Forums » Fantasy Roleplay » (CLOSED) Warhammer Fantasy: Doom Awaits (PART TWO)

Anglermaw scampered back for a moment, stumbling upon the blackened earth as he swayed himself into a defensive posture from the Elves. His arms flung away from eachother, and the warp stone hookarm became bared. "Bloody Horned-Hell!" He wretched. "I'm just as puzzled as the rest o' ya-ya. There may be no Ark 'round here on the soil-muck, but if ya could smell like I..."

The Rat suddenly went silent, lowering his posture and sauntering toward the edifice, as though he had been hypnotized. He contorted his whiskers with a nonchalant and strangely humorous scratch, almost ignorant to the bubbling tension. Anglermaw then took another whiff of the air, coughing as though he'd inhaled a toxic gas. The Cothiquan host became increasingly frustrated with Anglermaw's inappropriate mannerisms; various curses in the Asur tongue flung from their lips like venom. It did not help that whatever stench the Skaven had caught was nonexistent to their senses. All the Elves could catch swimming through their nostrils was fresh air and dead moss.

"If the musk is 'ere, but the Ark ain't, then there's clearly summat in the temple we don'no about-yeah." Anglermaw mumbled to himself, barely coherent to even the sharpest Asur hearing. "Pestilens? Maybe. Lizard-things? Hornet Rat knows. Rotflag, could very well be."

"-I should've known." Lars abruptly interrupted, unsheathing his blade and quickly marching toward the Skaven with thunderous rhythm. "You've led us all on a goose chase, you've taken away my men! You've cheated me from death. I'll kill you!" He screamed, his footfalls turning into a rapid race of heelkicks as he charged.

"Lars, stop!" Hans shouted, desperate as the tension clearly had reached it's breaking point. "He's not just a guide! We can't get out of here without Anglermaw!"

"What the bloody 'ell you thinking, Man-thing?!" Shouted the Sea-Rat in reply, scampering further onto the soil, visibly alerted.

Lars raised his blade toward the sky, ready to lower the guillotine-like blade directly across Anglermaw's skull. "What I'm thinking? This is what I think of your Ark, and that Rotflag bastard!"

With that, both blades clashed.

The tension had reached its breaking point and as the two former captains clashed Fal drew his blade and leaped forward. Able to move with strides greater than Lars could work with his Human purely reflexes he got in before the third clash of metal. Before the two could come to arms again Fal's blade intersected between the two. The third clamor proved and interesting twist to the Elven host that watched on curiously. None of them seemed to care if any of these fighters got hurt or killed. Lars was viewed with the least contempt yet they would happily leave him to the jungles mercy if allowed. Falderan and Anglermaw they'd happily kill if ordered.
"Break it up you pathetic low lifes!" Fal snaps as their blades are pulled back. "If you wish to die in these jungles just wander into the foliage or slit your own throat. You might as well as if one of you kills the other you're screwing the rest of us over including the survivor." He bared his teeth in a grimace and looked to the two like a fed up sargent. A look he had seen many times from his military time. "You're both smart then that and if you wanted to die in such a pathetic manner such a mutiny you'd have killed yourselves already." The resulting yelling drew the look of the Elves and especially Celedron. He seemed to note the military like tone Fal had but it was all an attack on their pride. Before the half breed jumped in he was going to use a display of his arcane might to break up the fight. That may not be necessary though now. Though something bothered him. Anglermaw seemed distracted once they got here. But why? This site belonged to the Lizardmen and being around their holy sites he knew was a highly dangerous thing.

Lars staggered back in surprise as Falderan crossed his blade with himself and Anglermaw. Fury still coursed across the Marienburger's simmering mind; he let Falderan say his scathing piece, but he hardly considered it. He gazed into the ruby eyes of the Sea-Rat, accompanied by subtle yet heaving breaths of disdain. Lars took a glimpse at Falderan's grizzled scowl, then he cracked his neck, strafing around the two folk in circles. Anglermaw himself was becoming increasingly alarmed by the pungent musk, crooking his back toward the temple in an attempt to desperately decipher what had hijacked the Ark's trail.

"The Siren was my maiden, my only love..." Lars began, still wandering the empty grounds like a raving madman, struck by grief and distraught by the loss of his men. "I risked my life many times over to keep her afloat, Norscans and the like, yeah. It's why I've got these scars, it's why I was a leader of folk. Now she's sank because of a blunder; because of you both. My men died because the Rat couldn't be bothered with the safe route, they deserve retribution." As that sentence passed, Lars prepared another strike on Anglermaw, caring little if Falderan was caught in the slash.

But Anglermaw was fast, he parried Lars' blow with his hookarm, kicking him in the shin. The pain caused Lars to double over as he clutched at his clawed leg. "Get over ye-self." Anglermaw spat, laying down his hookarm back under his coat. "You're not the only Capt'n who's lost his pride y'know. You wanted to find the Ark too and only the Horned One knows why-yeah. Ye brought this one on yer self."

"You... You made me bleed." Whispered a delirious Lars, wiping away at the stained linen upon his trouser legs, sobbing in despair and unable to lift himself to combat the Skaven. He tossed his blade away toward the soil and dug his fingers deep into the ground. "Curse you, curse you and the rest of your degenerate ilk."

But then, his moans became mute; a daemonic hum that resonated from within the temple began to permeate across the cursed grounds like an invisible shockwave. The forlorn chill that betrayed the Lustrian humidity was now likened to the frozen north itself. The presence was obvious to everyone: Anglermaw, Lars, and even the rest of the host itself. A familiar voice hazed as the freezing shockwave met the Cothiquan host, uttering the words:

"Akshami'sho shyneth. Dhar'akh khaos."

"I've watched you for so long, though so long unbound by flesh." The gutteral voice spoke, stunning Anglermaw with it's familiarity. It had been over a fortnight since any trace of Rotflag. Though then again, Rotflag was dead; it was another dark soul possessing that rodent hide of his. The Sea-Rat could not understand the phrase this abomination spoke. 'Unbound by flesh?' The meaning was lost on him entirely.

"He shall bring you to me in flesh..."

"H-He?" Anglermaw barely stuttered, oblivious to the bat-like shadow that now loomed over the host, and surprised to find Lars gawking in catatonic terror.

Then the Skaven looked back toward the jungle, and noticed why: Pete was back, descending onto the spearwall like a swooping hawk, crashing into the distracted host from behind with an even greater bloodlust than before. From then on, this little strop within the host became minute, they were going to die anyway.

As Lars gave a tirade about wanting to be rid of the Skaven and blaming Anglermaw for his lost crew Fal stepped in at the end with his own thoughts.
"You were the one who seemed interested in following it. You wanted it for yourself but the question is why?" He added on top of Anglermaw's points. As this argument went on Celedron froze. His hand quivered and eyes widened as if seeing something of pure horror. There was a massive disturbance in the winds of magic. The taint of Chaos began to radiate on the winds like oil on water. Moments later the area cooled and a demonic voice began speaking from the Ziggurat. Everyone froze as the words came out. They all heard it in their minds. Not knowing how but the Elves were clearly unsettled. They stood at the ready with their spears and Celedron looked unnerved unlike any before. He looked like he was hearing something that truly horrified him. The power and corruption of Daemon's was something he had only read of. His studies and even past missions led him to dealing with those of this world, no matter how corrupt. But the Daemons were something else. From what he heard and knew of the Greater Daemons of the Dark Gods he was not in any desire to face such an abomination. Abominations that even the great High Loremaster Teclis himself struggled against. Especially without being at his full power and weakened as he was now.

Before the group could get a chance to respond the air grew colder and frost formed instantly. A mere second later before Fal realized what was happening as the silhouette appeared.
"Pete!" He cried as the form landed on the Elves. Barely having a second to raise their spears three were killed instantly as the undead beast landed and another two fell from a mighty swing of his powerful arms. Spears lunged forward in a frenzy as Fal redirected his blade and attention. "Make yourselves useful!" He cries to Lars and Anglermaw leaving them to take on the beast. Celedron shivered but as Pete arrived shook himself out of his terrified anxiety. Seeing the beast once again back he knew they wouldn't be safe as long as it lived. He already had his biggest fear realized. That the creature was aligned to the Chaotic forces leading the Skaven, something that made the vile beast even more loathsome. Despite the taint of chaos and restricted magic in the air he rose his staph and began to focus. He knew one spell which may be enough to vanquish this abomination but he needed time to gather the appropriate winds. Without knowing any of this Fal lashed forward. His blade swung by with a screech and Pete dodged with unnerving agility. Meanwhile three spears stabbed into his back but few of these seemed to even faze him. The Elven numbers down from eighteen down to thirteen.

Falderan's impulsiveness was not lost upon Pete, nor was the blade that the Elf carried. It wreaked enough for the Mourngul to flinch, but he would not retreat this time. His attention quickly fizzled away from the spearmen, within his deranged mind they were as cattle. As sturdy and practical as their steel blades were, any punctures caught upon Pete's wrinkled flesh knitted as soon as the spear was pulled. The Mourngul would then reply with a fierce swipe back with spiteful aggression, staggering those caught within his swing. Falderan's very presence made Pete's skin crawl as the Elf raised his screaming blade high into the air. His organs swish and slobbered with each leap away from the blade.

"Cursed one." Pete grunted with a whisper, pointing toward his combatant as he had done before. A circle of spears and shields, comprised of the surviving Asur surrounded the duel, leaving the half-breed to test his mettle against the voracious specter. Pete's emaciated fist clenched like a fleshy club, lunging toward Falderan from above. He would crush this Elf, and devour his body whole.

Hans ran forward to escape Pete, toward a confused Anglermaw, a frozen Celedron and a distraught Lars. He knew that he was no match for the beast. "What are we supposed to do?!" He shouted toward the trio, swishing his head back and forth toward the duel. "It's gonna kill us all if we don't act!"

"The Mourngul is comprised of a matter alien to this material plane." The voice spoke again as the clash ensued. "No mortal blade is capable of rending it's flesh; your battle is a hopeless one."

"Mortal weapon? Ha!" Anglermaw shouted in reply, unsheathing the glowing warplock from it's holster and brandishing it toward the temple. "You know what this is, Rotflag? This gun-scat here is Clan Skryre warpstone! I'll blow the dangler-thing to pieces!"

"You won't be shooting anything while your matted carcass is devoured by the warp's chosen." The voice hazed, blank, peering eyes glowing from within the colonnade while it spoke. "If you think that you are safe because you out-range the favoured, you can think again."

With that final sentence, a mutant warband of saurian-like abominations poured from within the temple, howling toward the source of flesh. They resembled the described Lizardmen that guarded these ancient jungles, though they were horrifically warped in appearance as they ran. Six of them in fact, two tinted in a green complexion, missing their arms and pulsating violently with malignant buboes covering their writhing chests, spewing acidic saliva that ignited the black plains. The second third were far more crimson in their pigment, their scales riddled with thick tusks that protruded from their crests, resembling the image of a devil. They charged like crazed bulls with their bone-like appendages. While the green lizards had no arms, these Saurus mutants had their's replaced by razor sharp greatswords, able to turn any mortal fellow into a red mist.

The last third were ironically the first to close in on Anglermaw, as pinkish, emaciated bodies skated across the ground, cackling like famished hyenas ready to tear into their prey. Their mutations were the most profound. Without a large head-crest, they no longer held any resemblance to their pure kin, their toothless mouths shaped like a worn tube, their tongues a salivating proboscis. One such appendage wrapped itself across the Sea-Rat's hookarm, though the scorch of his warp lock was enough to send the mutant screaming, though it was not enough to injure the beast. Crooked, pale limbs skimmed across the earth in the likeness of a spider, encircling those who stood by the rear while the other vile spawn charged forth.

Hans kept his blade clenched in both hands, swishing his panicking form back and forth while the Slaaneshi spawn raced.
"Keep me covered while the warplock charges up, lad-lad!" Sputtered the Sea-Rat, grinding the pistol's warpstone core furiously with his hookarm, stimulating the source. "Gotta keep those Lizard things at a distance, or else-else we're dead meat-yeah!"

"Get out of my head!" Fal cried as the echoing voice of Pete reverberated in his mind with a foul sensation. Narrowly dodging the slamming fists he returned the lowered limb with his own blade. As the necrotic monstrosity went to strike again Fals blade made contact to what would equal the pinkie of it's left hand. The blade wailing tip slashed through the flesh and sent the digit falling. Seeming to sizzle at the base of the knuckle where it was cut it burnt away to a foul smelling sludge as Pete recoiled from his first physical injury. Fal looked on in surprise as the blade had a lasting effect. Pete charged again with savage thrusts and frenzied smashes. However, Falderan's natural agility let him narrowly dodge the powerful strikes. In it's savage flailing two Elves were tossed aside. One hit a tree with his neck and when his body landed his head was at an impossibly sharp ninety degrees and he went still. The second was tossed towards the temple as the demonic voice continued it's monologue.

The foul screaming of from within the temple drew the attention of the remaining eleven Spearmen as the Saurian monstrosities came running out. Their bodies mutated beyond recognition but it was clear to those who knew them that they were the fabled Lizardmen. Although these individuals were tainted by the taint of Chaos. As the most deformed beasts slid past the main Spearmen line with a disturbing speed and elegance that nearly resembled skating they went for the terrified Hans, broken Lars, desperate Anglermaw and panicked Celedron. Celedron realized he would be unable to focus on his spell and with the corruptive powers of Chaos here it would be too dangerous to focus on the spell he wanted. As one of the leech like maws struck at him his staph narrowly blocked the blow as the lashing tongue was thrown aside. However, as he deflected the strike the tongue coiled his staph and pulled it from his hands. The beast stumbled back and once it tossed the staph it went in for another strike. Clawed talons lashing out. But with timing similar to moments that saved the great Aenarian in his hour of need Celedron drew his rune infused sword to clash back the mutants blows.
"You will not strike me down today!" He declares as he parries the mutants blows. It's physical prowess greater then his own but his skills with a sword were far from pathetic. He could match with some of the best duelists in the world and he knew he would not die to this spawn of Chaos.

The Spearmen were not as lucky as the red Saurus slammed into their lines. The wounded soldier on the ground had his skull and chest crushed by the demonic looking entities as they charged over him. With a fierce strike one severed the arm of an Elf before it's frenzied jaws bit into his head. A hissing crack was heard as his skull shattered in the beasts mighty jaws. Spears thrust forward to strike at the beasts but their hide was thick. Far thicker than what the Spears could break without assistance. The Spearmen had a look of fear as the second one took a spear tip along it's throat but barely a light cut was made. It's bladed arms drove into the Elves chest plate with fury and razing him into the air as blood poured from his mouth flung his arms aside to bisect the unfortunate Elf. The remaining began to fall back and tried to keep these red skinned mutants at a distance. The plague ridden one lumbered behind rather slow but their smell was worse than anything the mortal world could produce. Their very presence caused the frozen grass to blacken and wither as the very soil seemed to fester. As they moved over the crushed Spearmen his armour started to rust and flesh decay a hundred times faster.

Pete howled in fury; his hands were daubed in sanguine mixture of Elven blood, and more shockingly, his own. With but a second of awareness amidst the stress of battle, he glanced at the origin of this white hot sensation upon his fingers. The Mourngul then noticed that not only had a digit been sliced off by Falderan's blade, the desecrated flesh somehow refused to regenerate. His mouth gaped open toward Falderan with a gurgling shreik, an uncountable row of razor sharp teeth bared in defiance while his lanky limbs trampled over the dead Asur. It had been an age since such prey held some danger to him, savagery alone would count only for so much -- his eerily clever mind thought of a new tactic.

The Mourngul would once again instigate the offensive, though this time, there was no pounce. Nothing the host had yet seen, therefore unable to telegraph. Instead, a dangling row of entrails uncoiled itself from within Pete's stomach like living rope. Then the fleshy chain thrust itself toward Falderan, as though lasoo'd by some invisible entity. Tendrils of pale gore wrapped themselves across Falderan's liquor-soaked linen, aiming to slither across his being amd squeeze the very life from his body. How the Elf chose to react would decide his life, assuming he could somehow swing that unholy blade when the rope-like bowels would render him tied and powerless.

--

The retaliation was swift and highly unexpected. Swinging out from under Pete his organs moved as if they were the tentacles of some aquatic beast. Wrapping around Fal's ankles and moving up his body the Elf barely had a second to respond. Frozen by shock as the attack began he swung his sword around but with the tendrils of gore flailing he was unable to get a cut. His face quickly turned to a macabre sneer as he was shaken as the entrails crept up his body. Wrapping around his waist and another coil, coiling his left wrist another went for his right. With only a second to act before he would lose his blade he aimed the sword down and stabbed it into the flailing mass or organ below. Stabbing directly into it, it flailed and was split. The mass or organ around him went limp and like the finger began to burn away into a foul mass of highly decayed flesh. Kicking off the burning flesh he was distracted for a moment as the mess on him was dealt with.

Lacerated by the vampiric blade, Pete's entire form became figuratively lit aflame with agony -- his hanging jawline contorting ever so nightmarishly as he was painfully struck. The ghastly entrails that once wrapped themselves across Falderan were abruptly hurled back into the Mourngul's body like a frightened mollusc hidden within it's impenetrable shell. From within his maw boomed a shreik so deadly that the trees themselves parted for but a moment. So great was the noise that it was enough to distract one of the skating lizards from their furred prey. Anglermaw did not let the opportunity go to waste; his desperate reload of the warplock could wait for just a moment. The Slaaneshi spawn closed in, it's rake-like form caught across the Sea-Rat's hookarm. The surrounding vines became dyed with red as the now halved monster was tossed by it's own momentum.

Unfortunately, this was not enough to disuade the spawn's still living siblings. Saurian abominations clad in crimson scales met with their shielded fodder -- limbs of sharpened bone, like calcified stakes, gnashed and battered those that came too close. Celedron and Anglermaw had thankfully dispatched the Slaaneshi mutants, fresh souls discarded back to the Dark Prince to feast upon. But it was time for the slowest and perhaps the most volatile of these mutants to make their dreaded debut; the toxic shamblers of Nurgle meandered toward Hans and Vanderbarzen. Shuddering moans of despair marked their arrival, as they continued to vomit their acidic residue upon the black soil. Strange aberations from underneath the bleeding crests of these spawn protruded from underneath, as though they held within their bodies some horrid parasite, waiting to escape the scaled prison.

Lars had been incapacitated; he writhed in pain from Anglermaw's strike to his shin, still bleeding onto the earth. This left Hans alone to face the swollen beasts, jittering as they closed in. With but a second worth of mental lapse, he quickly remembered just how far he'd come, instilling himself to stand with a warcry.

"For Sigmar! Death to Chaos!" He screamed, charging one of the monsters and thrusting his blade deep within it's buboe ridden chest. The penetration of the beast's scaled hide was deceptively easy, and Hans realised that he was unable to pull the blade back out. That was when the Saurus' hanging blemishes quickly began to expand like pus-filled ballons. Before long, Hans' Asur sword had already been swallowed within the fleshy cocoon. The other Nurglite stopped within it's tracks, observing the rapid swelling of it's brethren. Hans backed off slowly back toward a kneeling Lars, observing in petrified silence the jade monster, now resembling a bulging mass of bloodied, exposed tumours.

Then it exploded; a collection of alien viscera flung from the shockwave.

"Great Gods!" Shouted a trembling Hans, covering his eyes from the noxious fog that spewed from the mutant's ruptured matter. "I-I can't see a thing! The clouds are stinging my eyes!"

With Hans now comprimised and Anglermaw reloading his temperamental firearm, it was now left for Celedron to decide who required his aid more. His levy shattered under the brutal poundings of these Khornate beasts, or perhaps the hapless Empire-men that stood as easy prey for the other Nurglite?

As for Pete, his awareness of this duel with Falderan was severed short, trembling under a wave of discomfort and pain.

His gaze locked on the frenzied abomination known as Pete Fal paid little note to the surrounding battle. He was unaware of the peril of Hans and the others while he faced down his own beast. His sword moved with precise motions as he readied his blade to come down on Pete. With a lunge and swipe Fal managed to dodge to the side and slash up. The slash hit Pete on the right pectoral and left a burning wound that seeped a necrotic fluid. The burning substance oozed out like thick sludge before the wound clogged with the thickening substance. A shout of pain came from Pete as it thrashed around. Fal slashed again and cut it's arm to the same result before a returning swing knocked him back and into the stone side of the Ziggurat.

With a purpose led slash Celedron struck down the distracted Chaos Spawn. With it's unnerving movements haltered Celedron's blade cleaved through it's torso and bisected the abomination. It fell to the ground squirming before going still as gore leaked over the tainted grass. Looking up with crazed eyes Celedron saw with horror what had become of the Elves. All but one of them had been savagely torn apart by the maddened Khornate Spawn. No single Elf was in one peace and their blood soaked the surrounding ground and creatures. The remaining Elf drew a short sword from his wrist as the Khornate Spawn leaped on him. Managing to get a stab in he shoved the blade under the creatures left armpit as it's fanged mouth tore into his head and butchered the unfortunate Elf. Bloodied jaws rose up as it's left arm seemed slow and in pain. The blade striking a weak point in the armour and wounding the arm. As that one was distracted Celedron saw th other lumbering towards Anglermaw who was frantically reloading. Over the screams of battle he heard shrieks of pain and a foul odor as a bit further left he saw the plague ridden Spawn approaching Hans and Lars. Both men were down and like Anglermaw easy prey.

"Damn it all." He says gritting his teeth. He gripped his blade so tight blood ran down his wrists. The blood of Daemon and Elf ran on it's blade from his attackers and himself. He didn't have much time to react but fortunately his Elven mind gave him a moment to think. Hans would surely be killed and where he was a civilian in this his life could not be put before the mission. Anglermaw was a vile vermin however he was the only one who could help them find the Ark. Celedron hoped his reasoning was sound or he would kill the rat himself. Channeling the winds Hysh his eyes begin to glow a bright white. His free hand draws a rune in the air as he mouths an incantation softly in a strange tongue. Just as the bladed Spawn reaches Anglermaw he unleashes twin blasts of radiant light from his eyes. The two orbs of energy shoot out and as they pass by the corpses of the dead Spawn it's body burns and seems to dissolve away. The blasts impact the red abomination and with a banishing light contort it's body as the corruption on the Saurus's body burns away and the beast flies back to impact the ground with a heavy thud. Some gurgled gasps and twitches occur before the body, now half cured of corruption but covered in severe burns goes limp and dies.

With heaving breaths that parodied the weak and dying, Pete languished beside the ruined ziggurat, ignorant to the fetid ichor that drooled from his wounds. His hated enemy, Falderan, now hurt from the thrust into the stonework, he meekly sauntered toward his groggy prey -- the Mourgnul's now blackened limbs struggled to keep a firm grasp upon the soil as Pete's own mind zig-zagged in and out of consciousness. Like a marionette puppeteered by some crazed soul, he skidded his claws upon the ground; upon the gored and the mutilated bodies of Elfkind that in their arrogance had little idea of the horrors they would've faced.

But it was this Elf that trouble him the most, some mangy rascal; a pirate perhaps. Bearing upon him a tainted weapon that he himself probably could not meditate upon. A weapon that was capable of searing through Pete's own otherwordly flesh. But now the shadow of the mourgul smothered itself across the hapless creature, wretching yet another odious gurgle from that hanging jawline of his before raising his fist within the air.

However, he could not find the strength to hammer down the killing blow. Pete's fist never met with Falderan's flesh, but rather hit the soil with a humble thud, the Mourngul's body joining with the earth seconds after. Pete had died; all the fools, brigands and tribesfolk he'd devoured to sustain his terrible hunger had finally been avenged.

But his death was pyrrhic; irrelevant even. Celedron and the others still had the Saurians to face against, the loss of the Mourngul made no difference to these mindless beasts. Anglermaw hadn't noticed the frenzied mutant that raced toward him, quickly scorched to smithereens by the Loremaster's knowledge of Hysh in but a nick of time. He gave Celedron a chittering nod of acknowledgement while he grated his hookarm across the warplock's source of power. Then finally, as the other hulking beast caught scent of fresh game, the warplock lit aflame with renewed power.

"Ah-ha!" Cackled Anglermaw, raising the glowing firearm into the air. "We're back-in business now-yeah!" His cheer alerted the second Khornate spawn, rearing it's maw of tusk-like fangs toward the sight of the jubilant Skaven. With a roar that influenced by the instinct to devour, the beast charged, trampling over it's bludgeoned prey. A pair of bloodied clubs skated across the soil while the monster raced toward Anglermaw. But Skaven agility triumphed this day, as the Sea-Rat pointed his firearm in time, toward the mutant's torso. The shot was point blank, jade warpfire tore right through the lumbering figure, leaving only a gaping hole, cauterised by the lapping embers that resonated from the warplock. The Saurian paused, petrified by searing agony. Before it was able to comprehend what had just occurred, it fell to the ground dead, joining it's many victims that lay gored and scattered by the ziggurat.

Once again in part to Celedron, the noxious fog that surrounded the Nurglite spawn dissolved before the power of Hysh; the sting that lathered across Hans' subsiding as a result. His vision was once again clear, as was the armless figure that squirmed toward he and Lars.

"H-Hans." Lars hacked, aggrevated under stress. He pointed toward the Student's left, toward a discarded blade that the Marienburger had dropped after Anglermaw's pounce. "T-take my sword, fast. It's gonna kill us both if you don't..."

Lars did not finish his sentence, falling silent as he too drifted from the waking world.

"Vanderbarzen!" Shouted a distraught Hans, gnashing his teeth as he became slave to a concoction of both fear and unbridled fury. He picked the sword that laid bare upon the earth, charging the vomiting beast without a thought of his own safety.
"Die, you mutant! Just die for Sigmar's will!" Hans roared, decapitating the Nurglite spawn. Though a sudden scold of the acidic residue caused him to jolt back, as the open neck uncontrollably sprayed a fountainous mixture of blood and acid. Then it became limb, falling to the ground with a squish. The Saurian vermin were finally dead.

Having thought his end had come Fal was brought to the idea that some deity in the realms beyond was watching him as the figure of Pete dropped dead. As the beasts magic blended body began to fade and distort like a mirage as it's very essence started to break apart Fal took his blade and hacked off Pete's vile and large head. The glassy red eyed burned away as the skull and neck stub burnt like the other injuries and severed digits. The head melting into an unrecognizable mess as the remaining body turned to a strange gelatinous like liquid. The unholy mix of flesh and magic was dead and would eventually rot like all things.

Celedron watched in amazement as Hans, driven by fear and a need to survive took the head off one Spawn and narrowly avoided the squirting acidic blood. His blade was not so lucky as it sizzled and rusted while being coated in the thick blood. The blade was tossed aside to the grass as Celedron approached while looking over the damage. The mutated Spawn were around the area and in pieces as their tainted flesh was a stain on the world and they gave the eeriest sense of dread to the magic sensitive Elf. Moving over to grab his staph he takes several deep breaths as he uses it to keep himself up.
"Spawn of the Dark Gods." He says with a deep breath as his head throbs from his magical exhaustion.

Fal wanders over as he sheaths his blade to look at the group of survivors. Not a single other one survived other than the four here. Lars he considered good as dead and didn't let his mind or gaze wander on his still form for long. It was a shame but he was frankly getting dangerously unstable.
"I noticed those things. I take it that means that Rotflag of yours is here Anglermaw?" He asks wandering to check on Hans as he looks to the acidic blood of the Nurglite Spawn as it burns into the grass.

"Rotflag, can't here the voice any longer-yeah." Anglermaw replied, half nibbling upon the roasted carcass of his latest kill. The tone of his voice was pained and aggravated, though this held little to do with the massacre that had transpired. Every lunge into the Saurus' crimson skin was riddled with needle-like pricks that almost protruded from beneath the scales. It seemed that Khorne was quite the connoisseur of sharp, almost impractical spikes and other nonsensical juttings. The Black Hunger was beginning to overwhelm the Sea-Rat; at this point, any meal was enough to sate his appetite. For most of the trail into Lustria, he had been discretely feasting upon a variety of bloated grubs and colourful arachnids that seemed ever-present among these jungles. But the paltry morsels were hardly enough the sate the appetite of a starving Skaven. Now there was flesh aplenty cast upon the grounds of this cursed temple - but even so - he dare not touch the Elven carrion. To do so would certainly invoke hostility from either Celedron or Falderan. He still had need for the both of them, he could not find the Ark by himself. Not if Clan Pestilens were involved, let alone the Ruinous Pantheon.

"Ya'kno'-yeah." Anglermaw muffled, feasting upon the succulent remains of the mutants, almost ignorant of the fresh viscera that surrounded his feast. "Maybe tha' was not Rotflag at all-all, yeah. 'E shouldn't be this far out afta two weeks. How'd e' get here, drown-swimming?"

"Aqshy'kash! Ksy'chi dhar, dhaos tzeen sho..." The daemonic voice hazed from within the temple, horrifically distorted and incoherent like some shattered instrument. Insidious enough to make even Anglermaw himself freeze from his makeshift banquet. There he stood above, the jade hookarm held aloft and the warlock bursting with volatile energy. He did not recognize the voice...

"That... was not Rotflag." He stated, with an eerie clarity which was unlike the Skaven. His tone was serious and without stutter. "This ain't good, we might hafta 'ead inside the temple. The Musk is all over the place, but there ain't no ship under here. Maybe summat's distracting us, yeah?"

"Celedron! Lars is in trouble!" Hans interrupted the Sea-Rat, thrusting himself before the group. Gasping for air as he scanned the pile of spearmen before him. The Student bit his lip, and a sudden caress of despair shivered down his quivering spine. "Oh, by Sigmar." He turned away from the sight of death with disgust. "Is this it? Is this what our journey has come to? To...-to die in the middle of nowhere!?" Hans shouted in frustration, clenching his fists as he strode away, clutching his face while the tears coursed through his fingers. Vanderbarzen lay dying, yet he could do nothing. The Elves were disciplined, trained far beyond the years of man for the sake of battle, yet even they could not stand against the horrors that lay within the jungle.

A wretched growl echoed from within the bowels of this landmark, the origin shadowed by the blackened colonnade. That guttural sentence that the disembodied voice oozed repeated itself minute after minute. Something was definitely residing within the ziggurat.

Lars was lost to them. The wounds from the acid plus inhaled fumed were surely fatal. Hans would likely be dead as well if it wasn't for Celedron's spell burning away the corruption enough for him to recover. The sight of Anglermaw feasting on the corrupted corpses sickened him. Even Falderan thought the Skaven would not eat such tainted flesh. But alas, here he was feasting on it with delight. As Anglermaw began to speak of something else being here and Hans lamented their situation in the background Fal wandered up to Anglermaw and forcibly put his hand on the rats shoulder.
"You seemed sure you were following Rotflag. What in Ranald's name changed?" He says with teeth clenched.

Celedron was too bust trying to stay conscious and keep his mind from hazing over to comment on Anglermaw's eating habits. The dark voice that echoed from the Ziggurat came out accompanied by a malicious wind. He could feel something in there. Lustria was always ripe with the winds of magic but here they felt stiffened. Like something was draining them and Celedron assumed it was the demonic contents of the temple. As his vision came back in full he looked to Anglermaw.
"I agree. How were you so wrong?" Then Celedron puts the pieces in place. "Oh no of course. The forces of Chaos would have done it. Played up Rotflag's scent to lure you here. Specifically you it would seem. But why?" He asks himself looking up to the temple. Something lurked within and it was stronger then the tainted spawn they just fought. But even so something still stuck out to him. Celedron knew there were four dark gods. Yet they only encountered three pairs of Chaos Spawn. This led him to believe there were more within.

Having witnessed the start of the battle one of the Skinks that followed them left to report back their findings while the other watched the ordeal with the Spawn. Forced to remain quiet and watch the Scout was there even after the fact. Perfectly hidden in the foliage. Meanwhile the other reported to his Skink superior and the group of blue Skinks fell back while the Chameleon went back to watch the others. The blue Skinks hurried through the jungle so that by the time the battle ended they approached one of the Lizardmen's fabled temple cities. Or at least an outpost to one. They hurried to the carefully carved stone gates to report their findings to those of greater authority.

"Time is fleeting mortals, as is the span of this world; the gong of the End Times will soon shudder." The hellish tone howled from the ziggurat shadows once more, smothering the survivors within an aura of freezing dread. "The Everchosen's unfathomable presence pupates northward like a cloud of ruin. The nations upon each and every soil will become dismantled in an orgy of death and abject terror. Why do you defy the weavings of fate itself?" Hans' entire form clenched with spine-shaking premonition. He saw how the Loremaster and Falderan took no notice to his pleas; too many dead kin lay scattered across these hallowed grounds for them to hold a slither of care. What difference would the death of an upstart ingrate be to them? Better use as fodder for the Sea-Rat to gnash his incisors against? 'No!' Thought the panting student, the word of defiance screaming within his mind. He rushed back to the dying Lars, scraping himself across the coal coloured soil in a mad dash to embrace the former Captain in his last moments.

"Vanderbarzen, please..." Hans' begged, clutching at the arms of the bowed Marienburger, of whom gave colour to the drab grounds with splatterings of odious vomit.

"Hans..?" Wheezed Lars, half silent as his hanging head span in a daze like a half-dead drunkard -- the still bleeding wound upon his shin seemed to mean little anymore. "Hans, i-is t-that you... I c-can't see anymore..." Lars complained in an intoxicated slur, barely aware to the world around him.

"Lars, look up... please." Whispered the tearful student. "You're not going to die, Celedron will save you, I know it." Hans almost lost voided his stomach. The sight of viscera and corpses held no sway over him, but the thought of losing another sank his heart deep. He'd known Lars for two weeks now; from captain to vagrant. Perhaps he knew Bjorn even longer, but the Student always held some solace in the thought that the raving Dwarf would not have left this world upon any ground that was not a battlefield. But Vanderbarzen did not deserve this: He had willingly brought Hans and the others upon his Siren and sailed them across the end of the world, sacrificing his captaincy in the process. What was Anglermaw's thanks? To leave him incapacitated and dying in the middle of nowhere as a discarded morsel for the Sea-Rat's own selfish chase.

"Lars! Lars!" Hans shouted again, frantic for a response. One he did not receive, for Lars was dead; his last seconds of life spent gurgling and hacking from the putrid rot of Nurgle before hanging limp across the Student's arms like a flesh puppet. "No..." Sputtered Hans, distraught as he dropped the dead Marienburger to slither upon his own fluids. Then he raised himself from the grounds, tears cascading down his face as he rested his head upon a cobbled wall bearing the caricatures of pagan deities.

Then he too fell silent, the foreboding danger that lay within the structure suddenly ceased to exist within his mind.

Meanwhile - fresh from his banquet upon the mutant dead - Anglermaw reared his crimson beak toward the colonnade, from the voice emanated from. It spoke now in the common tongue, as though to the group directly. "What's chaos-daemons gotta do with the Skaven-yeah!?" Screeched the Sea-Rat in reply, forcibly thrusting himself away from Falderan's clutches, hookarm bared in fury. "What-what the Ark gotta do with ya!? Bad-End times got summat t' do with the Vermintide? I'll have my Ark back before the lord clans eat the earth-world, don't care if I gotta scamper to Cathay too!"

The voice smugly chuckled. "Mangy child. The Ark was never yours; the usurpation was predetermined. Do you truly think your kin would allow an upstart rat to claim power on such a level? To have total dictatorship of such a sorcerous dreadnought, to levy plague and ruin upon the world at one's own leisure?"

"What do you know of the Ark?!" Roared the Rat, sputtering decrepit saliva in a rabid thrust of his hookarm. "Tell me! I swear, I'll come in there! I'll make you suffer! WHERE IS MY ARK?!"

The soil boomed with fiendish laughter in many tones and many voices, parodying those of the fallen dead beside the group. The mocking screams increased in tempo, before becoming abruptly discarded across the wind. Then, nothing. Naught but the cringeworthy stomping of metal that echoed from within, until finally, a familiar shape formed with abject clarity from within the shadows. A hulking figure, clad in unholy metal and bearing upon his armour the cruxes and icons of the Dark Pantheon, adorned upon the monster's groin were the skulls and bones of the reptilian fallen that had met their end to the amethyst blade that whirled, clenched furiously within his gauntlets. But most strikingly of all, the figure bore the head of a giant rat, fused and stitchless upon his neck.

Anglermaw could barely contain his fury, slipping the warplock across his figures with a concentrated aim. "ROTFLAG!" He screamed.

"Anglermaw, Man-Elf... We meet once more."

--

"Xlanax zec huan!" Snarled the Saurus, his obsidian halberd bared forth, preventing the scaled duo in front from entry into the solar chambers, the staircased edifice floating upon an electromagnetic orb, far from the bustle of the merchant favelas below. "Warm-blood wanderers not important! You no enter."

"The Ssscouts have reported back from the eassst jungles, mossst almighty guardian." The beady-eyed Skink meekly replied, prostrating before the salivating beast in a show of humility. "They ssay the geomantic threads are being withered away; the Rat-spawn ship is manipulating the ebb and flow, massster. His Omnipotence must know."

"Rat-spawn!?" The other guardian approached, roaring in a fit of laughter as his tusk-like teeth grinded and smashed together. "Saurus kill many Rats today. Rat-spawn weak and afraid. Why Nahwa-mundi need know?"

"That was not all the scouts mentioned." Interjected the second figure, far more intimidating and worthy of reverence than his cowardly companion, sauntering toward his Saurus kin in a display of dominance. "Chaos winds lap upon Lustrian soil, they say that this Rat-spawn Ark is contested by Daemons as well as warm-bloods. Lord Nahwa is to be noted."

The rival growled in defiance. "You think you worthy of Nahwa-mundi? You not like us, you not deserve his audience, blight-spawn."

He was indeed right; Mokte was unlike the other braves mustered upon the temple-city of Tzlipectl, hidden from the world under the foot of a jutting ravine. In both mind and body, the crimson scaled Saurus was different, bearing a oddly reserved countenance than the savage peers that lurched hunchbacked as they caught the insidious scent of their inferior. He seemed to bear strange clout that simply wasn't meant for the Saurus. He was dissonant in their eyes; a walking antithesis to the Great Plan, and was instinctively despised by them for this. The golden carapace that masked Mokte from head to toe-claw, laced with far more practical obsinite across the strands was proof this revelation held some heartache upon him.

"Let them through, wardens..." Groaned a ghastly haze from within the chamber, much to the spite of the two guardians that contested with their ruby kin. "...Dissonance will not be tolerated..."

The Guardians hissed in spite toward the two fellows, humbly parting themselves from the chamber entrance in shame. "You lucky blight-spawn." Moaned one of the slobbering lizards. "If master slept, I eat your scale flesh instead."

"Nahwa-mundi would never sleep upon quarrels, brother." Nodded Mokte, ignoring the Saurus' threat as the halberds parted. Thus, Mokte and his Skink companion, Supa-kheti, wandered within the revered chamber of their Slann lord.

Despite Hans having an emotional breakdown beside them from the fear and anger over losing Lars which once the demonic voice spoke Falderan and Celedron completely ignored Lars. Neither even realized he was still alive as they focused down the current threat. There was no time to morn the dead. Not when living threats remained. As Anglermaw and the demonic voice spoke there was a strange amount of familiarity. Not a distant tone of two figures first meeting that you'd expect from a demonic entity speaking to a random Skaven. Clearly the two seemed to know one another. This odd inkling in both Fal's and Celedron's minds were confirmed when the heavily armour clad figure of Rotflag strides out from the shadows. Fal had his blade ready but was surprised when he spoke. First his armour was far more elaborate and decorated in demonic symbols. Secondly the voice came out from the mouth perfectly and was now purely that of a servant of Chaos. Humanoid but with the dark presence of Daemon's behind it. The head could also emote and have subtle gestures unlike before. It truly an abomination and the fact it remembered him sickened Fal.

"So you're the vile Chaos taint that attacked Ulthuan." Celedron raises his blade and points it at him. A cold look of pure hatred in his eyes. You couldn't tell he was majorly, magically exhausted. "An abomination of Chaos and Skaven merged into one. You're a cancer on the world and by Asuryan I will see to it that you perish and your taint scoured from the world." Blade in one hand and staph in the other he remains ready for this champion of Chaos to attack. He could feel the winds of magic swirling around him and his armour was like a vile stench on his senses. Leaving a foul taste in his mouth like rotten fruit from being near the cursed metal. As the group remained ready for a fight a tense silence fell. The battle was not over.

Inside the city of Tzlipectl the Skink scouts that delivered the messages of the chaotic influence in the jungles and warm blood presence were being kept below the steps leading to the great Slaan chamber above. Beams of energy shot by on stone pillars carved with intricate runes and stylized serpents. Two Saurus with obsidian halberds stood silently by the base of the stairs as other pairs stood every few dozen steps leading to a set of large doors that let in those who had debriefed the Skinks. As they waited and the leader shot out its tongue to take a fly from the sky a Skink wearing ornate armour and being present with a bright red crest on it's head approaches.
"Qua-zital, Captain of Tzlipectl's Horned One Riders." It says to the scouts in their tongue. They nod in appreciation. "Scouts have reported back that there's a warm blood camp on the shore." It's head sways around in a jerky motion. "Riders dispatched and on the way found Chameleon scouts." The scout leader nods.
"Chi-noee, Scouts of Tzlipectl's outer borders. My scouts do well. They find the warm blood invaders but others find great enemy presence in ancient temple." The two Skinks nod.
"Yes. Threats noted and Saurus legions grow restless. The garrisons sense conflict. My riders grow ready to lead the strike." Qua-zital adds. The two Skinks discuss this under the watchful eyes of the guards at the gate. Meanwhile the general daily life of the city goes about as is. Almost unaware of the horrors nearby.

The abomination chuckled as he tread forward in a terrible display of intimidation, brandishing his moribund claymore across the cyan hilt, wrapped vertically frontward as he approached the three. It was less a blade and more of a head of sorts; the cross that separated the bone-like hilt from it's sharp edge was the brainless head of a Saurian. The elongated tongue of the poor creature protruded forth, transmuting into cold, glowing steel that was lathered in the essence of Shyish. So terrible was the influence that as Rotflag passed through the audience of fresh dead, their bodies aged many times fold 'til they came to resemble the fabled mummies of Nehekhara.

"My masters have given me a disturbing clarity to your mission, Asur. It is doomed to fail." Replied the Abomination as the Elves spat their venom. "The one you call Rotflag has been dead for a while now. I am Zeigfied. Zeigfied of the Kurgan, favoured of the Gods and Immortal wanderer." He nodded condescendingly before snuffing out his dreadful stomps upon the ground. "I have tread upon the world for millennia, rising from my tomb when the winds of Chaos blow northward yet again. I have seen nations of many races, known and obscure, crumble to war, deceit, pandemia and decadence. Legends of these times, brought to heel under the daemontide, to my blade!"

He silence his words as he charged the three, swaying his screaming sword in a circular fashion, aiming to grant Celedron, Falderan and finally Anglermaw the quick caress of Shyish.

Anglermaw's skittish nerves barely saved his life. Ruled by instinct as the purple glow zoomed across his crown, he jumped out of the way, trading Zeigfied's slash with a shocking zap of the warplock. The range was point blank. The effect? Nothing, hardly even a smoke as the jade beam was absorbed by the claymore. The warrior's gross fit of laughter entwined with the searing moan of the Shyish blade, entertained by the Sea-Rat's show of desperation.

"This era, however, I have been awoken premature." Muttered Zeigfied aloud, stopping in his tracks as he surveyed the ruins before him. "I contest for the Ark to spite the Skaven filth that defiled me. Their's shall be a painful death."

"'Ahm not done just yet, Zeig-flag." Anglermaw spat in defiance while raising his glowing hook arm toward the metal beast. "Not even the seas brought me down, I'll take you on-yeah!"

--

"Nahwa-mundi was woken because of this Rat-spawn vessel, Supa-kheti." Mention Mokte as the two reptiles tread upon the tanned stonework leading into the throne of this fabled Slann, the way foward illuminated by exotic, fluorescent flora, daubing the darkened hall with a hue of cobalt. "It's influence must be terrible, assuming it be enough to bring our lord to the living world." He pondered out loud.

"Cssenturiesss, Mokte. Centuries..." Replied the elderly skink, his staff of tree bark clunking upon the sigils of the Old Ones, their motifs emblazoned upon the stone floors. "Never hasss Lord Nahwa been brought awoke with such assstute vision. Not sssince Great Catastrophe, according to my elders."

The crimson lizard's head bowed to the ground as they walked passed the caricature of Chotec, the etched outline glowing below the humming strobes above. "As the plaques have mentioned, as the calendar ticks to the end. Will the wheel reset, or will the Catastrophe begin anew, as our tardiness prophesises?

Supa-kheti suddenly hissed back in disapproval. "Broodings like that could have you killed. Should Nahwa deem you unfit, the temple guard would tear you limb from limb in the same second."

Moments after the scolding, both Lizardmen finally approached the throne of Lord Nahwa, levitating upon his clay seat as though he was above the law of gravity, sank within the cobalt hue alongside others who had been gifted with Nahwa's audience. Qua-zital and Chi-noee were chief among those present, though Mokte had not been acquainted with either Skinks. He mostly kept to himself within Tzlipectl, away from even the barracks of his Saurus kinsfolk. Had he not struck a friendship with the local shaman by the name of Supa-kheti, he would likely be languishing the most cursed corners of Lustria as some vagabond.

The holographic visage of a great, yet dormant dreadnought sailed before the council, manifested by Lord Nahwa's unfathomable grasp upon the winds of Qhaysh. His large, empty pupils, his slouched rest upon the hovering throne, and the curled greasy lips that would croak and ribbit every few seconds belied the presence of a higher being. The pair stood in awestruck reverence

"The Ark... sails no longer... I have rendered it's infestive qualities inert for the time being... lest the jungles be... rotted from underneath the earth." Echoed an unnatural tone, laced with an enchanted property; a latent manifestation of Lord Nahwa's psychic power. His voice shivered across the scales those present, even Mokte himself. "But... My interference is temporal... The Ark is to be dismantled before the Rat-spawn discover..." Nahwa wheezed, his concentration slightly impaired. "...The origin..."

The being now known as Zeigfied spoke to Celedron with a voice that lashed at him like the tongue of a vile reptile. Hearing this abomination speak of the Asur and some supposed plan they had didn't sit right with him. His words of dark truths revealed by dubious masters were obviously some form of trick or manipulation to throw the Loremaster off his guard. As the champion of Chaos charged and his blade flared like a beacon of Shyish Celedron moved around with blade stoically in hand. Narrowly missing Anglermaw with his vile blade the figure turned to slash towards Celedron. Raising his blade as runes flared to life it clashed with the unholy blade of Zeigfied as the two stared into one another's eyes. Celedron's look was of pure disgust as he looked into the verminous eyes that burnt with a fury unlike any being he had seen.
"You spread lies! Your vile, tainted words will not get to me you abomination! You will perish for what you've done!" He blares as he keeps their blades locked.

Seeing his chance Falderan goes for an overhead slash with an attempt to decapitate the Chaos powered warrior. As his blade shrieked through the the figure twisted and moved back so only his shoulder plate was struck by the necrotic blade. Putting his force behind it he thrusted back Celedron as Fal came in for another strike. Blocking as the blade parried off one another the purple glow of Zeigfied's own and the dark radiance of Fal's own blade sparked. For a moment time seemed to slow for the two. Their blades repelled each other unlike anything on the physical plane. They seemed to shriek at one another on some ethereal plane. As the world resumed after barely a split second had passed Fal and Celedron went in for another set of strikes. Fal sweeping from the left of Zeigfied as his shoulder length and Celedron from the right with an uppercut slash.

Zeigfied's living blade gurgled, it's chrome tongue crossing against the pure Asur steel. It was a twisted irony that such a cruel weapon was branded with the mark of Shyish; a mere scratch was all it took to churn the very soul from one's body. The amethyst aura of the weapon created an irritating buzzing sound, raising to a scream as it clashed against Celedron's swordarm. Zeigfied chuckled as he dueled, viewing the Loremaster as desperate as the rest of his complacent kin. A snide grin cut across the furred beak, jeweled eyes staring back at the Loremaster, of whom contained some fire of his own behind those hate-filled pupils.

"'Tis a shame, Elf. If the Dragon princes themselves cowed before the Ark's storm, then the rest of Ulthuan will be doomed." The Rat-headed chosen mocked, grinding the metal tongue furiously in the deadlock, barely skimming the Loremaster's armoured robe. "In the act of common sense, your kind should've given themselves to Slaanesh when they had the chance."

But before Zeigfied could torment Celedron any further, a sudden rush of hot fire slithered across his left shoulder, and he backed away from the Loremaster with a bestial instinct. Tweaking his elongated beak, Zeigfied found the perpetrator and his cursed blade -- the nerves he felt that battle of Sartosa returned. And yet, something compelled him not to swing his blade, even his pauldron cackled with necrotic energy, the icons upon it disintegrating into melted ash upon the soil. Zeigfied gazed down to his gasping blade, while two radiant hues of purple and blood interweaved within the air, the winds of Nagash and Shyish roaring for dominance of the skies.

The air howled; the ancient clay of this Lizardman began to melt into a tar-like substance before the potent winds, exposing the failed creations that lay within -- merely dead playthings of the Dark Gods that had failed as practical tools against children of the Old Ones. It was enough to still Anglermaw, his warplock was as nothing before the macabre rainbow; for once in his rodent life, he was compelled to sit and watch the flickering tornado of raw magic.

Falderan on the other hand, seemed uncompelled to gawk at the dancing strobes, lunging toward the abomination with an uppercut of his blade, one that could probably sever Zeigfied's own link to the Gods. But the Chosen was quick enough to return in kind. Their blades clashed again and again, screaming in an accapella of arcane invigoration with each clang of unholy metal.

Zeigfied got cocky as he taunted Celedron. The Loremaster was more of a mage than a swordsman yet his sword craft at it's peak would outdo any from the Empire. Though at the moment he was both mentally strained and physically worn out in tandem. Though he was at least able to fend off this supposed Champion with Falderan's assistance. He never let his weariness show. Being able to keep a stoic face he avoided any sign of tiring. His breaths were subtle and soft. Like all of his race his moves seemed graceful and otherworldly. Even panting could be hidden as a subtle breath of gentle excitement like one would get from a performance. And a performance was like what this fight was turning into. A macabre clash of blade and pulse of magic as runes and enchantments unleashed on one another. A clash like many fables told by minstrels and if this tale was told later one with the same gravitas. But Celedron was ever so on the defensive and mainly trying to distract Zeigfied. His sharp eyes and knowledge of magic let him see the magical clashes between Falderan's blade and the Chaos imbued weapon of Zeigfied.

Falderan's strikes were of a more forceful variant. As Zeigfied let down his guard Fal got a quick slash on his side. His necrotic blade able to pierce the magical runes on the Chaotic armour and shed small shreds of it. The runes burnt away and sizzled like fat on a pan but with a fouler smell. Fal didn't seem to notice this or the crackling of magic that radiated from their blades. It danced in the air like two serpents fighting as it rose up in an eerie glow. The aura of the two types of death magic being repulsed by one another and fought much like their wielders. As Zeigfied was put on the back foot Fal continued his assault. Doing away with taunts and with a look of hatred in his eyes he lashed for another blow barely giving his foe time to react. Not one to let this chance pass Celedron moved in to try and strike a debilitating blow much like before. This time aiming for his left thigh with a thrust.