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Post by Drakira on Apr 19, 2019 15:40:05 GMT
~Prologue~ The bone-piercing winds of Naggaroth howled within the Witch King's halls, only briefly interrupted by short sentences, hastily barked out by a towering, armoured man in the center of the room. Long shadows danced around the chamber in the flickering witch light orbs which illuminated the grand chamber. "My lord, the entire frontline is crumbling underneath the combined might of our accursed cousins, Empire's state troops and Dwarf gunlines! If we do not receive reinf..." "Enough, Commander Varanyth." – interrupted a powerful voice, as if it came from afar, yet so impossibly close it chilled from the bones out. The howling din paused as if listening, a lingering silence as if watching, waiting to see what would come to pass. "My L-lord..." The imposing figure, clad in dark plate looked down with hate filled eyes that glowed as brightly as the seams in his armour. With a gesture of his hand, clad in a clawed gauntlet, a sudden violent burst swept through the room, flooding it like an arctic gale, knocking the breath out of the Commander and forcing him to kneel. "Silence! I tire of your excuses.” Filled with malaise, the voice promised unspeakable agonies should the Commander continue. "You will not interrupt your King again." added a gentler voice, that of a female. Her tone was one of amusement, as the great warrior was utterly disarmed by the woman of alluring and yet unpleasant beauty. "Now, to the matter at hand..." "Commander Varanyth, you were granted an Iron Writ and with it you carry your Sponsor's authority. You have, however, failed in your appointed task and you left her...dissatisfied. How terribly disappointing." As soon as the woman stopped speaking, the set of great steel doors at the foot of the chamber flung opened with great force. Two guardsmen marched in, between them carrying a small cauldron; their footfalls drumming a rhythm on the flagstones. The air instantly took on the taint of molten iron. The kneeling figure on the ground tried to move, to shout, to do anything, but was left powerless. It was as if a greater will than his was holding him firmly in place, to await his terrible fate. The guards slowed as they approached, the cauldron gleaming in the pale light, tendrils of blackened steam rising from the unholy vessel. "And I'm sure you the know the price, Commander." - bellowed a voice from within the armour. The hulking figure approached the guardsmen, taking the cauldron and grasping it firmly as one of the guards gripped the seasoned warrior by the neck and tilted his head back. Without a word, the cauldron's contents were poured down the Druchii's throat. The agonized shrieks of the powerless victim could be heard from the farthest corners of the fell citadel, until the dreadful noise was rendered to a choking gargle whilst the molten iron did its work. As the screams faded to the gasping rasps of the dying, two figures entered the room, seemingly unaffected by the scene playing out before them; or perhaps concealing it very well. "Forge it into a new Writ." A note of amusement could be heard in the woman's voice. "It's yours for now....if you dare claim it." - a mirthless smile spoiling her unearthly beauty as she uttered these words to the Druchii who have just entered the hall. One of the guardsmen lifted the now empty cauldron from the ground, whilst the other grabbed the lifeless body by the scruff of his neck. "No, leave the cauldron...as a reminder. Go." The guardsmen hastily left the room, dragging the corpse along the black floor. The woman placed her hand on the shoulder of her armoured companion, as he gave his decree; his voice again bellowing across the frozen hall. "Division and conflicting goals give room to weakness. Strength lies in a common aim, combined strategy, and relentless discipline. I have decreed that the time has come for those who fight for their own ambition stand side by side with the disciplined and form orderly ranks fit to crush our foes." Though once again calm, the voice carried an unspoken threat underneath. “We have decided that you shall bind together our finest and cruellest, bring rebellion under the yoke of a single command. Whilst the healthy struggle of one House against another encourages the strong to rise, as things stand our might is wasted. Your regiment, what is it now?” she paused, tapping her full lips thoughtfully. “Ah, yes. Kar Khadath.” she purred the words almost mockingly. An uneasy silence befell those gathered in the room, hesitant to draw attention to themselves lest the weight of wrathful ire fall upon them. "You may leave now", uttered the lithe regal figure, clad in a wrought crown and strategically placed silk, who dismissed her subjects as casually as ushering away a common servant. "Dread Highness... Queen Morathi." - with these words, the two figures left the room as quickly as they entered it, Malekith's glare smouldering into them as soon as they dared to turn their backs. From the high balcony, The Witch King and the Hag Sorceress of Ghrond gazed down as their forces gathered below; soldiers marching, warriors forming rank. Banners snapped in the wind, as the troops were called to rank by the Commanders who now found themselves in a position of unique opportunity. The din of war horns rose above the cheers of the Druchii army, mingling with the growls of nauglir and other terrible beasts. With a cry of “Sa’an’ishar!” a drum set the marching pace as the army moved out; the thunderous sound of a marching host echoing across the frozen plains of Naggarythe. The symphony of death had begun. "And so the Druchii from across the Land of Chill have come together in a tenuous alliance to advance the will of the Witch King. Soon there will no stopping us, my son, as we sweep the Old World into darkness and a new age of subjugation. The Kar Khadath Regiment shall serve us well."
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Post by Drakira on Apr 19, 2019 15:42:46 GMT
Weeks at sea, and finally Ulthuan was in sight. The black ark had moved seemingly slowly, pulled by sorcery and fell beasts beneath the waters, hidden behind a deep mist that would appear to those on the coast as a storm cloud. And the storm had come at last. The ark ground to a halt on the northern shores of one of the Blighted Isles, lightly defended by small groups of High Elves who were no match for the forces that soon marched out of their city-sized vessel. Within a few hours their resistance was crushed, and the Druchii took little time in establishing a stronghold on the mainland. Soon the plaza looked like any in Naggaroth; walls of steel with razor sharp defences surrounded the ark’s landing, the heads of the slain decorating the parapets. As thanks were given to Khaine for a successful arrival, Caranordor, Commander of the Kar Khadath Regiment observed these lands ripe for spoil, as he gathered his officers to him; Vjun, Captain of the military ranks, Dread Lord Telalis of Clar Karond, and Ithilsyn, seeress of Ghrond. The latter two had waited on the Blighted Isle for the arrival of this mighty force, and their patience and negotiations of merging their resources had been rewarded. Telalis looked forward with cautious eagerness as the great doors of the ark opened outwards, and with a barked command from Caranordor, ranks of well disciplined Druchii warriors marched out in rank and file. The Commander stepped forward, “Welcome to the so-called ‘Blighted Isle’, kin. Here we will break the back of the Phoenix King and claim what’s ours. The Witch King has decreed that the orderly ranks of the Nagrar Regiment join with the cunning Druchii of Drukhae Khalir... Together we fight under one banner of Kar Khadath.” With an expression of barely veiled contempt he continued, “I shall mold you curs into instruments of war, or break you in the process. Show me you are worthy of the Witch King’s service.” In a shout he ordered, “Form a line!” The new arrivals quickly organised themselves into something orderly, through fear or discipline, it was not clear. Yet they followed the command immediately, which was reassuring at least. Caranordor hissed to them, “I require your absolute loyalty and iron discipline. Anything less and you will be fed to the nauglir. Is that understood?” “Now. Let’s see what we have here...” Stepped out from their long voyage aboard the gloom shrouded ark, blinking in the bright light of Ulthuan, the Druchii introduced themselves to their officers. Various levels of skill and society had answered Malekith’s decree to rally under Kar Khadath’s banner. They shared their deeds with their superiors, in hopes of gaining favour and good stead within the ranks, with tales of slaves taken and prisoners flayed. Nothing would impress like the trial of combat, a little sport and bloodshed would provide amusement whilst sprinkling the ground of conquest with an offering to Khaine. Telalis watched the proceedings quietly. The merge had been a gamble, power was not shared, it was claimed. The seeress had secured his trust to a degree, but had Ithilsyn’s negotiations been enough to ensure that his own ambitions were not forfeit? Would they now be under the yoke of the Witch King’s army? As if reading his thoughts, she glanced at him with a steady gaze, before turning to scrutinise those who had stepped off the ark, to see if any showed talent with the arcane that could be drawn in to her secretive coven. The niceties over, the time had come to see if deeds could match the claims dealt out by the new arrivals. They were led to a pit, to stand against each other in single combat. Vjun watched carefully assessing the skill of those to be under his command as they fought savagely against each other, encouraged by jeers and shouts of the Druchii gathered about. Those that showed promise were permitted the privilege of doing battle against their own officers, a great honour, and a means to put them in their place. Caranordor smiled grimly to himself. Yes, this would do...
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Post by Drakira on Apr 19, 2019 15:45:16 GMT
Ithilsyn leaned back in the gilded chair, crafted with ornate spikes that gleamed in the witchlight orb within the tent. Before her on the table was spread the sorcerer’s map, which she studied as she lifted her wine cup to her lips. Runes and notes marked sites of interest across the Blighted Isles, recorded on the dried thalken hide, revealing the locations of cities and settlements, paths, and rivers across the islands which they had found themselves. Ever shifting, it had been a triumph of dark magic that the black arks had made it through without being crushed between the clashing rocks, yet still they had. She cast her gaze across a series of waystones shown to be over the craggy hills besides Mistwood and traced an invisible line between them with her finger. It was known that these had been placed long ago, across the span of the Old World, to channel a magical web around the lands. They were places of power, connected by a grid, yet instead of pure dhar which pooled in the dark places of the world, this power was something else. It flowed to the great vortex on an isle within the centre of the thalken continent of Ulthuan, channelled by the spirits of champions long dead, yet beyond death. Through their tireless work, the powers of Chaos were denied, and the world kept safe from a tide of countless daemons that had nearly ended it all before the Sundering that had divided Isha’s children. The map was old, and well crafted. But it seemed incomplete somehow. Yet there were places that certainly deserved further investigation. Caranordor and his Regiment had arrived recently, the delicate balance of power from the existing Druchii forces disturbed. Careful to ensure that a degree of influence was preserved, she had carefully negotiated the right to continue the work set out to her by Ghrond, the fortress city of the Black Convent, from which she had travelled what seemed now, so long ago. The sorceresses of the Nagrar Regiment would be hers to command, as would those of Drukae Khalir, under the combined Coven of Kar Khadath. A symbolic union, it was one also agreed to take into account the will of His Dread Highness, who had surprisingly pardoned the male sorcerers as long as they swore fealty and carried out his work. This prospect amused Ithilsyn greatly. For so long, she and her sisters had been sworn to hunt them down, and execute them on sight. For the Prophecy of Demise had predicted that one versed in dark magic, and the son of a sorcerer would overthrow Malekith. Their king was taking a gamble, but she knew that it was a calculated risk. Placing her goblet down, she carefully rolled up the map and hid it away, before summoning three of her most trusted sisters of the newly-formed circle. Sylleth, tall and lithe with a palatable taint about her, Vashirinth, of Drukae Khalir’s old order, and Sildra, her sworn second, gathered before her and quietly listened as she described what had been discovered so far within the isles. On her mind were promises of arcane favours to those who had agreed to her position, but without claiming a degree of power of their own, the favours would be nothing to negotiate with. Their work was to be subtle, too delicate for the untrained minds of the common soldier. Together, the four crossed over the crags of Golden Tor, its heights touching the low mist that clung to the isle. Eagles soared overhead as the sorceresses crossed the peaks, perhaps the world below looking much to them as the map had seemed to Ithilsyn. From their vantage point, the Coven could see a field below, filled with a great number of waystones. Already the Druchii forces had found them, the sorceresses of House Uthorin doing that they might to harness the powers that lay within. The site was clear of their cursed weak kin, save for the broken bodies of the dead that gazed at nothingness with glassy eyes. Walking into the field, Ithilsyn explained to the sisters of Kar Khadath how the waystones had been utilised by the thalken to channel energies to the vortex itself. The field was interesting to them, the sorceresses taking note of the lay of the stones and the directions that visible lines of power struck through them. Here the great grid could almost be seen, the smell of magic hanging in the air about them, touching their skin like the light touch of a teasing lover. The lust of promised power was great, but this was not why she had brought them to this part of the island, no. Instead her mind was cast to a remote place, marked on the sorcerers map next to a hidden pool. It called to her like a distant voice on the air, promising secrets. Drawn towards their destination, the seeress led her sisters with determination through a forest thick with battle. Under the spell of their purpose, the Coven walked through the fighting throngs, slaying any who stood in their way with bolts of dark magic. Eventually they came to the hidden pool, its azure waters clear as crystal. As serene and still as it looked, the Coven would take no chances. Before venturing any closer, the edge was tested for wards, which proved to be in place. Encouraging the sorceresses to test their powers, Ithilsyn left it to them to discover the strength of the protections in place and undo them. The waters bubbled violently as if in protest as dhar was channelled and weavings unravelled, until all was still. One by one the sorceresses waded into the water, swimming to the far side where near the entrance to a cave, she knew their goal would be. Ithilsyn had been here before. Glancing at the crystals as the Druchii pulled themselves out of the water; she remembered the wary excitement she had felt upon finding them. She had been sent to test them and hence was granted the gift of being the first to taste the knowledge which they granted. The rush of power that had flowed through her was almost frightening, then after, a serene calm and an awareness of things that were previously unknown; secrets she was not even aware that she had not known had been revealed to her. And now her sisters would taste the same sweet wine of knowledge. The crystals stood in a small circle, surrounding another in the centre. Dark in colour, there was something tempting about them to one who was drawn to the use of pure dhar. It would seem that they had been hidden here, but hastily, and charged with knowledge of the lore of the secrets of their weak kin. First to go forth was Sildra, Grand Cabalist, and Ithilsyn’s second in command. Quiet and cautious, she had shown discernment and a trustworthy nature, and diligence to her work. Of course, to think that full trust could be placed in any Druchii was a foolish notion; yet Ithilsyn gave her enough whilst ensuring that she knew the order of things, and the consequences of stepping above her station. She had not needed yet to challenge her, and part of her hoped that she would not. Sildra walked slowly to the crystals, grounding herself as she held out a hand and touched them one by one. She swayed for a moment as the energies rushed through her before the vision washed over her sight; the harmonious net of power crossing the world disrupted, waystones being isolated and closed off. The potential of channelling the energy in any direction she wanted. But for what purpose? She stepped aside, feeling nauseous as she came back into herself, quietly contemplating what the crystals had shown. Next up was Vashirinth. Ithilsyn recalled how when they had first encountered each other, this sorceress had arrogantly tested her will and character. The measure of a natural introduction between those versed in dark magic, Ithilsyn had seen to having her swear fealty to her and the Coven. After deciding to keep her close, Vashirinth had soon settled into her place and had proven to be capable so far. Repeating Sildra’s actions, the white-haired sorceress became still and silent as it was her turn to open herself to the raw power before her. Would it tear her apart? Ithilsyn smiled to herself at the thought, although any would think the gesture was approval. With a gasp she stepped away, describing how two towers were shown to her, wreathed in flames. One was the White Tower of Hoeth, the other as yet unknown. She felt somehow that it could be in Caledor. Throughout the vision, symbols danced, lines of magic twisted and snapped, as the wards guarding these mighty bastions of thalken pride were taken apart and unravelled by a Druchii hand. Vashirinth was convinced that the vision had shown her how to undo such wards. Last to go forth was Sylleth. A strange one, this. Slender and elegant, quiet and graceful, Ithilsyn considered that she had made pacts to claim her powers, rather than the usual path of knowledge. This sorceress was too subdued, leading Ithilsyn to deduce that she was hiding something terrible. In time she would learn the truth, but for now Sylleth would learn the secrets from the crystals before her. She stepped forth into the circle, testing the shards as her sisters before her had. Yet when she came away, nothing. No reaction, no vision, just stillness, as if they had not reacted to her touch, or had barred her. She came away with nothing. Yet that in itself was a revelation. And so their work was done, for now at least. The sorceresses made their way back to Mistwood, where the events that had passed would be recorded in the Black Tome. All happenings were accounted for, all arcane items recorded. Such small detail could be missed if not logged correctly, that might provide valuable knowledge when studied later, when all the pieces came together. It was a puzzle. All of this, so many secrets to unlock, so much power to claim and turn towards the hand of victory. Soon their new powers would be tested. Come what may. Ithilsyn’s lips curled into a smile as she thought of all that was prophesised to be. A world in shadow, under the dominion of its true and rightful king.
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Post by Drakira on Apr 19, 2019 15:47:41 GMT
The Commander looked on as his troops gathered, the Black Ark looming behind casting long shadows over the small fortification they had made use of to unload provisions and set up the ranks for the long invasion before them. The smell of smoke and iron tang of blood filled the camp; the nearby cauldron readily offered captured High Elves as libation to Khaine in order to invoke his blessing on the war to come. The screams of the dying mingled with cruel mocking laughter, yet such a thing was mundane to a seasoned warrior with Malekith’s writ hanging over him. There was no further time for delay. “Sa’ an’ishar!” came the command, the troops forming orderly ranks; some mounting up on lumbering cold ones, creatures of the deep earth that carried Naggaroth’s most fearsome knights into battle. The beasts snorted and snarled, whilst their masters lashed at them and dug in their spurs. Finally they were on the move. The Regiment did not have far to travel for soon they were amid the fight for Narthain, the imposing white stone spires now crumbled and stained with soot. The Temple’s witches were already engaged with swordsmen as the sieged city burned. Rubble lay all about, and in this area Beastmaster Maughann had set up his command, to which Caranordor addressed. The Commander’s warband halted whilst he gave parlay to the Beastmaster. It would seem that a stalemate had been reached here; the Druchii forces had enough might to wreak havoc, yet not quite enough to turn the tide of battle and claim the area. “And what would you offer in return for our aid?” negotiated the Commander. The Beastmaster thought for a while before replying, “I would offer a share in the spoils.” There was a noted silence whilst this was considered. Maughann’s failure to secure victory was damning in his capability to lead a band of forces, and now he was merely offering a share to Kar Khadath for bringing him glory? No. This would not do. Yet spoils were to be gained here, as well as a pivotal stronghold on the north coast to reinforce dominance of this section of Ulthuan. Strategically it would be foolish to pass through leaving the thalken to harry and hamper the Druchii efforts. “Very well,” the Commander replied. “Regiment, we attack! Kill them all.” At his command, the warriors rushed in to attack the unchallenged thalken forming a defence at the base of the spires of Narthain. Swordsmen and archers rallied, and seemed unprepared for the rush of well trained steel and spite that descended upon them in fury and slaughter. A black dragon descended to join the battle, soon met by a sun dragon of the asur. Injured, the mighty beast took to the sky, settling on a high arch still somehow intact far above, howling its rage. The Regiment turned its efforts to the noble beast before them, so rare now in these lands since the times of Caledor. Irreplaceable, a symbol of hope and majesty for the High Elves. It had to die. All efforts were targeted upon the sun dragon, its gaping jaws snapping at the Druchii who nimbly dodged it and struck back with glaive and spear. The beast lashed with its tail and swiped with claw, yet was slowed by countless cuts to its body, and fell enchantments from the sorceresses of the Coven. As it thrust it’s head forward, in a bid to snap its jaws around one of the warriors, a glaive was thrust fully into its mouth and pushed hard through until it found the dragon’s brain. The Druchii pressed his advantage and gave a twist; the dragon thrashing in agony, throwing the Druchii clear with a shake of its head. The damage however had already been done, and with a sorrowful howl, the mighty beast fell, never to soar the azure skies of Ulthuan again. The slaughter was complete. Scattered about were the bodies of the dead or dying. Many were dispatched as the Druchii roamed through them, yet a few were dragged away for amusement later. As this went on, Ithilsyn’s eye caught something at the base of a tower. A tall harp stood next to a few chests. Whilst most of the town had been cleared of goods in light of the Druchii landing, this seemed to have been too cumbersome to take away. She admired it as she drew close, it seemed to hum with a song of its own as the wind caught the strings, and the gilded frame was decorated with fine carving. She recalled a promise to Telalis in return for favour. Ever a Druchii of her word, she would not disappoint. “Commander,” she called, as she stepped through the battlefield, oblivious of all but the harp. “I would have this.” Caranordor paused, wondering for what purpose this item was required. The sorceresses gathered about the High Seeress, and he stepped forth amid the carnage to see what had caught her eye. As if hearing his thoughts, Ithilsyn turned to him, holding her staff as she explained, “The Rite of Nethu calls for a harp, to tease the soul out of the enchantment’s target. This is a gift from Hekarti, ready to be claimed.” The Commander did not question her further. The Seeress was responsible for the magical forces of the invading force that he was in charge of, and that included claiming any arcane artefacts that may be put to use against their foes. “Load it up,” he cried. “We take this with us”. The Regiment marched victoriously from the spires, armour and blades still wet with blood. Presenting themselves before Beastmaster Maughann, the stood in silence, frenzy still in their eyes as the bloodlust coursed through them. Caranordor stepped forwards to announce the victory. “Narthain is defeated. We come to claim our prize.” Maughann looked him up and down with a sneer before slowly replying, “Very well. You shall have half of the spoils for your reward.” Caranordor knitted his gauntleted hands together, looking down thoughtfully. He sighed, a twisted smile forming on his lips. “Half the spoils? I think not.” In a motion too swift to be predicted, his hand fell to his sword which was unsheathed and swung in a blurring arc to the beastmaster’s throat. Carried through, the blade cut through flesh and bone, launching Maughann’s head through the air until it landed on the plaza with a wet thump. It rolled across the ground and settled gazing lifelessly as the Druchii’s headless body fell to its knees before falling forward and emptying it’s blood across the white stone. “Such is the price for failure.” Smirked Caranordor.
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Post by Drakira on Apr 19, 2019 15:49:37 GMT
The message conveyed to the deployed unit at Narthain had been firmly asserted. Hushed whispers broke the silence among the troops, keen not to share their leader’s fate. Caranordor called the Regiment to order as the Beastmaster’s warriors hurried to form some semblance of order, lest his sword find them next. The Witch King’s iron writ must be served, and it was the Commander’s duty to see to the task. Personally. The invasion could not wait for such incompetence as this. Suspicions were abounding as to why Narthain was seemingly defended by a mere citizen militia. Surely a settlement on the front would have a stronger force at its disposal? It would seem that the High Elf army proper was waiting for them elsewhere. Caranordor called for three willing volunteers to go forth and scout the way ahead. Menial work, more suited to Shades, he knew that the request would be a test of fealty to his command. To refuse would be foolish. Duvaindir and Coruhir were first to step up, and then with a degree of surprise, one of the Coven was asked to go forth with them. It seemed that the Commander was gauging loyalties, to gain a feel for whether or not the arcane Druchii that had affiliated themselves with the Regiment would be willing as any of his warriors to follow orders. Sylleth threw a questioning glance to Ithilsyn, who nodded quietly, encouraging her to assist. It would not do to show any sign of rebellion on the Coven’s part, especially in the recent conglomeration of the military forces of the Nagrar Regiment with Drukae Khalir. These were early days, and to work together would certainly prove to be beneficial to all involved. The three departed to see what lay to the south. An uncomfortable silence fell about Narthain as the Commander glowered over the Druchii and his troops. Two of the Beastmaster’s men stepped forward and as discretely as possible, removed the body of their leader, dragging him away by his feet leaving a bloodstained trail across the flagstones. The atmosphere was tense, and as the scouts returned to give their reports, there was no delay with moving on. Shadow Warriors were beginning to gather in the hills around Akrana’s Storm. A small unit of High Elves had been sighted at Lake Menarhain, whilst Nimosar was filling with defences. The Regiment had to strike before the enemy had the opportunity to muster their forces to dig in and strike back against them. With haste, they proceeded their march to the camp at which Drukae Khalir’s Druchii had last called their base of operations at Akrana’s Storm. Still held by a good number of House Uthorin’s troops, there was little that the thalken could do to break their stronghold. Caranordor led his regiment through the foothills, who swiftly dispatched the enemy there before moving in a storm of ruin to Menarhain. The High Elves held their ground, yet their efforts were crushed with cold steel and fell dhar. All that was left as Kar Khadath passed through were broken bodies and the moans of the dying; without delay, the Druchii pushed onwards to Nimosar. The white towers rose from fortified walls, guarded well by their weak kin. Unlike the smouldering ruins behind them, this settlement had yet to fall, and Caranordor would see to it that this was amended. Breaking through the initial defences, the Regiment fell into formation, with heavily armoured troops at front. They pushed through the asur, shouts mingling with the clash of steel, as blades danced beneath the towers. Sildra noted a strong presence, Sylleth seemingly sickened by the energies nearby, and from this Ithilsyn noted that they were not far from a place of power. Almost distracted by these swirling eddies of magic, it took a great deal of their concentration to focus their dhar effectively into the battle. Just as Nimosar seemed to fall, a unit of horsemen rode in, ithilmar armour gleaming, and lances pointed at the invaders. The Druchii warriors were called to flank these elites whilst a frontal attack was called to confuse their charge. As the horses reared, they were met with glaives plunging into flesh, and the noble beasts fell, throwing their riders to the ground. Some leapt to their feet to fight on foot. Others lay struggling under their dying steeds, to be dispatched with cruel efficiency by the Druchii. It was over in minutes. Praises were called to Khaine, and as bloody swords were wiped clean, Ithilsyn drifted out of the fortification, flanked by Sylleth and Sildra. Pulled by the call of raw magic, their movements caught the regiment’s attention, and Caranordor raised a hand to give a silent command for attention from the hardened warriors under his command. He called to the Coven, querying their movements, then noted that which had drawn their attention. Not far from Nimosar, a waystone stood in a hollow, a shimmering beam of qhaysh shining brightly to any with witch sight. To those not accustomed to the forces of magic, it would appear in the corner of one’s eye as a ripple, sparkling with blue light, yet to the sorceresses it shone like a beacon. Like the field across the mountains, this stone seemed to be part of a grid, channelling power across Ulthuan. Further investigation was required. Not fully understanding what lay before him, Caranordor followed with his troops as the seeress and her companions drew close to the stone, oblivious to the thalken guarding it. Lured almost by raw power, it fell to the warriors to cut down the defenders. Clearly excited by the find, Ithilsyn and her sisters stepped forth ever closer, and began to whisper words of power, unweaving wards with graceful motions of their hands. “It is a waystone, Commander”, explained Ithilsyn, realising that he was curious as to what had pulled the Coven so soon from the city which they had just sacked. Spoils had been ignored for this rather dull looking rock. It must hold some great significance. As Sildra and Sylleth held the energies at bay, Ithilsyn continued, eyes alight with power, “Come closer. We have woven a spell of undoing.” Gazing at the seeress questioningly, he stepped forth to learn more of what had drawn them. He reached out, took two steps closer, then as his fingertips touched the waystone, the seasoned veteran, trusted of Malekith, simply disappeared. Shouts of surprise and gasps murmured among the troops, whilst the sorceresses stood about the stone. It would seem that treachery was underway.
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