Turn 1 Unfolding Narrative
Path 1—The War-Trod Trail
Battle for the Solar Pyramid of Chotec
The Starfall Devils were the first to move on the Solar Pyramid of Chotec, or so they thought. Alec Von Kroos was on a simple reconnaissance mission, but learned quickly that nothing in Eightpoints, and especially not the Flaywilds, was ever going to be simple, clear, or easy. The Umbra Squad’s mission was complicated by countless traps of brass and bone, and the keen senses of the Womb-Gut Butchers’ mutated monstrosities. They persevered again and again, gaining their vantage point to help coordinate the Starfall Devils’ assault, only to find themselves ambushed by Craebmhorg’s Teulu Cernunnos.
The blood-thirsty Khornate hunters announced their presence with a volley of bone javelins and a blood-curdling howl, before rushing Umbra Squad’s position. The damp conditions meant their return gunfire was less coordinated, and enough of the enemy’s vanguard hit their lines to pin them while others moved to encircle them. Thinking fast, skilled grenadiers used the last of their munitions to open a path to escape through. The enemy gave chase, used to running down far larger ‘prey’, and only the premature, spirited charge of the “Gargant’s Bane” cogfort saved the Umbra Squad. The trundling fort’s firepower prevented the hunters of Teulu Cernunnos from closing the noose on the recon force time and time again, forcing the enemy back into cover just as the Solar Pyramid unleashed purifying pulses.
The Starfall Devils’ enemies had heard the distant rumbling of cogforts and had come prepared, knowing that the cumbersome warmachines could navigate only a few avenues through the dense Flaywilds and take cover behind fewer titanic bulwarks to shield from the Pyramid’s pulses.
That’s how Faealas and her Scions of the Bleeding Wild arrived, emerging from the cover of blazing fire and deep shadows to pin down the “Gargant’s Bane” with their mutated, floral abomination of what was once a dread saurian. It was far from Faealas’ favoured prey, but her spear sang as she sadistically put down the Dawnbringers guarding it. Yet they didn’t scream out in pain or fear. And when she went to claim the head of their leader in recompense, Orlando Lovell simply caught her spear with an open hand and gripped it with unnatural strength. The smile he gave her was anything but mortal, and revealed that Craebmhorg did not hold the monopoly on ghouls in the Flaywilds. A flesheater frenzy overtook the cogfort, an unholy shrieking replacing the sounds of the abandoned guns, and Faealas got the dance she desired with a worthy foe.
Without the cogfort’s covering fire, Alec Von Kroos met the gaze of Brenin Rhodri as his howling hunters closed on them once more, but that became the least of their worries as all hell broke loose. War horns and bugles and drums sounded from all directions, marking the true beginning for the Battle for the Solar Pyramid of Chotec.
The Morfiend Warhorde was the first to commit and was anything but chaotic. A disciplined formation of Burning Templars, CARCASS troops and Lurk’s Longshots embodied combined arms, advancing slowly but steadily through the ogor’s defenses. The Tzaangor chosen led the way, forming an impenetrable wall behind which the undead and skaven gunners could shoot with impunity. During the pyramid’s pulses, the group picked their next target, prepared sorceries and arced munitions to soften the enemy, then dropped scrap bridges to cross over the Wyrdbirth Womb’s mutative cauldron.
They moved up to eliminate the stranded cogfort and its would-be killers, but their methodical pacing meant the battlefield changed before they got there. As they consolidated their formation on adjoining islands to rain fire on the “Gargant’s Bane” and Scions of the Bleeding Wilds, Craebmhorg redirected forces in the area to engage them. The Runoff Troggherd advanced into the deadly ranks of the Burning Templars, the troggs already covered in errant tentacles and extraneous maws from the many abominations they had devoured from the Wyrdbirth’s cauldron. Immovable discipline met unstoppable hunger, colliding with ground-shaking force. Ranks of the Templars collapsed to the Troggherd’s devastating charge, but they reformed with unshakeable will to hold the line. Even bolstered by sorcery, their attacks struggled to outpace the mutating troggs regenerative abilities, their Fates sealed were it not for the focused fire of their allies.
That fire faltered as the Waiting Frenzy’s Hedonites leapt across ravines to harry the Morfiend gunners. Artemis, CO of CARCASS, was forced to engage Lord Puslane to keep her lines from being overrun. A deep wound drove her back, but before Puslane could claim her head a shot from a concealed firearm forced the injured Hedonite leader to retreat. Before the disciplined skaven and undead could wheel, the fast and furious hedonites disengaged and sped away, proving far more difficult targets to gun down. The Longshots and CARCASS covered their flanks, expecting the Hedonites to return to aid their allies… they didn’t, too caught up in seeking novel victims.
The lessened supporting fire let the Runoff Troggherd regain their footing, battering Burning Templars into the mutative muck. While the Templars believed themselves protected from Change beyond Tzeentch’s, they were mistaken—none were above the Flaywilds’ mutating powers. They turned into fresh horrors that were eaten by Runn’s troggs, who in turn continued mutating as well, until that battle devolved into chaos.
Sargon the Avowed was forced to engage the trogg leader Runn, both scoring wounds on one another. While wyrdflame slowed the trogg’s healing, Sargon had no such option at all. The High Templar’s armour collapsed under the trogg’s mighty blows and only Warlock Engineer Lurk saved him. Lurk’s shot took out Runn’s eye, giving Sargon and his Templars the space needed to start driving the Runoff Troggherd back.
While her allies bought her time, Faealas committed herself to victory. After the initial shock of finding herself beset by ghouls, the skilled wardancer adapted and regained the initiative, her floral saurian leaving deep gouges and tears in the “Gargant’s Bane” while she and her fungal sylvaneth kept the ghouls at bay. The over-eager cogfort would have met its end were it not for equally over-eager allies.
The Flaywilds thundered as the Starfall Devils signalled their charge, and a stampede erupted from their encampment. Grungolt Dharksson and Yotaqel led the way atop their steeds, the fiery magmadroth and cold-blooded carnosaur moving in close order. They slammed into the corrupted dread saurian before it could respond, the three monsters and their riders opening deep, bloody wounds on one another. It turned the tide and Faealas barely managed to escape with her gouged saurian before the Morfiend Warhorde’s disciplined formation finally managed to fall upon the cogfort.
But not before the beleaguered ‘Dawnbringers’ were reined in by their ghoul king and manned the guns to return fire over the wall of Burning Templars, devastating the massed ranks of CARCASS and Lurk’s Longshots. The battered cogfort and headstrong riders were on the backfoot again for only a few harrowing minutes before the rest of the Starfall Devils’ charge caught up to relieve them. The full might of the Caengan Exiles Lodge, Sundrake’s Promise Seraphon, and Howling Flock Mawtribe slammed into the Morfiend’s combined arms formation, and it crumbled under an avalanche of claws and hooves.
While the Warhorde withdrew and the Starfall stampede trampled anything in their way, the rest of Craebmhorg’s forces had already punched through the ogor lines elsewhere to seize the Pyramid. Atop the bodies of fallen Womb-Gut Butchers, Da Shadow Trappas, Raisin’s Court, and Goroan Scions worked to seize the templeship’s powers for Craebmhorg—and some small amounts for themselves, of course. The Craebmhorg forces dug in, lines of Arkorga Blackrune’s goroans setting up at every entrance, supported by the venomous missile troops of Izruk’s kruleboyz.
To buy them time, the Devils were harassed by the Waiting Frenzy. But the Hedonites did not find easy prey, the disciplined cavalry and gunners of the Fallen Commet Freeguilders warding them away from the stampede so it could focus entirely on offense instead of holding ground. Yet the stampede was far from ill disciplined, the mounts sliding to cover whenever the pyramid pulsed, only to reform and resume its rush once the fire had passed. The Talons of Quetzl and their heavy infantry followed in the stampede’s wake, mopping up wounded foes and holding ground.
The first of the Starfall Devils to enter the Pyramid were the Kintsugi Axeband, though not as they had hoped. They emerged from the ground battered, burned and mutated by the Wyrdbirth’s unholy sludge and its abominable mutants that had breached their tunnels. Forced to collapse the exit behind them and isolated from allied forces, their only hope was through the lines of goroans and kruleboyz. Rognir Fireheart led the charge, wanting to prove his mettle to the fire-hearted Krehmicto and his god under Grimnir’s burning banners. The enemy saw wounded duardin and expected to end the fight quickly, but they underestimated the fury of Fyreslayers denied much of the battle they had hoped for.
Reports of their assault drew Craebmhorg reinforcements from across the Pyramid, and Arkorgra Blackrune engaged the battle-hungry Rognir as their forces fought and bled and died around them. Another pulse built up around the Pyramid, the Druids’ plan simple: just keep the Fyreslayers out for a few more seconds. Each second was an eternity of bloody ruin, the Kintsugi caught between death by alien pulse and glorious combat. The choice was a simple one and the Kintsugi pushed the enemy back to enter the Pyramid just in time. Their rear ranks lost beards and braids to the Pyramid’s purifying flames and all of the duardin experiencing sun burns for the first time from the alien light.
They would have died there, had the rest of the Starfall Devils not breached the pyramid at other points. While the Starfall stampede lost its momentum within the pyramid, Torean Tempest and Chax led their infantry deeper into the pyramid. The young Sunblood found the battle he sought as the sphiranx Raisin ambushed him, mistaking him for the Starfall Devils’ leader Krehmicto. The Seraphon managed to shrug off the sphiranx’s dominating magicks in time to dodge her deadly pounce, and predator squared off against predator in a violent contest. Swampcalla Izruk Dreadtoof had no interest in honouring duels, however, and his empowered sorceries entangled the Sunblood. Unable to shake her feline desires, Raisin toyed with her food, opening deep wounds on the vulnerable saurus to watch him squirm, which gave Torean Tempest time to flank the Swampcalla and put a bullet in his shoulder, missing his heart by a few inches. With their forces pressed on multiple fronts, Raisin shot away from the enraged Sunblood with a cheshire grin and Craebmhorg’s forces called the retreat.
The Starfall Devils roared in triumph as they secured a piece of the fallen Xo’axtu. While it would take time to purify and bring under their control, the Solar Pyramid’s artillery magicks would prove a great boon to the Starfall Devils’ final assault on the Temple of Radiance through the War-Trod Trail.
Starfall Devils—Pyrrhic Victory
Craebmhorg—Minor Defeat
Morfiend Warhorde—Minor Defeat
Path 2—The Wyrmtongue River
The Battle of the Saltwound Confluence
“I want that gun brought down now! Sappers, get - LOOK OUT!”
***
The assault had begun an hour before dawn. Travelt Kemthir and his shadow warriors had crept across the up plowed shores in silence, scaling the ramshackle walls of the fort with ease, and dropped down onto the parapets below. They were confident, and had every right to be. Centuries of aelven experience were shared across their small band. The evening before, as the commanders of the Starfall Devils made ready, they placed wagers with each other on who would claim the most skaven kills, or take the grandest prize. Yet, for all the bravado and camaraderie, they had made a mistake. They had underestimated the paranoia of their enemy.
Before even reaching the ground, Kemthir realized the danger they were in. The ramshackle outer walls were not a fortification, they were bait, and the parapets dropped away to sheer walls in front and behind them. Hatches opened at either end to the angry muzzles of whirling rattling guns and hissing warpfire throwers, and a moment later, hell followed. A few of the scouts managed to scramble back to safety, or fire an arrow into the narrow fortifications and hit a ratman beyond, but it was far too little. Scrabbling to safety, it had been all Kemthir could do to call a retreat and hope his comrades fared better.
***
Krane’s pistol cracked, the lead slug sending one of the sorcerer von Totten’s Maggotkin reeling over the edge of the causeway and into the muddy water below. He flailed desperately as his heavy armor pulled him deeper into the estuary until the water blossomed with blighted blood and the silver flashes of scissorfish.
Unable to take the fortress by surprise, it had fallen to Mallon Krane and the Greywater Expeditionary Crusade to lead a frontal assault on the shipyard, and the heavy defenses were taking their toll. Krane hauled the sapper back to his feet, and peered outwards. If they could cross the rickety array of floating docks and breach the drydock, they might still be able to flood the shipyard beyond and ground this grand ‘flagship’ of the skaven before it ever set sail, but that was easier said than done. There was little over on the swaying platforms, guns lined the walls, and the stolid waters concealed razor teeth below.
As she surveyed the situation, there was a loud whummp from behind the fortress walls, and Krane looked up to an expanding cloud of red mist. It grew as it passed over the walls, then a fine drizzle of gore began to fall on those fighting below. Krane ducked beneath a cloth awning, the only nearby shelter, as the viscera began to rain down in earnest. Chunks of meat slapped down into the water, or thudded off the docks, and a moment later a second catapult sounded a similar payload. Confusion rippled along the Devils’ line, until the water around them began to churn and boil. There was a slash of silver as scissor fish, first in ones or twos, then by the dozens, leapt from the water and tore into everyone on the docks below. Attackers and defenders alike fell in the blood-fueled feeding frenzy while Warlord Skorchtail looked down from the fortress walls, laughing manically and signalling for the catapults to load another basket.
***
Deep below the earth, another disaster was lying in wait. Krawlit Lowspine of Clan Gnaw-shot watched the walls of the tunnel intently and uneasily. The soft earth oozed, saturated by the estuary above, and fought against their attempts to brace it. Despite dozens of slaves working the bellows, stinking water was already at Krawlit’s shins. He considered turning back, but thought again of Warlord Sneel Quisling waiting above. Down here was only probably death. So the erstwhile foreman raised a reluctant claw, and the excavators hauled out another load of soft earth.
Clan Gnaw-Shot’s hatred of Clan Morfiend had found them unlikely allies of the Starfall Devils, even if the rest of the Devils did not know of their existence, yet. It was not far to the fortress, only a few hundred feet. Then, Clan Gnaw-Shot would rise from the ground, taking those Morfiend fools by surprise. They would take their ships, take their army. Maybe, in the commotion, Sneel would find an accident, and then Krawlit would take this grand Warhorde for himself! Only a few hundred feet, that was all, and then…
His musing was interrupted by the sound of metal screaming from back along the tunnel. A Doomwheel spun in place, its wheel digging into the mud, and the driver pushing the throttle to its limit to free the warmachine.
“No fool-thing, stop-stop-” Krawlit called, but it was too late.
With a splash, the Doomwheel leapt from the mud, then careened off a warpgrinder and into the soft earthen wall. Krawlit felt a ripple pass through the tunnel, then the earth came sloughing down in a wave of mud and water.
***
(Art by GorksPokinFinger)
Gobberpilfer stared across the estuary at the Morfiend shipyards, trying to make out how his allies were faring. There were a lot of cannon shots. That hadn’t seemed like the plan, but there was little he could do now. They would have to manage. His job was to blow up the dam of logs and debris that clogged the Saltwound Confluence’s path deeper into the Flaywilds when the rest of the Devils gave the signal. If they did their parts, the drydock’s gates would be breached, and the floodwaters would destroy the Morfiend camp. If they didn’t, well…
His band of cutthroat orruks had found surprisingly little resistance. A small work camp around the dam had been easily dealt with, and now his Bounty Boyz were combing it over for whatever loot they could find. He still had a bet to win, and though these were easy pickings it grated him that the best loot was likely in the Morfiend fort, and he was stuck here. Gobberpilfer kicked at a stump in annoyance, then froze. There, in the rubble and river debris caught up in the logjam, something gleamed. Kneeling, careful not to disturb it, he brushed the mud and branches aside to reveal a duardin - no, Zharrdron - axe, bound in gold and gleaming beneath the dirt.
Gobberpilfer smiled. He might win the looting contest after all. Reaching down, he grasped the axe handle and pulled. The axe was stuck deep in the muddle and brambles, but the orruk was strong, and he could feel it wiggle in the sucking earth. One more heave, and he would have it free. One more, and-
Gobberpilfer fell back, axe in hand, and heard the click of a fuse being lit.
***
Krane skewered a flying fish out of the air, then sent her dagger tumbling end of over end to pin another that had been trying to bite through her demolitions expert’s gorget to the floor. The bay in front of the drydock was churned a frothy, sticky red, but at last the frenzy of fish had subsided, killed or gorged on the dozens of bodies that had fallen into the opaque waters never to rise again. She looked around. Her company were sheltering where they could, cutting down any clinging fish or helping each other bind wounds. The fortress’ guns were, for the moment, quiet. She breathed out. They could still rally, still recover the day. There was still a chance.
Then the dam exploded.
***
Water roared out into the estuary, carrying the thundering weight of the shattered logjam along with it. Rotten trunks smashed through the outer shipyards, throwing floating platforms and the Devils and Warhorde fighting atop them high into the air. The surgewater crashed down on the gate of the drydock, its ramshackle walls groaning under the strain, pushing, cracking, and then -
A thunderous crash of cannons sounded from behind the wall and it burst outwards, wooden debris scything across the roiling water, as the grand flagship of the Morfiend Warhorde slid down its rollers and into the river. Black smoke tinged with green belched from great stacks along its back, turning great paddle wheels on its sides with a grinding ferocity. It bristled like an angry bullfrog across the water’s surface. A cacophony of decks lined its surface, skaven hanging from every porthole and stay. Those with warplock muskets fired them down into the milling survivors on the water’s surface, heedless of friend or foe.
Barzok Ironvein stood on the command deck, a pillar of stillness in the midst of the swirling activity. This was Skaven ingenuity tempered by Zharrdron efficiency. The Grand Surveyor had taken the task to heart, and the Khardazharr Expedition had worked tirelessless to solve the mechanical problems of the massive flagship and the logistical nightmare turning this monstrosity into a mobile stronghold capable of keeping itself and their expedition supplied. He looked up and down the warship. On the fighting deck, Krait Stormeye was directing the mortars of his Doomdozer against the fleeing Cleavermaw. The Stormvermin was growing rapidly in strength and confidence, and this battle would be another mark of his success - and his clan’s value to the Warlord. The Rift Ravagers moved among the skaven crews with ease, their old naval hands adding expertise where needed. The Carrion Forge would be joining them soon, their work on the dam now complete.
Lastly, Barzok looked up at the command tower on the steamship’s bridge. Though the awnings covering it cast the uppermost level in shadows, Barzok knew that Grand Warlord Khuong Blackfist sat in his expansive throne at its center, watching them all, watching this first great victory of the Warhorde, and staring out at the winding Wyrmtongue River ahead of them. Staring out towards the heart of the Flaywilds.
With this crushing victory, the Morfiend Warhorde had laid the first claim to the Wyrmtongue River, and though it was only the first of many that would be needed, it would serve them well when they at last reached the final assault on the Temple of Radiance.
Morfiend Warhorde—Major Victory
Starfall Devils—Defeat
Path 3—The Wyrdspine Mountains
Battle Through the Black Ribs
In the mutated upper canopy above the Wyrdspine Mountains, across highway-sized branches that could hold up even mega gargants, a running battle took place. The Morfiend Warhorde assaulted Craebmhorg and their potential allies of Da Rotweb Scuttlaz, as the spiders and monsters escorted the mysterious Ashenmourne Choir towards their sacred quest. The canopy shook from the strength of monsters that battled there and from the howling of hunters that could put the Ghurish to shame.
Craebmhorg’s All’vit da Mountainstride was the escort’s speartip, the mega-gargant sized troggoth rushing ahead of the convoy to trigger any traps and absorb them with his regenerative power. On his mountainous back, he carried the House of the Eclipse, who enhanced his physical power and resilience with warforger alchemy. So deadly was the combination that the Morfiend Warhorde saw it and decided to avoid it completely, out of tactical genius and certainly not out of cowardice.
Blackrat criminals harried the convoy’s edges, pulling some sentries out of place while pushing others into tighter formations. The Carrion Forge captured sentries and their spiders for ‘liberation’ from Da Rotweb Scuttlaz and Craebmhorg’s teachings while punishing the tight formations with devastating Helsmith weapons wielded by a variety of greenskinz drawn to the Forge’s banner. All the while, the Glutbeast Heralds and their gorger mawpacks fell upon larger spiders for capture—and feasting. All knew better than to stick around for long, as the moment an attack was launched, spiders and their riders swarmed their location. The slowest and greediest within Morfiend’s Warhorde found themselves gunned down by the House of the Eclipse or sent tumbling into the claws and fangs of the waiting monsters in the lower canopy when All’vit simply obliterated the branches they hid in. Worse were those that simply never returned to camp, dragged into the lower canopy with only a scream or brought down by plague spores that took root in rotting bodies and fit into grizzly, fungal environments as if they had always belonged there.
This continued for days of travel across the Black Ribs, with mounting injuries especially amongst the Morfiend Warhorde who had to work twice as hard to keep pace with the daemonic spiders in their environment. The strikes became less frequent and more decisive by necessity, until the day came when the Warhorde discovered the Ashenmourne Choir’s location. Time was running out to foil Craebmhorg’s alliances, and they struck.
The first to commit were the Glutbeast Heralds. Their leader Bona Tetair cared little for the greater strategy or needs of Morfiend, seeking to feed his curse of becoming what he eats instead. Each assault had seen him sprout more spider-like appendages, greatly exceeding the correct seven legs in short order, until, finally, he sprouted the desired spinneret alongside the boils and pus-drenched flesh from feasting on so many plagued daemon-spiders. The joy was short lived, as thunder greeted the Glutbeast Heralds—All’vit had waited for that moment to rush the enemy along reinforced branches.
The monstrous trogg’s backhand broke dozens of Bona’s spider legs, yet the cursed ogor survived and skittered out of reach of the follow-up strike meant to squish him like the bugs he’d consumed. The Eclipse’s gunfire harried the other gorgers while All’vit and Bona fought a brutal battle against one another. The Gluttonous ogor dodged the monster’s empowered swings, some of his mutated claws and teeth managing to sink through the trogg’s alchemically hardened flesh to inject flesh-rotting spider venoms. Out-matched by the enemy’s alchemically enhanced power, Bona struck opportunistically, letting his new venoms overpower the trogg’s regeneration and slow him.
In that moment, the Carrion Forge decided to strike. Bitter enemies of Craebmhorg since time immemorial, Helsmiths and kruleboyz fired infernal and venomous rounds into Craebmhorg’s ancient ally: the House of the Eclipse. The Eclipse returned fire and the exchange blackened the Black Ribs even further. No longer suppressed, some of the frenzied gorgers used the opportunity to climb the mountainous All’vit and tear apart Eclipse gunners before Lady Valerie ordered a counter-charge to repel the beasts at great cost to her troops. That bought enough time for the other gorgers to escape with giant spiders under each arm, before Bona disengaged as well. All sported vicious, infected wounds, but the ogor got away with his desired spinneret intact.
Elsewhere, Craebmhorg had decided the best defense for the Knight of Thorns was secrecy. Despite their mutual loathing, the Smokepelt Slakefray escorted the Ashenmourne Choir along winding paths filled with dangerous predators, hoping the cowardly Morfiend Warhorde would avoid them altogether. Most did, but Dozd led his best Blackrat kill pack to bag Lady Serelyth’s head for Khoung Blackfist. After cunningly throwing several packs of night runners to soften up the enemy, Dozd and his gutter runners fell upon his targets.
The Ashenmourne Choir struggled to face the numerous skirmishers, their combat style far more suited to bringing down monsters than minions. Ballista-like bow shots obliterated one rat at a time, heavy spears skewering others, reaping a terrible toll on their attackers—but simply not fast enough. In the opening shock, several of the strange sylvaneth were brought down and dragged away by man-catchers for study. Lady Serelyth was the exception, her living halberd scything skaven down several at a time, but Dozd lunged in to remove her from the equation.
The two mobile warriors leapt and danced between branches, exchanging blows that left both poisoned. Both were skilled and agile, but while her artifact threatened killing blows with every sweep, Dozd was in his element. He turned killing blows into glancing hits and for each scored against him, he landed four against the Knight of Thorns. While their movements slowed with mounting injuries and poisons, the branches and vines seemed to move in favour of the questing Knight and her allies.
Knowing time was against him, the Deathmaster moved in to claim Lady Serelyth’s head only to find himself beset by her unlikely bodyguard: Ulkhuu-Slaa. The sinuous and moose-like gor leader crossed the newly entwined path and put the Deathmaster on the defensive as their gore-drenched spear threatened to impale him. Dozd danced back and prepared a lethal counter-strike, only to find the Knight of Thorns on his flank. The two natural enemies overcame their loathing for one another, at least in the moment, to attack the Deathmaster in tandem. Pressured by two deadly foes at once, Dozd called on his kill pack to reinforce him, but none came to his aid.
What seemed easy pickings at first had turned quickly, as the Smokepelt Slakefray moved with shocking speed through the skaven’s entangled ranks. The only thing that saved them was the pale beastfolk’s penchant for inflicting slow, agonizing deaths on their victims. Dozd called the retreat, throwing shurikens and gutter runners alike to slow his enemies. Only when he pulled back did he shake off the strange, Slaaneshi spell that pushed him to such recklessness, which is what saved him when the Unhollow Union ambushed his forces en route to their base.
Rotsmirk Gnarlwood led the charge, seeking bloody vengeance on Clan Morfiend for nearly letting him die during the Skavenfall that brought them to the Flaywilds. Dozd fended off the rival skaven and sicked more night runners at the clan rats swarming his position. The foolish rats were no match for his criminally honed Blackrats, but a few that fell exploded with plague spores that spread through his ranks. Those infected sprouted fungal and tree-like growths, the Pestilins’ unnatural sorcery at work. He abandoned the infected, saving those he could and escaped into the more dangerous lower canopy where even Rotsmirk’s drive for revenge wouldn’t take him.
In a nearby giant gnarl, Vetre the Vulture-Queen had set up a way-base for Morfiend’s forces in the area. The Hashut-worshipping duardin and ‘liberated’ greenskinz on guard-duty that day were impatient and irritable. They jumped whenever an ally returned to stuff captured spiders, sylvaneth or whatever else into pens for later study. They grumbled when any asked for medical aid or succour. They wanted to strike at their ancient enemies of Craebmhorg. Their wish was granted shortly after the wounded Bona and Dozd returned with more bounties.
The wounded Morfiend commanders had not returned alone, but Vetre’s ire and the disobedience of her usually loyal troops also made her realize that she had not been alone either. Calling upon Hashut’s sorcery, she unveiled the Slaaneshi daemon Syn’Exyn who had been whispering sweet manipulations into the ears of the Morfiend Warhorde. The Grand Cavalcade sprung into action to rescue their Twinborn Herald from the enemy’s grasp, moving with a blinding speed that belied their gilded forms. Vetre’s iron will and the loyalty the Forge held for her let them snap out of the haze and into disciplined formations, holding the line against the quicksilver Hedonites.
Their ruse revealed, Syn’Exyn lashed out at Vetre, looking to eviscerate the beloved leader to leave her Carrion Forge vulnerable. The low-born duardin managed to duel the merged daemonic twins long enough for her guards to fend the would-be assassin off, but not before they had scarred one another. The mercurial Twinborn barely escaped with their joint life, saved by the violent arrival of the Grove Guard. A branch of Craebmhorg’s own Flesh-Eaters, they rushed into the gnarl with a cursed howl and cleaved into the interlopers that threatened the Flaywilds’ hallowed grounds with their threats of industry and artifice.
Even against the sudden and brutal assault, even with the wounds they had already suffered, the Morfiend Warhorde held. They devised a scheme to turn the tides, the deadly triad of leaders throwing themselves at the crooked Captain Armav to leave the freshest enemy in disarray. The bent-back ghoul leaned heavily on his halberd as they approached, and gave them a jagged smile as they were drawn into the open. Arbaal Kin-Flayer erupted from the lower canopy, covered in wounds from its many predators. The Red Brotherhood followed, howling Claws of Karanak swinging up from branches to hound the attacking enemy’s heels, bringing them down while their leaders fought. Arbaal and Armav gave as good as they got against the triad of enemy leaders, the Morfiend’s scheme foiled as the three wounded heroes couldn’t overcome the two fresh ones.
The onslaught forced the Morfiend Warhorde to call the retreat. They grabbed what few samples they could and covered their escape with infernal fire. It was far from the bounty they and their Warlord wanted, but it would have to do. Even if they couldn’t mass produce anything to aid them along the Wyrdspine Mountains, they’d at least learn something from the daemon spiders’ remains and the splintered bodies of the Ashenmourne.
With their victory here, Craebmhorg secured their alliance with Da Rotweb Scuttlaz and ancient teachings of Ghyranite floramancy from the Ashenmourne Choir. Both of which would aid them in navigating the treacherous canopies in their final assault on the Temple of Radiance through the Wyrdspine Mountains.
Craebmhorg—Minor Victory
Morfiend Warhorde—Defeat
Path 4—The Lost City of Bhaal-Irama
The Ruin of the Academy of Talvasar
Vala Endrinsdottir ran through the crumbling stone halls of the Spire of Transmutation, ducking and weaving around the falling masonry. She had ditched her dirigible suit back in the small gunhauler that had dropped her at the edge of the ruined city in favour of the lightweight Hyshian travelling clothes she preferred in the field, but right now she missed the comforting weight of the airsuit. If nothing else, it meant she’d be far more likely to survive the leap from the crumbling tower.
Vala swore again at all the devils and daemons in all the realms, but most particularly those that had found their way to this forsaken corner of nowhere. It had taken her years of careful research in the librarian of the Geldraad to get here - here, the Lost City of Bhaal-Irama, forgotten jewel of the Allpoints. It had been her passion, her obsession, since she could remember. It was what had driven her to study the forgotten cultures of the lost realm, and turned her into Barak-Nar’s most respected historian and infamous treasure hunter. And now, at long last, when she had finally reached the city it had turned into a battlefield.
It was the ones calling themselves the Starfall Devils that had arrived first, making their way through the ruins with a fierce purpose that Vala immediately distrusted. They had set up their camps around Academy campus with parade ground efficiency, fortifying the outskirts and sending exploratory teams into the crumbling buildings. Yet, they had not seemed like mere grave robbers, and when a group of Dispossessed calling themselves the Thundering Wolves arrived in camp, Vala had broken from her concealed position to greet them. At the cost of a bottle or two of Kharadron endrin-whiskey, she learned about the war spreading across the Flaywilds, about the fallen Seraphon Temple-City, and about Khremicto’s plans to ransack the Academy.
A loud crack reverberated through the stones, and Vala suddenly found herself running against a rising slope as the tower splintered and began to topple back. That damnable lizard! He’d said he planned to bring the buildings down on the attacking ghouls, but she’d thought she had more time. She looked around desperately, her eyes lighting on the open window. Calculations whirled, then her jaw set and she leapt.
The ruined streets below had become a swirling melee. Ghouls charged skittering across the moss-covered stones, their tattered banners proudly displaying the sigil of the Purulent Keep. Red-swathed warriors of the Blood God prowled in their wake, finding knots where the fighting was fiercest to strike with a killer’s blow. These were the Druids of Craebmhorg, the monsters of the forest that Vala had read of as a child when her search for the Lost City first began. They more than lived up to their reputation. They were like the wrath of the forest itself, come alive. The Starfall Devils, by contrast, stood like islands in the storm. Fortifying themselves around the walking bastions of their cogforts, they fought in isolated pockets of order amidst the chaos. It was, briefly, an incredible sight to see, the swirls and eddies of the battlefield playing out before her as Vala thundered towards the ground.
Grasping out at the first thing that came to hand, the Kharadron explorer caught the edge of a yellow and red flag flying from the top of one of the Cogforts. The heavy cloth ripped at her hand, threatening just for a moment to tear free from her grasp and let her plummet the rest of the way to the ground, before it caught firm. With the heavy sound of ripping canvas, the flag began to tear, but it had done its work. It had slowed her momentum enough that instead of smashing into the ground in a red paste, Vala instead swung down into the side of the cogfort with the force of a clocktower hammer. The blow left her ears ringing and her eyes seeing stars, but still in one piece. A hatch opened beside, and a gallant peered sword-first out of the opening, no doubt ready to run through a ghoul that had somehow managed to climb up the fort’s side. His confusion at seeing the stumbling dwarf clutching her head and nearly swaying off the roof likely saved Vala’s life. Not waiting for the freeguilder to work out if she was friend or foe, Vala swung a fist forward and connected with the man’s jaw, sending him backwards and tumbling into the cogfort after him just as the collapsing tower landed on the battlefield.
***
Vala awoke some time later, her ears ringing and eyes blurred. She sat up in a dusty darkness and felt around herself. A hand brushed hard, angled steel, and she remembered the steelhelm looking up at her in surprise. The back of a hand across the breathing grill of the helmet told her the young man was alive but unconscious. Well, that was something at least.
As her eyes swam into focus and adjusted to the gloom, she was pale light streaming down from some distant height. The cogfort’s roof had caved in where the collapsing tower had struck it, but it had done its job shielding those within. Through the broken beams and missing tiles, she could see the debris piled the fallen titan. The air was cool, cold even, and damp. With a start, she realized they were below street level. The falling structure had crashed down through the ancient bricks, and the cogfort had carried them down with it. Vala gave the engine an appreciative tap as she climbed out of the cockpit and down into the chamber beyond, and felt the mighty warengine stir beneath her. It would rise again, she was sure, but she could not wait with it while its crew recovered. They were in the vaults below the Academy now, and she didn’t know how much time she had lost.
***
Torchlight flickered across the broad chamber of carved stone, flowing in the strange and weird reliefs. Ancient monsters roared silently, and strange mythological figures that the Stormcast found odd and heretical danced in the shadows. This was the Academy Vault, and Pyhrras Stormsoul bent all his magical might against its wardings. It had not been easy to reach this place. A dark miasma hung in the air, conjured by the foul plague sorceries of Verdana Mykosith. Warpthirster ogors prowled its halls. It had been a hard fight to reach this point, and the stormcast was nearing the exhaustion of both his body and his patience.
With a snarl, he dug deeper into his magics. They felt different here, stronger, more primal. It was an intoxicating brew, and he drew deeply upon it.
He did not see the whispering blade of the Mortis Reaper, reaching out to cull his essence. He did not hear Vala’s cry of warning as she ran into the chamber, calling out about the dangers of the unstable magic of the spires. All he felt was the raw power at his hands, straining at the doorway before him. He did not see the shadowy figure of a man, tall and broad in the scholarly robes of an Allpoints scholar, watching in mute sympathy from the old meditation chamber by the door. There was a boom, and the magic snapped.
***
In the aftermath of the Battle of Talvasar’s Spires, the Starfall Devils were left holding the remains of the Academy, now little more than shattered rubble. The cleanup would last for days, digging their towering cogforts free of the rubble and collecting the magical artefacts that had survived the explosion. It was a victory, without a doubt. The Druids has disappeared with their dead back into the wild jungle boughs, leaving the treasures of the Academy free for the taking. What they found would prove valuable in the days to come, and when they at last reached the Temple of Radiance. Though Pyhrras was able to lead them back to the entrance to the Vault, the magical backlash had destroyed it beyond recognition, buried under thousands of tons of rock. What was there would have to wait.
Vala crawled deeper, brushing aside brittle cobwebs, until the tunnel opened out before her. She clutched her satchel tightly, feeling the weight within. She had risked much to save it from the Vault, but as she looked out over the Lost City below her, she knew it had been worthwhile.
Starfall Devils—Minor Victory
Druids of Craebmhorg—Defeat
