which covered him from head to toe and beyond. It spread outwards, like a living thing almost, tendrils of it curling and writhing around him to guard his passage and existence from sight, sound, and so much more. It was damaged, he could tell, partially shredded by whatever had occurred to the south...to the south!
The shamans - Magister Cloudhorn and Genevieve!
But he couldn't bear to look in that direction, the light was just too much. It would sear his mind clean, he knew, if he looked at it for too long. So he didn't, and instead looked to find a blazing inferno next to him, but one that did not burn him. It would not be the first time, but this one was very different. Before, in the past, he had seen the faint blue-golden light like embers or ash flicking off of her shoulders. Now, he saw something else altogether. When he looked upon Regina Leitdorf in that moment, he beheld a suit of golden armor, one given impossible mobility and was lit up from within by the holy blue-gold fire of Sigmar Himself. But what should have been a glorious, incredible vision, was ruined by the fact that the statue seemed to move with so much difficulty. He was young, but he knew the works and measure of smiths.
The golden armor was broken.
Had been broken.
Again and again and again.
Reforged, yes, and masterfully so. But there was still damage there. There were cracks in the metal, from the boots and greaves to the stalwart helm. There was no heraldry there, save for the comet engraved upon the pauldrons. As the figure hauled him along, guiding him, one hand wrapped around his own, pushing him, holding him, keeping him secure and safe. He did what he could, reaching out, shocked somehow that the armor did not burn him as he held onto it, for he could feel the sheer heat within the armor for all that it did not burn him. But he shouldn't have been able to see so much, that he knew. He recognized the wounds, there, the
wrongness and pain which pervaded that he simply had not been able to see before. The cracks, the tears, the rents in the armor, they revealed the truth.
The armor - Regina.
She had been made hollow.
He gazed up as they came to a temporary halt, a thousand thousand green bulks shifting all about, and saw a helmet with the visor slid open, and when he looked within...
She. Had. No.
Face.
Inside that hollow, empty armor, there was
nothing but that blue-gold fire blazing within, and yet even then he watched as those sparks and motes of holy fire spilled out through so many of those cracks. Leaking. Fading. The fire within burned, and burned strong, its only source being itself. The only thing that Logan could possibly think of to parallel it was nothing more and nothing less than the Flame of Ulric itself. Which might well have almost been a heretical thought, save for the fact that, as that helmet tilted downwards to more fully face him and show that inhuman featureless blaze within, he saw something else. A flicker, at first, but he saw it nonetheless. It was there, deep, deep within the helm, at the very center where the brain ought to have been.
A silver bird, so small that it should have been invisible, briefly appeared amongst the blazing flames within the armor.
It hung there, suspended in that overbearing flame which bled so dearly, and somehow did not melt. Sighting it, briefly as he did, something beyond bedrock certainty came upon him as he
knew on some level that it should not have been there. That the grand design of that slowly ever-shattering armor had never accounted for it.
And as that bird flapped in place, he saw the fire be both banked and fed by, the wings impossibly strong and steady.
A second revelation followed the first.
Without that strange silver oddity which rapidly disappeared from view, as the fires were renewed and strengthened, as faith and will built upon themselves literally as he watched, he knew unerringly that the fire would have bled so much so and quickly that it would have either guttered out entirely or be reduced to embers long ago. He shuddered to imagine what would have happened if the hollow-yet-not armor came to such a fate. But the moving, fire-filled armor gazed down at him briefly before looking up, and then they were on the move again. He couldn't hear anything, and relied solely upon what he could see, which did not include anything like crates or tents or anything of the like. Some, he ended up stumbling against, most, the golden armor tugged and pushed him this way and that. Mud and snow and slush rose and fell as they scrambled desperately to escape the camp.
Logan only knew that they had when the heated air of the war camp faded and instead he felt only the blessed cold of snow and winter washing away. It was not so easy to escape the expansive sea of green, pulses of emerald that seemed to gather and burn all the brighter at multiple points - the leaders, most certainly.
Then he looked over and saw the golden armor looming over him and reaching down with one hand to clasp around his face.
(Healing Hand: 47+Champion of the Grand Theogonist(10)+Regina Piety(19)=76/100)
He did not panic, even as he saw that blue-gold fire which spilled so freely from the armor collect in the palm of that hand and press itself against his face. For a third time, he touched a fire that did not burn him. For a second time, the burning was naught but a boon to him. A gasp escaped his lips as the now ragged leather and ripped apart chain of Regina's gloves pulled away from his head. Logan coughed heavily, ears popping as he felt his hearing just barely start to return. One of his eyes remained unhealed, left with only the sight beyond, but his right eye was again able to properly see the world both ways at once. He looked up to see a bedraggled looking Regina, eyes wide but restrained and contained as she looked back at the camp.
A camp he too looked upon, and stared at the devastation that they had wrought.
Where the war machines had once been there was a literal daemonic inferno blazing out of control, spilling outwards. The red-black flames, as crimson as fresh spilled blood and black as pitch and sin itself, were far too active and hungry for a natural fire to have matched. It seemed half-alive, spreading as it did, the greenskins desperately throwing snow and mud and dirt towards it to try and contain the fire. Of the creations of the chaos dwarfs, there was nothing to be found. Of the more primitive creations borne of greenskin tinkering, there was not even ash that was visible amongst the rampaging flames. All around the camp
swarmed, an absolute riot of greens and waving banners as the larger bosses began to try and reassert control. Like a living beast, heaving and gasping in shock, he saw more orcs and goblins than he had even thought possible springing out of tents and rushing up from the rest of the long stretching camp. Then, earth shaking so hard that Logan would not be surprised if an avalanche would have been triggered had the dwarfs not enacted all such things already, he watched as one of the bonegrinders assaulting the gate stomped closer, a bellowing, roaring figure on its shoulder that could only have been the Warboss who had previously commanded them from the ground.
Shambling like a tortured god, the bonegrinder did not bother stomping, but instead leaned down with its grotesque assembly of weaponry that had replaced one of its arms and tore the earth and fire apart in a gargantuan sideways scooping motion. In an instant, the fire was thrown off and to the sides to burn fruitlessly out of the way of the greenskins, deep into one of the many pits that had been opened by dwarf-triggered collapses. Logan pretended that he did not hear what sounded like outrage of all things emanating from the daemonic fire as it was plainly and simply removed from the area with one expression of might and crude cunning. It was so swiftly done that Logan was dumbfounded, but not for long. The greenskins seemed outraged, gleeful, too many emotions at once, and yet more and more of them were coming towards the gate, knocking down and trampling tents and those goblins that were not able to get out of the way. A greater amount of chaos, if that was even possible, appeared to have occurred to the south, and it was only the slight healing of his eyes that allowed him to look a miniscule amount more in that direction rather than being blinded once again by sight beyond sight. There, he heard other roaring, crashing, and the clang of metal growing louder and louder. All the while, the pillar of WAAAAAGH!!! energies grew larger and larger.
The small rise of snow that they had taken shelter behind what felt like days ago had been disturbed by their hasty passage and escape. Not enough to collapse, not entirely, but enough that Logan could see through the divots marked on it as Regina had apparently thrown them both over the top.
So it was that he saw, bursting up and over the sea of rampaging greenskins to the point of sprinting across their heads and shoulders, Genevieve Sandrine du Pointe du Lac Dieudonné.
Her hat was still on her head, but the gleaming black was now scattered with dark red and smaller clumps of fungal green. Her flowing black robes had been torn, badly, all across her body, but no so more than on the left side, exposing ivory pale skin to the open air...as well as the glistening stump of her arm, which did not spurt blood so much as barely trickled it. Even that was mostly obscured by tendrils of smoke which seemed to be seeping outwards as well, leaving a swiftly dissipating trail in the air behind her. Ulgu, he saw with one half of his vision, she was literally bleeding Ulgu. Worse than that, crackling along the entirety of her body, and in the ethereal beyond, were stabbing gnashing grinding green fangs. He couldn't tell if they were actually properly visible or not, but he knew that she was currently being wracked with a horrific curse which was attempting to eat away at all that was keeping her shrouded from the greenskins she was even now leaping over and across.
Her body language was tight with pain, but even so Logan realized he was paying far more attention to what she was struggling to hold in her right hand. It was almost spherical but disfigured and stretched, a maw of oversized fangs that gnashed silently at the air while it scrabbled fruitlessly at Genevieve with two oddly jointed legs. A strange multicolored frond of hair had sprouted along the top of its rough hide, colored like a feathered headdress. Of all things to steal or take, she had taken a squig. A squig that Genevieve continued to hold onto with a death grip as she moved like lightning towards them, Logan felt himself tense as he gazed into her eyes. Wherever the smoked quartz had gone, he did not know, but it left behind pupiless pits of fathomless darkness and mist.
There should have been sound as she came to a crash landing amongst the snows by them, but instead tossed her head and hat and hair as an obscuring wall of mystifying Ulgu rose up to block them off from the immediate sight of the horde. Those black pits whipped around, staring towards the new smoking crater that was evidence of their work, and then whipped back to both him and Regina, the latter of whom's hands had fallen to the hilts of her blades. In the distance, the bonegrinder heading back to the gates of Karaz-a-Karak without the Warboss on their shoulder this time and began to approach the still bright runes of Valaya and Grungni. The bonegrinder drew its arm back again, and this time the hellish runes of Chaos began to erupt and become nearly incandescent upon the length and breadth of its incredible height.
"We need to move.
Now," Genevieve hissed at them, and then without waiting for any response began doing just that, horrible creature still struggling in her hand.
Logan was moving even as he shared a worried glance with the narrowing glare of Regina, and found himself struggling to keep up with both women.
"Where is Magister Cloudhorn!" Regina demanded as they did their level best to sprint up the snowy side of one of the highest mountains in the middle of an intensifying snow storm in the dead of night.
"What happened?!" Logan gasped out as well, scrambling through the snow without any attempt at grace or surety, only speed.
Genevieve held out the squig to the side and shook it at them, letting Logan see its faintly glowing blue eyes.
"W-what are...what!?"
Logan wasn't even sure who said it, he or Regina, or both.
"Things went poorly," Genevieve snarled through the screeching mountain winds and hooting roars of a re-awakening WAAAAAGH!!! "I have never seen so many shamans! But that wasn't the problem!"
The wind blew stronger, forcing Logan and Regina to hunch slightly, while Genevieve let loose another animalistic hiss.
"The problem was their leader! So much power...it was absurd!" She roared, kicking some of the snow with one foot and strength beyond natural means to make better way for the humans hauling themselves behind her.
For some reason, Logan was struck by the steadily thickening Bretonnian accent that was pushing through the normally so sanguine vampire's Reikspiel.
"But
that was not the problem either! They brought - they dragged two idols of stone and gold and
shit with them from somewhere else, probably the Badlands themselves! And...and they...,"
Her next words were lost to the winds.
And the roar.
"WAAAAAAAAAAGH!!"
It rose up across the entire war camp, from the gates and all that was visible there and stretching out beyond where Logan could see. And as it passed through the winds of the World's Edge Mountains, there was chanting beneath it, constant and steady and growing in volume all the while.
"AND WHAT!?" Regina shouted louder.
"I DON'T KNOW WHAT!" Genevieve shouted back, craning her head around to glare at them both, "THEY HAD...BONE, PAINTED, SO MUCH OF IT, WITH ABSURD AMOUNTS OF POWER IN EACH FRAGMENT!"
"WAAAAAAAAAAGH!!"
This time, the war cry struck them like a hammerblow, but none of the three fell, and instead did their best to continue to climb. And as it faded, the chanting below growing louder even as they got further away, Genevieve tilted her head back and let loose a mad cackle.
"Cloudhorn went mad! A horrible premonition! She said we had to stop them, stop their casting, at any cost! Well!" She shook...Cloudhorn, apparently, the mad eyes of the squig creature bloodshot and wobbling in their sockets as if ready to outright pop out any any moment, "We tried! And this was the result!" She shook the squig again and waggled her bleeding stump at the same time.
She turned and began running backwards up the slope with that same inhuman grace and speed, black pits spearing Logan as he climbed.
"We were overpowered, almost instantly! Their leader, dancing, simply pointed and laughed, and Cloudhorn," she sputters as the squig-that-was-Cloudhorn manages to bite at her remaining hand hard enough to pierce the skin. "It happened so fast...and you two are not being fast
enough!" She hissed again, and before Logan could react had bounded forward and turned to hip-check him up into the air and then backed into him so that he had to wrap his arms and legs around her body to keep from falling back down the slope.
"WAAAAAAAAAAGH!!"
His hold, barely secure, was immediately tested as Genevieve tossed the squig towards her mouth so that she could latch her now fully extended fangs into Cloudhorn's new leather hide. He found himself almost falling off again as she bulled towards Regina who looked like she was going to try and fend her off, one blade halfway out of its sheath before Genevieve reached out with her newly empty arm and scooped around the Champion of the Grand Theogonist's waist before kicking her legs out from under her so that she fell forward and was subsequently squeezed tight against the vampire's side.
And then Genevieve
moved.
The world spun into a blur around him, the wind whipping against his face so hard and fast he had to squeeze his eyes shut, arms and legs tightening desperately against the undulating and coiling body of the vampire. It was like hugging onto an impossibly supple tree trunk, or perhaps a liquid metal that hardened and softened as it needed to in order to move. He did not feel bones and joints shifting, as if all that Genevieve was was a single solid shape all the way through with no differentiation between bone and skin and organ. They ascended the mountain at a blistering pace, far faster than anything that needed to breathe or acclimate could ever have possibly managed in even the best of circumstances. There was another explosion this time, a wave of blazing heat and blood and sulfur and pain and hate that washed over them and the sound of a throat fit to swallow lakes and oceans squealing in pain, but Genevieve did not falter.
Until she did.
Until all of them did.
Something about the
world had changed, from one instant to the next.
It was the boom of thunder from a screaming maelstrom.
It is the crash of two calloused fists the size of a mountains colliding in anticipation!
It was
hot, hot, so hot even in the freezing cold, Logan felt like his
blood was boiling in his veins!
It is the CRACK of a forehead to split continents SMASHING into another!
Logan was gasping for air, floundering, drowning, drowning under the
green tide! Regina was writhing in the air, spitting, screaming so hard her throat was tearing, rage and fury grown in her in
irreconcilable hatred! Genevieve let loose a pained hiss as a guttering blue-gold fire began to spill from the Champion's skin in all directions!
IT IZ DA SOUND UV VIOLENCE, OF MURDA, OF KILLIN'!
Genevieve staggered to her knees, and brought Logan and Regina tumbling into the snows with her, the air grown too thin and too fast. Logan fell from her back, landing face first in the snow, coughing further as powdery white filled his lungs.
He heard...
He heard...!
STOMPIN' ACROSS A WHOLE WURLD
TO SMASH AND BASH AND CRASH AND TEAR AND RIP
The world was shaking under a heavy tread.
The noise, the noise, the noise of that laughter was beyond sound. Beyond mortal ken. He could not hear it through burst ears, but he heard it in his soul. He felt it in the shake of the World's Edge Mountains. He tasted and felt the heat of eager, disgusting hot breath exhaled through lungs fit to bellow the universe to pieces and fangs fit to bite through stars. Bones rippling in his skin, threatening to rip out of his body entirely. Desperately, as the dying man he was, he reached out to grab onto that burning flame within him, that silver-white ember left in him. It flickered, it flickered and threatened to die, before he held onto it and shielded it from that burning green maelstrom which raged. He hunched and hunkered in place, he felt other bodies near him, all pressing together in that most primordial of efforts and instincts to huddle for safety.
ALL FER WUN
GREAT
BIG
WHALLOPING
KICK!
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In the great slave pits of Naggaroth, a three hundred thousand scarred orcs and goblins spread throughout the great gladiatorial arenas and many more private ones besides, reacted as one.
========================================================================================
In the slave pits of the Dark Lands in the domains of the Chaos Dwarfs, the enslaved goblins and orcs all stiffened in place and reacted as one. And not just them, but their hobgoblin overseers as well, some upon their wolves, some sitting at cookfires while gambling, some in the midst of backstabbing one another in the shadows, all froze up and reacted as one.
========================================================================================
In the jungle of Lustria, those few scattered greenskin tribes that were allowed by the Lizardmen to act as suppressants to warmblood 'colonists' and the misaligned elves to the north, screeched and hooted and then all reacted as one.
========================================================================================
In the Southern Chaos Wastes, a single Warboss and his ragged warband huddled stubbornly within a carved out ice cave where fungal life had begun to take root, and all stiffened and then reacted as one.
========================================================================================
Across the lands of Ind, of Khuresh, of Cathay, of Nippon greenskins from the smallest snotling to the largest orc all reacted as one.
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Clawing their way out of the deep fungal pits in the Southlands, weedy yoofs not even fully born, looked up into the eyes of similarly weedy and recently spawned boyz, and all reacted as one.
========================================================================================
Within the vast Eastern Steppes, the Hobgobla Khan of Da Great Green Horde paused in discussions with the gargantuan figure opposite him in a tent that had taken a hundred huge squigs to harvest the leather from in order to create. Both of them, rivals and allies at various times, both shot up from their casually threatening slouches, armor and weaponry clattering as they did so, for they reacted as one.
========================================================================================
Across the entire world, within and without the Chaos Wastes, greenskins everywhere reacted as one.
They screamed.
They shouted.
They reached down in eerie synchronicity, hopped in place regardless of former position and context, and clutched at their right foot and in some cases toppled over outright.
Their red eyes burned as they watered and a grimace of pain was momentarily carved across their entire race.
Their mouths opened, and the exact same thing erupted from their throats in pained unison, reverberating and echoing.
ZOOOOOOOOOOOOOG!!!!!!
ME!
BLEEDIN'!
FOOOOOOOOOOT!!!
==================================================================
When Logan came back to himself, it was to see Genevieve tiredly dragging him upright out of the snow and ice that had utterly buried him. Regina was already there, wheezing on her side, while the unfortunately transformed Cloudhorn was mindlessly gnawing without any effectiveness against Genevieve's right ankle. Even so, the vampire made sure to at least attempt some measure of gentleness as she pulled him to his feet, and so he could stare at the actual beginning signs of exhaustion on her face. It wasn't that her expression was that drawn or gaunt, her face was actually as beautiful and perfect as ever, it was just the streaks of grime and ash that were marking it. He could only hear the shrieking winds and beat of his heart. At least, that was true until she opened her mouth and began to speak, her words slipping into his ears without any effort, an illusion made real through Ulgu as he heard rips that he should only have been able to read.
"New problem," she transmitted succinctly, and then gently grasped his chin with her one hand and turned it to the side so that he could see down the slope into the valley once more.
What he saw, mostly, was smoke and dust. He couldn't see the remaining dregs of lava. He could not see a single greenskin. He couldn't see the valley. The only thing he could see, aside from the mountains around him and the vast burnt track in the world left behind by the passage of their enemy as they'd marched out of the Bonelands, was the top of the four hundred foot high walls of the Everpeak, and even then they were being well embraced by the smoke and strangely smelling dust.
"They did it," she continued, just as soft and leaden in voice, "That would have killed Princess An outright if it struck her head on. Or the Celestial Emperor. Even if they raised all the defenses they could."
"Wh-," he coughed out phlegm that was grey from the debris of the air as it rose and was whipped about by the winds.
"I don't know how bad the damage is," she shook her head. "It might be a lot. It might be a little. But...," her face firmed in anger, her lips peeling back to expose those fangs once again. "The shake of the mountain...," she glanced up, and he realized that they had were not yet even close to their destination, the path back to the hangar ruined by what had just occurred.
No. Worse than that. It looked like even more snow and ice had obscured the exit further. He knew where it was supposed to be, and he knew that he did not see it. Slowly, out of the corner of his eyes, Logan saw Regina rise to her feet, swaying in place.
"We need to warn them," Genevieve sniffed and then spat out a hacking gob of stone-grey phlegm into the snow. "Join them. Now. Immediately. That," she pointed upwards, "That can be carved through, dug through, in time."
"In time," Regina echoed her, her breath weak but growing stronger as she inhaled and exhaled.
"Whatever just happened, the horde stopped in their tracks. I don't know how long it will take for them to recover themselves from the effort it took to do...whatever that was." Genevieve shook her head, and looked out over the walls of the Everpeak. "I'm not waiting that long."
The walls that they, as it turned out, were currently level with.
Regina caught on faster than Logan, his mind still sluggish after what had just happened.
"Not even you could could survive a fall that far."
Genevieve grinned toothily, fangs gleaming.
"Who said anything about falling?" She chuckled lowly before rolling her shoulders and then setting them. "You two should continue on," she added as she began to move until her feet were no longer on snow or ice but the well-crafted stone of the dawi.
Logan blinked as Regina followed her.
"What are you doing?" Genevieve drawled.
"Going with you," the Champion declared, fists clenching and unclenching. "I know that you can heft my weight, one-armed even. I will not cower, not now, not when the greenskins await. How long will it take for me to breach back into the hangar, how long for us to return down the elevators? Too long. Besides, you are faster, you can reach the commanders first. I...I will hold the way for you, if need be."
Genevieve did not argue with Regina, she just made a soft sound of acknowledgement.
"In that case," Logan spoke up, his voice thready and weak before he took another deep breath to fill his lungs. "I will set a penance for myself, for utilizing black powder in any fashion, for using deception and trickery."
The two older women glanced back at him as he coughed and spat more dusty phlegm away as it sought to fill his mouth with every breath.
"I will not cower, I will not back down, I will fight them. Here and now."
Genevieve tilted her head while Regina gave a respectful nod.
"Well, the good thing is," the centuries old Bretonnian huffed, "No one will remember how this looked except us."
Then she, again, doffed Regina like a piece of baggage and turned about so that Logan could clamber up her back.
"Here, hold Cloudhorn," she told him as she hauled the squig off of her ankle. "Hold her tight."
"Would it not be better to simply put her down and out of her malformed misery?" Regina asked as Genevieve once more began to move at blurring speeds, forcing them all to shout just to be heard even with her magic aiding them.
"Perhaps. I thought I should at least see if your wizards or priests might be able to transform her back, though admittedly she does not seem to remember herself whatsoever," Genevieve called out as she ran for the direct center of the walls.
It was not an inaccurate observation, going by the way the squig seemed to squirm angrily in his hand.
"Take a deep breath! Now!" Genevieve shouted, and so Logan did so.
Time being of the essence, he supposed that Genevieve saw no reason to wait. Perhaps a more cowardly sort might have wished that she did, perhaps a poet would have requested a moment to take stock of their surroundings and situation. Neither he nor the Champion were either kind of individual, and so simply sucked in what they could from the dirtied air as Genevieve continued her flat run before suddenly tilting at a ninety degree angle so that she could run directly downwards at faster speeds than gravity alone would have granted them. They were plunged directly into so much dust and dirt and smoke that it was halfway to solid, slapping them collectively as they pushed through it faster and faster still. Within seconds, however, Genevieve had to adjust her course, and though he could see absolutely none of it, Logan realized why swiftly enough.
There was the sound of cracking, no, breaking stone which began to emanate from all around the great stone gates that they were being transported down. With each padded step of Genevieve, slamming downwards against the vertical surface, more and more of it chipped off and flaked, turning to pebbles and small chunks of gravel beneath and soon enough behind her. Which also meant above her, which meant they were falling back down after them, something Logan became quite familiar with as some of the loosened and freed chips began to smack against his back here and there with faint clinks of metal and stone meeting.
Despite the speed which Genevieve moved, Logan felt his heart dropping faster.
It was chipping.
The Gates of the Everpeak were chipping apart. That which had stood inviolable to all things, to the worst of the storms that the World's Edge Mountains could offer, to the various attempts of greenskin WAAAAGH!!!s of the past, to the voluminous lava spewed from within, to continual bombardment by the siege weapons of the chaos dwarfs and greenskins both, bonegrinders and giants and rolls and stones and exploding squigs and more, none of it had even scratched the surface of the walls. For they had been, all of them, from solid expanses of granite and marble to individual bricks, been interwoven and connected with the great personal Rune of Valaya and the Rune of Grungni. Granting them strength, repelling powers, doughty certainty and stubborn stability against an oft-changing and ever-violent world.
There could only be one reason for the walls to be chipped and cracked like this.
That the great and impassible runework had been, if not destroyed outright, then heavily damaged.
Further and further they descended, and already the winds were beginning to do their work. They were aided when Genevieve seemed to swell as he clung to her, torso enlarging unnaturally before she exhaled a powerful burst of Azyr and Ulgu intermingled which cleared out a small amount of the dust from around them. Logan immediately wished she hadn't, because he could now see that she was running alongside a massive vertical crack more than thirty feet wide. The only saving grace was that the size of the fissure grew smaller and smaller behind them, and wider and wider below them, meaning that at the very least the crack in the gates had not reached the very top of the walls. Regina was even less sanguine than he, letting loose a series of foul curses and oaths as they continued to descend. Her path now more visible to her, Genevieve diverted and with a worrying sense of dizziness and vertigo twisted horizontally so that she was running down from within the fissure. The pipes were bent, some gone entirely, but the lava flows were but dribbles now, the internal mechanisms of the pumps clearly damaged as well.
Soon enough, with combined with her own efforts and that of the mountain winds, the sheer scale of the damage began to be properly revealed.
Despite the fact that it filled his mouth with a solid bucket's worth of dust, Logan could not stop his jaw from dropping open.
There, below them, almost sixty feet in diameter, was nothing so much as a crater at the direct bottommost centerpoint of the Gates of the Everpeak. The seam which became otherwise nonexistent when the gates were properly sealed and the runes functioning was now thinly visible, while a spider web of cracks in the gate's two halves spread outwards in all directions. The longest of them was more than two hundred feet long, such as the fissure that they were currently running within. Beyond it, in a landscape of still-cooling lava, were the largest boot prints that Logan had ever seen, pressed so deeply into the ground that they had formed smaller pools of the lava to collect in. Each of those boot prints, larger even than that of the bonegrinders, the flickering lava was beginning to take on a disturbingly familiar green coloration. The crater itself glowed, though that was beginning to fade slightly, the air still supercharged with unreal amounts of WAAAAGH!! energies. His hair, everywhere, stood on end, and the closer they got to the center of the crater from upside down and angled, the hotter it was.
His stomach - all his organs and in truth the entirety of his being - lurched uncomfortably as Genevieve elected to stop running around on sheer surfaces and flipped while simultaneously arresting her momentum so that they all came to a landing halt back onto the proper ground. From here, he could see that the width of the crater was horrific, while the depth of it was actually surprisingly lesser than he had initially feared. For all that the greenskins had done, for all that they had called upon, they had genuinely broken the gates. But not utterly, not completely. For a terrifying moment, Logan wondered perhaps if they shouldn't have done this at all, that the gates were still whole enough to bar their way and therefore leave them alone having to be carried right back up the wall before the greenskins smashed them to paste.
They were not, it turned out. A fact revealed as Genevieve stomped her feet and assumed a foreign stance before sweeping her arm sideways, Ulgu and Azyr once more revealing themselves to this time pull the dust in front of them and cast it back outwards into they valley. Doing so revealed something that could not quite be considered a proper tunnel, or a bore, but rather simply a hole. Crudely made, completely uneven and randomly angled, with stone still crumbling at various points, but nevertheless it penetrated forward enough that Logan could smell the scent of not-stale air which he had grown incredibly familiar with since they marched out from the Empire and took refuge within the dwarf hold.
It might not have been the grand act of total destruction that the greenskins might have hoped, the gates had not been outright blown apart or torn open, but they had managed this.
"Let's go then," Genevieve grunted, the movement of her arm still trailing wisps of Ulgu and too-few drops of disturbingly dark blood.
All too quickly, however, they came to a new problem.
"Of course," the vampire growled with unnatural basso resonance. "Of course it would be too easy."
The hole had rapidly begun to narrow, further and further, until it finally narrowed too much.
A small hole was evident, large enough to see the near omni-present dust cast up everywhere had filled some of the innards of the entry hall of the Everpeak, illuminated by torches and rune light and more. But
not large enough for someone of his stature to fit through, never mind Regina, even if both of them were completely naked and covered in the best lubricant in the world. As they stared at it, Genevieve let go so that Regina and Logan could stand on their own two feet. None of them spoke at first, even when they began to hear a resounding roar in the distance. A roar of too many green throats, shock and pain mixed with glee and rage and bloodlust. A roar that was gathering volume, gathering screamers, growing more and more as the enemy recovered themselves. More worrisome, however, was that Logan could not hear nearly as strong a response on other side of the hole. Only distant, confused shouts.
"I can...I can drag you both back up," Genevieve ground out, reaching out to grab angrily at some of the stone on the wall. "Or maybe...,"
Surprisingly, it took her a grunt of effort and actual strain to break off.
Followed shortly by a long string of cursing in Bretonnian, what was possibly Cathayan, and ended in something that almost sounded Arabyan but definitely wasn't.
"It would take you too long," Regina announced. "You are drained, badly, your magic sputtering and weak."
She wasn't wrong. Logan could still see that outline of gnashing green fangs all about her, invisible and ethereal and gnawing away at her as she tried to draw more than a thimbles' worth of the Winds. More tellingly, Genevieve did not bother denying it, only grimacing instead. Logan pursed his lips, and turned back to the now steadily approaching sounds of greenskins, banging weapons and shields together as they approached to see the results of accursed...faith.
"But you could fit through," he said, and watched as Genevieve stilled before half-turning to look at him. "The gate...," he tapped part of the stone all around them for emphasis, "It's...they'll be able to carve away at it now. With the runes damaged or worse, they'll probably bring up the trolls again, the giants. And this time, I think that it will work. It will work swiftly. They...," he spit, "Too much complacency. Rally them. Warn them."
"And leave you two here alone?" Genevieve raised an eyebrow, but he could tell she was considering it.
"Good height," Regina said, demonstrating by raising her arm up to touch the roof of the narrowed tunnel, which at the point they were standing at was less than a foot taller than her. "Narrow confines," she spread her arms out to show that she could not even fully them to the sides before hitting more stone where she was standing. "A funnel. A functional choke."
She then unsheathed her swords, and examined them briefly before looking up again with a flicker of blue-gold fire in her eyes.
"And I have not wrought ruin upon greenskins in too long."
No one mentioned that she had regularly been performing combat duty in the Deeps against the night goblins.
"
WAAAAAAAGH!!!"
In an act that Logan would likely have never made otherwise, he outright pushed at Genevieve to the vampire's shock and minor indignation.
"Go! Now! Besides, if you move fast enough, it's not like we'll be here that long! And get Cloudhorn to safety so that they can see if she can be fixed!"
Genevieve hesitated, but only for a second, and then she was scrambling for the hole. Then, incredibly disturbingly, she was suddenly holding all of her clothes in a bundle which she threw through the hole. What followed was worse, because Logan caught the terribly unattractive sight of her throwing herself at a hole too small for an adult to fit through. Skin tore, bones shifted and cracked and bent, and more wisps of Ulgu accompanied dark blood as from one instant to the next an eternally beautiful young woman was thrown through the stone and rock equivalent of a cheese grater. She did not scream in pain, nor any other exhalation, the only sound being the tearing of her flesh and overstressed skeleton twisted about inside of her body.
Then she was through, and yet even as she rose and disappeared into the smoke and dust, there came a faint and distant whistling which only partially heralded the arrival of a pure black sword that came flying back through to stab down into the stone several inches deep. Logan and Regina stared at it, from the pure cool darkness of the blade proper, to the dull black sheen of its handle with a glossy grey geometric wrapping, to the obsidian tassel which was attached to a ring at the bottom of the hilt. Logan had seen it only once before, when Genevieve had pulled the blade seemingly from nowhere and then disappeared it once more. Following after it, transmitted with the bare minimum of Ulgu which could still craft the poorest of illusions, were a whisper of words.
"Don't die."
Logan glanced over at Regina, who seemed somehow utterly at peace for the first time since the day had begun. Both of her short swords had been unsheathed, and he saw the glow of dwarf runes upon them. Her leather and mail had seen better days, and his own plate armor was terribly scuffed and dented in places.
"You should take it," the Champion said casually as she rolled her shoulders out. "The axe will be good for a time. But you won't have the space to use it for long."
She was right, and Logan knew it. That didn't remove his trepidation as he reached out and grasped it with one hand, while with the other he carefully worked his axe out from his back. He didn't know what he expected when he grabbed it. All he knew is that there was a quiet, steady power in it. Then he blinked and ended up almost dropping it as Regina threw one of her sheathes at him. It was an awkward affair for him to strap it around himself, the woman's substantially broader hips meaning that the leather took a lot more tightening. The sheathe wasn't even close to a fit for the blade either, but for a wonder the edges didn't immediately cut through it.
"
WAAAAAAAGH!!!"
There they came, roaring out of the smoke and dust, eager for a real fight. Logan didn't bother counting, there were more than a hundred, more than a thousand. Those on the edges of the foremost tip of the horde immediately began pushing and shoving each other as the shattered stone of the crater began narrowing. Those in the center had no such compunctions. Heavily armed and armored, thicker with muscle than any man could hope to be, heads jutting forward on incredibly thick necks, bearing crudely made blades and axes in hand. Some carried two weapons, some shields, all were charging forward heedlessly. Upon sighting two humans to fight, to get to grips to, after all the time spent banging on the walls? Only increased their eagerness. Logan readied his axe, the engraved wolf head on the blade covered in grime, dust, and mud. Regina twirled her blades, once, and then set her feet.
They had no need to coordinate.
"SIGMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR!"
"ULRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIC!"
They bellowed to their Gods as the greenskins were forced forward by their own momentum and the confines they'd found themselves in. A thousand became a hundred, became fifty, became ten, became
two, the most they could fit in the final confines of the hole that had been kicked into one of the greatest edifices of the Karaz Ankor.
(Funnel Fight: 49+Logan Martial(13)+Regina Martial(17)+Tight Confines(10)-The Tide Coming In(5)=84/100)
There was no beauty in the fight. No careful exchange of forms. No meticulous and intelligent testing of openings and defenses. There was only savagery and blood and fury. Logan swung his axe more like a lumberjack than a warrior, hacking again and again to slam into the bodies of the orcs that pressed against them. Regina Leitdorf had become a whirlwind, each of her short swords cutting through her enemies with incredible, rune-granted ease. No matter the thickness of the orc's armor, they cut through all the same. Logan had greater trouble, his axe similarly dwarf-forged but without the added benefit of the runes, but there were still portions of the orcs facing them that were either outright exposed to the elements or more lightly armored.
But every one that they felled, whether as a whole body or in chunks, swiftly disappeared as the churning feet and grasping arms and weapons of the enemy kept pushing forward as if dragged beneath and away in an ocean's undertow.
And the enemy kept coming.
(Funnel Fight: 70+13+17+10-The Tide Coming In(10)=100/100)
No words.
No air.
No chance for pause or thought.
There was only the rage, the fury. Logan lost himself to it, threw himself into it, let the berserker fury of Ulric fill him. He was not aware as silver-white fire began to creep along the length of his axe, and as the blood of those he struck at began to freeze in their veins. He did not see as Regina's swings and thrusts began to speed up, blue-gold fire glowing brighter and brighter in her eyes. He could not pray, he could not shout out in glory or defiance, every inhale and exhale was solely dedicated to fueling the body so that it could continue to kill. The world was the tunnel, the hole, the fight was everything, it was the only thing. More and more they kept coming, and more and more of them died. Some stronger, some weaker. Smaller ones, hopping and cackling, struggling and squeezing through legs, only to die all the same.
(Funnel Fight: 23+13+17+10-The Tide Coming In(15)=48/100)
(Soulfire: 88+19=107/100)
(The Snow King's Decree: 57+Logan Piety(9)=68/100)
Pain.
Pain!
The tunnel narrowed, the world growing smaller and more violent all the while, and he felt the pain all the same. Something near his stomach, another near his leg. Blood spilled, but sluggishly, not frozen but chilled. Still he fought, still he roared, still he howled. Hacking away, until with a clang he felt the axe hack not into an enemy but into the rock around them, sticking there, and though part of him raged at the indignity, he was forced to abandon it as they were made to retreat a number of steps. In the next instant, he drew the black blade of the vampire, and even in such an unsteady state, an unfamiliar weapon, the warrior in him marveled as it easily cut through the next two orcs with so little strength required. It pierced and parted them like they were made of the softest powder snows.
But his rage was there all the same, growing in tandem, in defiance of the enemy.
It was the winter, it was the cold, it was not their realm!
Ulric's scorn matched his, and the tunnel that was the world that was the fight disappeared briefly in silver fire and burned many to death.
But not as many as the fire that erupted next to him, the force of it knocking him gently into the walls. A blue-gold corona of fire billowed outwards from Regina as she stabbed both blades into a black orc's neck down to the hilt. A short sword thicker than a meat cleaver had been slammed into her side, biting deep, still held in the now dead black orc's hand. As she stepped unsteadily forward, trying to actually push the enemy back, that aura of fire grew, and where it was, greenskins ceased to live. He could not see her, could not see the Champion, could only see the fire within briefly become the fire without. She staggered forward, and he followed her, shoulder to shoulder, as they bloodily held onto the ground they had first held.
(Funnel Fight: 64+13+17+10-The Tide Coming In(20)-Wounded Duo(10)=74/100)
The stone was slick with blood and the tracked in snow and mud that had clung to too many pairs of boots. He felt a knife find purchase somewhere in his skin, a rusty blade wielded by one goblin or another. He wasn't sure which anymore. Not after he had killed at least ten with kicks and knees that had broken their skulls like oversized eggs and left the brains splattered on the ground and bodies around them. The black blade of Genevieve flashed and swung, but the press of the bodies was so utterly great that they were pushed backwards all the same. They fought, they killed, and they killed more. Blood began to pour from cuts, knicks, stabs.
Bones creaked from heavy impacts as shields wielded by barrel thick arms smashed into them, as fists clad in thick gauntlets tried to strike their heads. Bruises were growing in great number, across the body as he was knocked this way and that while fighting. Instead of any single wound which could have, would have incapacitated, they sustained so many more minor ones. One of his eyes was swollen shut, the red turning black and blue. Regina had to hunch, not just from the ceiling, but from a maul which had smashed sideways into one of her knees and nearly wrenched it into crippling her but did not. They called upon their Gods, of the Wolf and the Hammer, but the enemy called upon theirs as well.
Their defense was not perfect, no defense was, a lesson he had learned in the womb...
But he was Ulrican.
He would refuse no challenge.
Was this not a just penance, for the usage of black powder?
Was this not a worthy death...for a Hohenzollern?
(Funnel Fight: 79+13+17+10-The Tide Coming In(25)-Moderately Wounded Duo(15)=79/100)
Not if he had anything to say about it.
Logan von Hohenzollern gave himself up utterly to the snowy fury of Ulric. To the parting of metal, flesh, and bone. To the fight, what might be his last fight, what might not. He didn't know, he didn't care, he no longer possessed the ability to think any farther ahead than the next exchange of sword and foe. Nearby, next to him, Regina Leitdorf frothed at the mouth, eyes blazing with holy fire, snarling and spitting. At one point, she even twisted at the hip, head wrenching forward so that she could bite not simply into but
through the neck of a goblin that had made to try and leap at them from the shoulder of one of the orcs. Another blow struck him, and then another. So many more to kill, so many more than they might even be able to. How many had died already? How many more would?
Questions for others, questions for Morr, a question to be posed to the damned Gods of the greenskins.
Not for him.
Not for the wolf or the hammer who fought.
And as they fought, he saw the Champion draw nearer as they were forced back, inch by deathly inch. Maneuvers became more constrained. Movement was restricted further and further, winnowed and shaved down the absolute barest necessities. A glow began to spark to life in the hands of the Sigmarite, the glow as fierce as any of the others, but this one was more comforting. A buoying realization, barely recognized and processed by two minds consumed by pure berserker wrath. That one was capable of healing, of prolonging the life, the fight. They could, perhaps, fight forever. Nothing but the tunnel, and the fight, and the killing, as ever more of the greenskins came pouring through.
As it turned out, however...
They did not need to.
Logan lashed out with the black blade as he felt something grab him from behind, thinking that a goblin had finally managed to push past.
Only to be met with the teeth of Genevieve clamping around the edge of her own blade, her fingers literally squeezing into the back of his breastplate.
He could not speak before she threw him backwards! But not to death, but rather the opposite. He flew backwards and through a widened hole, sighting shocked looking dwarf miners with their picks before he landed and skipped like a stone on the ground before coming to a screeching halt. Less than a second later, so too was Regina ejected from the tunnel to land next to him with just as poleaxed an expression as he. Even as both of them tried to sit up, they were beset by clerics and priests and wizards alike, but not enough of them to stop from seeing a grim faced group of dwarf irondrakes step forwards with their alchemical flamethrowers that they then began pouring down the tunnel through the newly - but only barely - expanded hole in the gate.
Logan found himself pushed back down, found himself becoming aware of the blood trickling from his lips, becoming aware of the immense amount of pain he was actually in, of just how exhausted he really was.
And he found himself suddenly aware of the worried yet proud face of the Emperor, Magnus the Pious himself, as he knelt and placed a hand on both his and Regina's shoulders.
"You held them long enough," the Emperor told them both, his voice gentle and firm. "You held them long enough. We'll hold the breach, now."
Logan's vision became blurry before he refocused as the healing spells of the Light and Jade Wizards worked themselves into him. With a grunt, he instead clutched onto the Emperor's arm and began to drag himself upright to the older man's genuine surprise. On the other side of the Emperor, Regina Leitdorf had done the same, much of her chain and leather utterly ruined. Nearby, the High King of the Dwarfs had arrived, his thronebearers just slightly slower than the Emperor at full sprint.
"With all do respect, my Emperor," Logan heaved a breath and straightened. "I've been counting the days. Today is my birthday."
"And what," he heard a tired, Regina say into the ensuing relative silence, ignoring the roaring of the greenskins and the blasts of the irondrakes in the tunnel. "Shall you ask as a birthday present, Logan von Hohenzollern?"
"I...want a drink," he declared as he swayed in place. "And then I want to kill some damned orcs."
Logan von Hohenzollern Interlude Section Ends Here.
Character Sheet Adjustments/Etc./Other Will Be Done Later, it's almost midnight and I'm exhausted.
Apologies for such a long wait, we'll return promptly to the Black Ark and not do any more side stuff from now on for the foreseeable future. 
