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

Nahwa cringed for a moment; the aquatic dreadnought flickered upon the glowing pool, it's form becoming subsumed back into it's still waters. Although the clash between Zeigfied and the Elf-folk was miles away, the Slann's omniscient conscience was sensitive enough to feel the caress of these malignant winds. He croaked in pain and his psychic influence wavered, the unfathomable touch that lathered across the present Skinks - and Mokte himself - became inert.

"Masss-ter..." Supa-kheti hissed in alarm, his crooked, aged arm protruding forward across the fluorescent rays. Mokte could only gaze in curiosity, his reaction masked by the golden helm that masked his cursed crest.

"What iss the malusss..? Trouble by the sscity..?" The elderly priest asked, holding himself stood by his wooden pole, embossed with many an exotic talisman.

"...Dhar winds... gather across the skies..." Nahwa muttered after a few moments of silence. "An evil portent... of what is to come..." Suddenly, the scrying pool became enriched with a hue of red and amethyst; the construct of the Ark dissolving into a thrashing tornado of screaming souls across a melting ziggurat. The observing Skinks gasped in horror, including Supa-kheti also. The Priest averted his eyes from the sight of death and destruction. His companion - Mokte - on the other hand, with compelled to step forward toward the chaotic whirl, caught with a sense of excitement and a taste for action.

"I see one certain future of our ancient city..." Nahwa-mundi began, his disembodied voice filled with assertion, shivering the bones of the onlookers. "...I see our complete annihilation, swept from history and forgotten by our peers. The Ratmen shall march on this city, driven by a desire to reactivate the Ark and devour the world whole. It is an omen of the coming apocalypse, one that none of us shall live to witness."

--

Zeigfied gargled in pain, red ichor spat from his furred beak. He was far too intoxicated by the current duel to notice the coming thrust from Celedron. Indeed, the chosen of Hoeth were swordsmen of precision beyond compare. The thrust never met with Zeigfied's cursed armour, but rather his flesh. The Chosen backed away, accompanied by a vile 'squelch' as the Loremaster's blade became released from his flesh. It was then that Anglermaw saw his chance to end the life of this usurper. His warplock could not penetrate the Shyish ward, but his glowing hookarm most certainly could.

Scampering across the dying grass - his sight half masked by the screaming winds of magic - Anglermaw lunged toward Zeigfied, aiming to tear into the neck of this most hated enemy as he gasped in desperation.

Unfortunately, his attack was met with a metal gauntlet to the beak, and the Sea-Rat fell to the ground unconscious -- somehow retaining his sigils of Skurvy laying beside his bloodied body. He now rested unceremoniously by a blackening tree, branches tumbling down toward the soil as the Dhar winds condemned the fauna to a slow, rotting death.

Zeigfied laughed maniacally as the blood cascaded down his armour, standing tall once more and his salivating weapon gripped tight. "How little you comprehend." He chuckled. "I am the Chosen of the Dark Gods; my life is decided by the course they have set for me, it cannot be severed short by a blade, no matter it's maker." The Saurian maw screamed and gurgled as it was raised toward the whirlwind. "Yours however, is dictated by the childish veneration of a dead king and his deviant family. What cause do you have to justify? Why do you not embrace demise?"

The distorting of the vision and wavering of the tale being woven in front of them met all present with sharp concern. Qua-zital and Chi-noee were no exception. A swarming maelstrom of screams and the unending, putrid feel of decay filled the chamber as the image of the Ark turned into a contorted battle at the Ziggurat Chi-noee's party had been scouting. The clash of three figures wielding weapons that radiated energies of purity, death and corruption. As the blades separated so did the vision seem to weaken before Lord Nahwa-mundi's apocalyptic insight into the future of their grand city riled the surrounding Skinks and Saurus to their feet. Qua-zital and Chi-noee were no exception as the warnings of a tide of vermin that would wipe the city out as they gathered for their foul Ark. Chatter emerged from different branches of the cities defenders. Chi-noee turned to Qua-zital and in their native tongue puts forth what they know.

"The enemy has emerged. My scouts had seen before. Now dark omens emerge." Chi-noee says with panicked eyes. "We must respond. Move out to strike corruption." Qua-zital was still for a moment. Looking to their great Slann as he gave his dire warning.
"Precise strike is needed. My riders can crush them before the warm-bloods flee." Looking over at the various other Skinks and Saurus present Qua-zital, once Nahwa-mundi was silent spoke out in a loud voice. "The Great Plan must not be hindered. We must strike against the Great Enemy while it presents itself. Strike fast and quick with a small force. Then we protect the city from vermin spawn." Despite his short posture he stood with a proud confidence. Gazing over the chamber he rallied for action against their ultimate foe before his dark presence faded away to hiding.

As thick, red ichor spat from Zeigfied's mouth and Celedron's magically infused blade drew back from piercing the flesh of the Champion the two Elves had a sense of accomplishment. They were winning and it was showing as blood poured out of several wounds and out the slight openings in his armour. The arcane energies flowing around them continued as if they were infused with power from the very jungle they were in. The air swirled and the breeze had a tingling sensation to it as it touched skin. Celedron blinked quickly in an attempt to focus away from the chaotic winds blowing around. The magical energy in the air was without direction and merely kept around by the power of their infused blades clashing.

Before either Elf could launch in with a follow up attack Anglermaw struck. Going for a fatal slash he was bashed aside and fell to the ground in a bloody and pained mess. The rat showed little signs of life in faint breaths and twitching. Zeigfied began to let out defiant taunt and declaration of his own power as he questioned Celedron and why he and his race continue on their own ever fleeting path.
"We continue as we are survivors. We keep back the tide of darkness your Masters have been trying to unleash for millenia. It was this 'dead king' that with the helped fight back and seal away this darkness. And we, as wardens of this world continue to defend it." Celedron's words were full of passion and fire. A true sense of pride he took in his people. Fal could respect that despite his hatred for the very society Celedron came from.

"Qua-zital... Chi-noee..." Nahwa-mundi's bulbous eyes rolled back - like slithery orbs as the lids slid shut. The lethargic toad twitched once more as a grumble passed through the hallway like an aftershock of the earth. Even the Saurus outside felt his presence, crooking their curious heads toward the abyss without moving their hulking bodies out of place -- stationary to the end.

"The skirmish begins, but the full force of our struggle... will not come to pass just yet..." Nahwa croaked, slowly raising his right hand in the air. His vassals nodded toward the icon of power as Qua-zital's light feet pattered in the distance. "The terradons know I call to the sky, they shall fly you back to the temple with newfound, fearless vigour. Calling to the clouds, the Shaman shall curry the will of Azyr to purify these unnatural winds..."

Supa-kheti stuttered in surprise "You have need of me, Lord Nahwa..?" The guttural strum of his elderly voice belied his reverence as he looked back to Mokte with a prideful grin.

But Nahwa-mundi did not respond directly; his attention never fixated toward one single entity. "The Loremaster, the cursed Elf... the Rat and the boy..." He began feeding his presence into the synapses of all who stood. "Bring them forth... they are pivotal... in the prevention of our... doom... I cannot continue this council 'til the winds have been annulled, for they dim my influence over the Ark..."

"...Take flight... do not look back... you may see black visions..."

The Lizardmen rose to their webbed feet, stamping out the eerie silence with newfound squawking of orders and jittering panic. "The Terradons! The Terradons!" One chieftain hissed loudly as the council scattered. "Ride them forth, bring the warmbloods to Nahwa-mundi!"

"Chi-noee and Qua-zital lead the vanguard, Mokte." Supa-kheti muttered as he beckoned the red lizard to elevate him from the ground. "It's up to us to support them with Nahwa-mundi's will; a great storm shall gather to wash away the wretched winds."

"Support? Hah." Hissed Mokte as he lead them both toward the exterior of this floating pyramid. The terradons await their riders outside of the edifice, almost as though their instinctive minds were ruled by a sense of purpose. "I long for the forefront, it is my purpose, no?"

"Your purpose is shrouded in mystery, my friend; you are unlike your kin in mind."

--

Zeigfied pressed his salivating claymore toward his bloody breastplate, grumbling as he listened to the Loremaster's response. "I respect your perseverance, Asur, even if my masters consider it misplaced." His voice was oddly solemn, barely masked by the ongoing screams of condemned souls, seemingly torn from Morr's bleak realm. He tread toward the Elven foes, slowly descending the amethyst blade as he prepared to land another blow upon them. "But the Ends Times are inevitable, I am afraid. By killing you both now, I do you the favour of concealing what horror would await you hereafter-"

Strangely - as soon as the Abomination finished his sentence - a flurry of blinding strobes began to penetrate the sheet of wailing faces. A monsoon hurled upon the blackened soil thereafter, and the mutant cadavers began to sink into the squelching earth. The Elfin figures in front were suddenly concealed to his vision, hidden by booming waves of a wind that was neither native to Nagash or Shyish.

"Azyr winds... gathering now?" He wondered aloud, before gazing upward as his rodent senses caught the freezing scent of a new enemy, their airborne steeds squawking as they glided in circles beneath the jet skies.

The Lizardmen were here at last.

Qua-zital's rallying words were certainly felt as their Slann Lord replied and gave them a distinct mission. Summoning the small flock of Terradons that the city had hidden away in the hillside caverns the Skinks were instructed to lead the charge from them. To assault the enemy but more importantly retrieve the non Chaos tainted entities including the much despised Skaven. Despite feeling uneasy about needing to bring a Skaven back alive to their great city Qua-ztial and Chi-noee knew better than to question their ruler and his omnipresent judgement. Clearly he was listening to a higher calling likely from the Old Ones themselves. Bowing their heads in respect the Skinks were rushed to the outreaching balconies as the Terradons squealed overhead and came down to stand on the stone outcropping.

Despite not saying a word prior Qua-zital and Chi-noee were both unused to flying Terradons. Qua-zital for years had been mounted on the ground based Horned Ones and as such the notion of flying was a disturbing thought for him. The Terradons were potentially as fierce as the Horned Ones but unlike his Horned One mount which he took nearly a decade to fully train and build trust with he had seen many other Skinks and even Saurus perish in trying to tame the savage Cold and Horned Ones. However, these Terradons he had never met or had experience with. Most he had seen was one perched a dozen feet from him in the city. The large two meter tall predators had wingspans of five meters and could tear a Skink apart in seconds. More tamable then the Ripperdactyls but still were wild beasts. Chi-noee had even less experience. His expertise being his nimble footplay and any form of mount was outside his realm of expertise. Though the two trusted Nahwa-mundi and knew their part in the Great Plan must be played. As the Terradons were outfitted with harnesses and a specially designed quiver of six poisonous javelins were placed towards the back they were ready to go. In total their were eight Terradons gathered. Two for Qua-ztial and Chi-noee and six for the more experienced riders. Climbing onto their mounts the flying beasts let out a shriek and with a calming sigh Qua-zital kicked it in the side as it began to flap it's wings and rise up. The flock leaped off the side and began to glide and soar above the city. Much to the shaking nerves of the new riders.

The battle was brutal back at the Ziggurat but even as Zeigfied took flesh ripping slash after slash he barely seemed fazed. His resilience was impressive if not unnerving. Celedron was sure the thigh slash should have taken him down and made him barely useful but he was very much wrong. Somehow he simply shook off a wound that would have made even the sturdiest of Orcs limp if not collapse. As he came in for another blow and gave his reasoning for killing them being an apparent mercy in preparation for the fabled End Times he froze. Celedron had felt the same odd presence. Pulses of magic that radiated through the air like a refreshing mist. Where the Chaotic magic of Zeigfied was like a toxic haze this magical essence was clean and pure. Washing past them and sending a shiver of anticipation up his spine he barely noticed that Zeigfied was also lost in a daze as he felt this change in the wind.

Fal however, wasn't sensitive to the Winds of Magic like these two and so saw nothing but the two of them freezing up and looking about. With Zeigfied being vulnerable he went in for a head strike to end this abomination and cut off his new head with a swift cut. But as he pushed back on his heel to strike a viscous shriek came from nearby and with barely a second to spare he leaped back as a javelin struck into the dirt. Looking in the direction is came from he saw a pack of eight fierce flying creatures with green skin fly past. On their backs he saw small blue figures and as they swooped around they came back. Looking ahead he saw the javelins in their hands. Celedron snapped back to reality as the first javelin came down and he too saw the Terradons. Noticing the Skinks he realized what they were.
"It's the Lizards." He says as another javelin flies towards Zeigfied. "Stay back they're after Him." Celedron says backing off as the Terradons make their attack against the Chaos Champion

"Quani, tebara!" Cried Qua-zital as the riders came over the trees to bare witness to the dueling combatants below. With the magical energies swirling it was like a slight heat based haze was over them. Making it slightly wavy to stare at from above. One Skink threw a Javelin which narrowly missed. Qua-zital's order was to attack and one did just that though his accuracy was a little off. As they flew on past they did a loop and came back around trying to alter their trajectory to take out the Chaos Warrior that gave off such a foul presence before they would go down to retrieve the ones they had to retrieve. Through either the will of Nahwa-mundi or their determination or training the Skinks were able to ride the Terradons with easy. Maybe these animals were more tamed then they thought. Or maybe they too had a joint sense of purpose. Either way Qua-zital and Chi-noee were at least decent riders for this one mission.

"Kai'chuq-xa!" Screeched the ancient Shaman upon his shared terradon as the blinding strobes wreathed across his scaled form. Pulsating bolts wrapped themselves across Supa-kheti's oak rod before they were abruptly propelled toward Zeigfied, who gazed at the encircling birds of prey above as the alarmingly wet muck glued his legs to the ground. The bolt was point blank -- thrusted toward the Chosen as though he was merely a heavily armoured duck. A cold slither crept over his peerless body; within the blinding orb Zeigfied saw the contemptuous face of a giant toad, but he knew for certain that this was not just any creature within the jungle. The Chosen's jeweled eyes widened, realizing that he'd caught the ire of the Slann.

"Begone, Daemon-slave." Nahwa echoed, his cascading tone oozing like venom that coursed through Zeigfied's veins, themselves glowing white hot with agony as the beam of lightning met with the Chosen's body. The flames danced across his skin, tearing his matter asunder and bursting his rodent head into flames. So great was the power of Azyr that even the mutant blade gripped across his gauntlet now wailed in an increasing tone of falsetto, before the living hilt finally exploded. Even then, the transmuted blade was cast aside as a primitive, yet oddly effective javelin pierced into his arm. Other sharpened projectiles soon joined their large, armoured target as Zeigfied found himself mercilessly pelted by poison-laden punctures which - like the bolt which lapped across him earlier - refused to heal.

Zeigfied panicked; his link to the Dark Pantheon became severed as he felt his life slowly ebb away. Both an unconscious Anglermaw and a shellshocked Hans found themselves plucked by the remaining terradon riders, somehow linked with an uncomprimising synergy as they co-operated in total silence. They flew back to the Temple-city, leaving Chi-noee, Qua-zital, and the shared steed of Supa-kheti and Mokte to aid the Elven duo.

The Terradon's second wave was more effective. Javelins came down and pierced the ground around him missing by mere centimeters. Though when one hit the mark it's effect was known. The venom was that of one of the many poisonous toads of the jungle. Enough to turn a trolls hit limb to a numb lump of flesh it's paralyzing capabilities would have some effect if they entered the bloodstream. After this wave several swooped down in the turmoil and picked up Hans and the unconscious Anglermaw. Celedron and Falderan watched as Zeigfied was struck by a mighty bolt of magic that seemed to reduce him to a quivering mess. Fal was the only one of the two to notice when the others were picked up but before he could respond they were already flying off.

When the bolt came down Celedron could feel an intense magical energy behind it the likes of which could rival the strongest Loremasters and maybe even overpower them. Looking up he saw a single Terradon near the back which had an almost glow about it. The rider on the back was a Skink that seemed to pulse with magical energy, almost like a conduit. Though he then noticed something odd. A Saurus of different colouring sat with him. As most Terradon's left three, including the one with the mage and Saurus remained. Despite nothing being said Celedron knew they were here with the intent to kill Zeigfied and he would happily accept help. With the daze of the magical assault over Fal put his blade towards Zeigfied who know seemed on the brink of death. His arm was impaled and his body smoked and steamed from the fury of the lightning bolt.
"If the End Times are to come soon, you for one won't live to see it!" Fal mocks as he and Celedron rush forward with blades in hand. Taking advantage of their weakened foe Fal would go for his throat and Celedron his chest and the intent of impaling his tainted heart.

With their initial strike done and two of the four required individuals retrieved Chi-noee and Qua-zital drew a Javalin each and circled around the battle as the Elves went in for if it hit would be a killing blow on this puppet of the Great Enemy. The Skinks were calm and ready to throw their projectiles should the blow not kill of he somehow pull away.

A red, wretched gurgle bubbled from Zeigfied's furred beak, Celedron's twinkling blade of ithilmar plunging deep into a slight chink within the Chosen one's armour and into his stomach. The agonal raving from Zeigfied's bellowing voice became abruptly silenced, replaced with morbid hackings of blood onto the debased icons that became charred by magical, purifying flames. Shyish winds diluted the great pyre into a magenta hue, and macabre, skeletal figures seemed to dance among the brimstone waves. The abomination looked down toward his dribbling wound with beady, jeweled eyes -- a throbbing fountain of blood halted by flame and flamberge. Then he looked back toward his attacker, gazing deep into his contemptuous eyes with a vile sneer of his own, masked under the dye of red.

"I will be back." Zeigfied barely mustered the strength to utter his warning, almost muted under constant squelches of ichor, sputtering from his rodent incisors. It was after this that Falderan's sword caressed against his embering flesh, transmuting the Chosen's leaking blood into a strange, tar-like gloop. He tried to gasp for a few seconds, but his devotion to that ruthless, fickle pantheon had clearly failed him; he dropped dead.

His death, however, was not enough to dull the volatile winds that still coursed across the blackened acres like a howling wraith of ruby. Supa-kheti's airborne steed swayed toward the Elven duo, hurled down under the ethereal tendrils of Shyish. The shaman panted; Azyr could not hold it's tumultuous sibling at bounds for too long -- the influence clearly took it's toll on the elderly Skink.

Mokte brandished his savage array of teeth in an act of frustration; it was a mere few seconds later that even the wild terradon had begun to capitulate to the power of Shyish. The Saurus beckoned the Elves over with a heave of his crimson arm.

"Cho, Conqua! Over here, Warm-blood!" He shouted in his own simple tongue, before roaring once more in broken, unrehearsed 'Manspeak.'

Caught up in the moment of fury and purpose the two Elves were lost in the mere instance as they struck down the revived champion. Piercing his gut and removing his head the threat of returning was not one the Elves took lightly or cared for. Seeing it as an empty threat as his lifeless body fell to the ground and chaotic winds of Shyish swirled around like a raging sea. Some seconds passed before the two took note of the area. The sounds of whistling wind, screeching Terradons and crackling magic filled their senses with the smell of Zeigfied's body. It was the sudden voice of the red Saurus that truly brought them to reality. Looking to it with confusion neither one expected to hear understandable words from it's feral mouth. Taking note of the crazed winds Celedron felt a deep stinging pain in his head as the raw power of Shyish coursed through the area. His staph lost in the battle and sword coated in blood he stumbled around clasping his skull with one hand and his sword in another. Fal looked on in confusion. Feeling his blade shiver gently in the roaring winds he sheathed it and wrapped an arm around the Loremaster to help him towards the Saurus. Following it seemed mad but they did come in and help them kill Zeigfied so they seem to be on their side and with the magic maelstrom forming around them Fal was taking any excuse he could to get out.

Shyish's ethereal tendrils rose like some beast from the deeps; from the air hazed a cry of pain that seemed to crackle across the sky in the sound of a dying beast. Eventually, the amethyst hue condensed into a large orb, swirling by the charred remains of the Abomination while Falderan and Celedron mustered by the impatient Mokte. Although the Saurus himself - a creature instinctively shunned by his fellow spawn - was strangely unaffected by the cyclone of dark magic, the elderly bones of his friend and companion were dominated under Shyish's influence.

"Good, Warm-blood! Very good!" Shouted Mokte to the Elves, his baritone snarl barely drowned out under the agonal wails. "We fly to Nahwa! Get on quick." As furious as the masked lizard was to leave this razed land, he struggled to avert his eyes from the blackening eye, wreathing and coalescing within the centre of these killing grounds. The terradon became startled for a moment as one final scream rattled the greyed trees, trembling as their roots became shrunken and dead thanks to the wind of death. Zeigfied's head suddenly became alarmingly light within Celedron's grasp. By the time both Elves had saddled upon Mokte's startled steed, the Rodent skull had disintegrated entirely -- the ashes that once joined to create living matter fused with the orb.

The purple jewel floated above Zeigfied's headless body, a burnt hulk of embering stakes and spears. Mokte spurred his terradon to take flight, caring far more for the life of his companion than remaining within these grounds. He left the mummified dead to join with the earth as the four figures swayed through the skies, rendevousing with Qua-zital and Chi-noee.

"We return... to the temple, to the home of Nahwa." The shaman uttered as he regained what little strength his still carried in his body. Strangely enough, his words were spoken in the common tongue, toward the Elves.

The crystalline mass of magic cracked in the air and radiated the taint of death with such intensity that Celedron felt his mind throbbing behind his eyes. He bit his lip till blood drew and his eyes were barely open as a throbbing pain continued just behind his eyes. What slits he opened saw the chaotic turmoil of magic like the brightest of flames and they blinded him as they seared his mind with intense pain. Being put on the back of the Terradon he dug his fingers into the leather saddle that adorned the flying animals back. Without any hesitation the beast took off into the air. Fal was quick behind as he jumped on the other Terradon with it's rider. Feeling tentative about riding the animal but finding it more appealing then the strange formation of magic that seemed to be devouring Zeigfied's body.

With several mighty flaps the Terradons flew off into the sky and above the trees. The vast jungles of Lustria stretched for miles in every direction. Through the motion sickness of being in the air Fal managed to hold in his recent meal and just see the coastline in the far distance. The Elven ships like specks on the horizon. The primeval mist that covered the jungle and roars of beasts gave it an even more feral yet beautiful feel from above. With the Elves nearby they heard the Skink speak of one called Nahwa. The language was a twist on Riekspiel but the two Elves could easily understand. Fal looked to the blue reptile confused.
"Didn't know you spoke Riekspiel." He says. "Or some variant." He was still coming down from the adrenaline of the fight and seeing the battlefield long gone they rejoined the other Terradons. "Where are you taking us?" Fal asks as they fly across the vast wilderness. The purple energy long gone in the distance as it cracked the fabric of reality with flashes of power before fading.

Neither of the Lizardmen bothered to answer Falderan's observation on their knowledge of Reikspiel. Mokte cared not; Supa-kheti could not. "Tzlipectl..." Muttered the Shaman as their steed coursed through the clouds, leaving the magenta strobe to hopefully dim. Supa-kheti still felt the tendrils of Shyish wrap across his scales, like the shocking tentacles of a jellyfish lathered across his shedded skin. His old husk could not endure as the others here could; the Skink's years were already numbered as it was -- tonight had most likely shortened his service to Lord Nahwa most considerably.

"T-the Slann ssseek... audience..." He barely croaked. "Lord Nahwa hasss a use f-for...-"

A short rasp interrupted Supa-kheti's sentence as he wheezed to dull the pain, but no respite came. Instead, the Skink would clutch desperately at his meek neck, his body wrapped under huge arms of his Saurus companion.

"Supa-kheti! Ataxa chuq chaq?! (Master! Cursed magic?!)" Mokte asked in his native tongue, increasingly worried for the Skink's life. Even as their steed swam through these nebuluous clouds -- away from those cursed grounds, no matter how close they reached to the domain of Lord Nahwa -- Shyish would not concede.

Then - as they came into view of the temple-city, a clay metropolis of elevated temples and ziggurats, of breathtaking waterfalls that trailed on a crash course from the Spine of Sotek, once again the voice from before the battle hazed deep into the minds of the four, curdling their temples with unholy vibrations that originated straight from the realm of chaos itself. Perhaps it drilled into the minds of the other Skinks, too. Were Qua-zital and Chi-noee so exempt from the touch of chaos as they too fled from the orb?

"I applaud your fortune, to watch such prey escape certain death always sets my soul racing, even with the toll you have given to live." Chuckled the voice, no longer confined to the destroyed Ziggurat, but instead swaying through the sky like the shade of some invisible wraith. "Tell me, Sapherian. As you cringe before the magics of Tzeentch, does it trouble you to cast aside the lives your kin?"

Celedron's ears perked up and position straightened at the mention of the Slann. As they got further from the corrupted ziggurat the terrible pain inside his mine lessened till it was mainly a nuisance he could tolerate. Taking several slow deep breaths he remembered what he had learnt of the Slann during his studies. As he had heard it they were the leaders of the Lizardmen. The most powerful magic wielders in the world and some have said the pinnacle of the Old Ones great designs. It didn't take much to figure out this was due to the Ark and that Chaos tainted warrior they fought. Something bigger was upfront if they were invited to audience. As Celedron was aware no Elf had been invited to speak with the Slann in his many century lifespan. Usually they remained isolated until an audience was requested and even that was exceptionally rare, to try and do diplomacy with the Lizardmen was a treacherous game.

Qua-zital and Chi-noee had adjusted their flight plan to flank the new 'guests' as well as Mokte and Supa-Kheti. Staying close as they saw the discomfort in the Priests movements while hearing the strain on his old voice. The Skinks remained close and kept their eyes on the skies for any signs of danger. Either from local wildlife or other Chaotic forces. The swirling winds in the air gave off a light aurora of blue and pink in the sky that to those less aware of the signs of magic would seem beautiful. But most Lizardmen could understand a bad omen such as this and it was sensed by the Terradons as they glided lower to avoid flying directly into the swirling colours.

As if someone shouted out to him Celedron darted his head above and around as he felt a malign presence. Supa-Kheti's tense movements and frilled crest told Celedron he too felt it. A moment later the same voice from the ziggurat was in his head. Coming from no distinct direction. If anyone else heard it was trivial as the words were directed to him. Taunts of sacrificing his kin on this mission and words arrayed to make him question his way. The voice caused the pain in his mind resume stronger but with their distance it from the source it was still tolerable.
'Not for your defeat Daemon.' He thought in reply. Keeping focused he was silent as he closed his eyes to focus and keep the entity from creeping it's tendrils into his mind and soul. 'My kin gave their lives for your downfall and I assure you for every one of them that perished I shall replay the damage tenfold.'

Maniacal laughter vibrated through the air, fizzling the ears of the riders and their newfound companions with white noise. Mokte furiously swung his helmeted maw from side, eager to tear into the sinew of a foe that he could not see, baring a violent array of claws that penetrated through his golden fists. Supa-kheti could take the demon's presence no longer; his head hung crooked in the fluttering air as he lost consciousness. Not even the sight of the city could save him now -- ancient, levitating structures beheld as the clouds soon parted for the home of Nahwa.

"Elf! I hail from the realm of chaos, my soul is never forfeit!" The gutteral voice slurred from the abyss, his tone deafening the stinging wisps of high wind that slapped across the bodies of these land walkers.

"But the the souls of your kindred, they are with Slaanesh, now. I can hear them wail; they are being digested, little Loremaster, they're crying out!"

The creature's horrid tone was mocking as he spoke, insipid impressions of weeping and wails laced among his laughter.

Then - with the strike of a crackling bolt within the clouds - the voice was snuffed out. It's abrupt muting was immediate, no echo preceded the silence, now replaced with a resonating hum, one which seemed to perforate the minds of the riders with an aura of reassurance. Mokte was becalmed as Supa-kheti's sleeping body fell onto his claws.

"In the Home of the Lord, no slave of the pantheon is welcome." Croaked the ominous tongue of Nahwa...

...And all of a sudden, the uneasy band found themselves brung many miles closer to Nahwa's holy domain, their steeds now latched upon large, saurian statues embossed upon the levitating arches.

The screams of torment ran out through his mind and reverberated in his very soul as the presence gave the sounds of tormented souls to Celedron. The screams and cries sounding just like his friends and family. Their anguished wails bringing him to the brink of screaming as he barely retained his sanity.
'Try harder you bastard.' He replies mentally. His words shrill as he sweat. The tension of the situation building within him and burning at his mind like a hot iron prod. It took everything he had not to respond with full blown emotion. Something he knew all too well the Daemon desired. They fed off of it and if the Dark Prince was related to this being then he would gain the most from such an outburst.

Fal watched as his fellow Elf visibly sweat at the strain he could see. Where the voice wasn't in his mind he felt the tingle of magic in the air. Like a chill shock on his skin it made his hair stand on end. He shivered at the sensation on his body. But just as the clouds broke and the vast floating structures of the Lizardmen came into sight a resounding clap of thunder and bolt of lightning lit the sky. Celedron winced as the voice was then gone. The Elves were greeted by another voice. This one of a deep and slow tone that commanded obedience. As they looked ahead and Celedron took a breath of relief as his mind was freed from the taint of Chaos he looked ahead at the grand city, built long ago by the creators of Lizardmen and Elves alike.

The Terradons swooped by and landed to allow the occupants to land on the large stone platform. Qua-zital and Chi-noee did another lap and dismounted once all the 'guests' and their fellow Cold Bloods were on solid ground. The group were not greeted without caution. A large group of twelve Saurus Temple Guard with gold and obsidian Halberds stood at the ready with weapons raised at the Elves. Fal and Celedron raised their hands as their and remained calm as the unfeeling eyes of the guard looked them over. It wasn't until Qua-zital gave them a reassuring nod that they calmed and moved beside the Elves. Each one had two of the massive Saurus standing either side with them. Fal pondered on the fate of Hans and Anglermaw. Since they were taken he assumed they'd be alive. At least Hans. They were escorted inside as the Terradons flew off to their roosts.

The Temple Guard - rowed parallel to eachother every few steps - these living automatons barely reared their heads toward the newcomers as they dismounted their steeds. A feeble scoff wheezed from their muzzles, eerily content to watch the starry horizon like ancient, statuary models. It was hard for Mokte to stomach that this existence was what the Old Ones themselves expected of him, had he not been different, 'blighted' as his peers would say. Supa-kheti would deny the crimson one this worry, however; the Shaman believed Mokte simply carried a different purpose from the other Saurus. As far as Nahwa-mundi was concerned, Mokte was not a mutation, but a 'contingency...'

...Were the masters from the Heavens watching down from the sky, weeping at the plight of their children still? Was the making of Mokte predetermined..?

Such thoughts were annulled while the terradons flapped away without warning, Nahwa's psychic grasp of subservience ebbed away from their primal minds as their usefulness became redundant, any trace of domestication seemed to regress also; the beasts pecked and squarked angrily at their rivals as their shapes became blurred in the distance. Supa-kheti's withering body remained clutched by his Saurus companion as a frightened mother would latch upon her careless child. So long as stifled breaths emanated from the Shaman's wrinkled beak, Mokte felt reassured. As his worries faded away with the simmering hum of arcane resonance (in no small part thanks to Nahwa's influence upon the city), he reared his figure toward the Elven duo, the golden trim masking his figure glinting in the moonlight.

"Y-You..." He stuttered, slightly underconfident in the tongue spoke outside his homeland. "You are in Tzlipectl, home to great Slann, Lord Nahwa. My name, I am Mok-te. I spawned five cen-too-ries, but Nahwa call me here, he summon you too."

The group stood before the cavernous entrance toward Nahwa-mundi's chamber, guarded by two Saurus wielding huge obsinite halberds that rivalled a troll in their length, and the stopping power to skewer right through their rocky hides from stomach to spine. They were colourfully adorned with feathered headresses, plucked from various birds of prey that nested within the jungles, and their salivating maws were masked by a bleached helm, likely the trophy of a prestigous hunt; the head of a beast. Of the few emotions the Saurus were capable of, among them was pride. Were such fancy adornments worn by a mere man, he'd be little more than a moving target. But these cerulean beasts were constructs of abject terror; black powder struggled to dent their skin, arrows and bolts merely pinged off their scales.

Mokte's keen ears caught the echo of a chitter, grating within his mind. He knew immediately it's origin, and he resisted the bubbling frenzy that urged him to tear into the Skaven's neck with his tusk-like teeth. The rowed guards most likely shared this urge, with even greater desire most likely. But to do so was a crime against Lord Nahwa; he'd brought the Skaven here for his own objectives.

"By the Sigmar-Rat, it's as dark as an Undercity in 'ere-yeah" Anglermaw whined, his voice carried like a gutteral chime toward the temple entrance.

Celedron kept his sword sheathed to his side and walked with the guard beside him with a tall dignity often seen by his kind. His face was stern but went to something of surprise when he heard the voice of Anglermaw within. The fact the rat was still alive was a surprise to him but not overly unexpected. Still though he could see the frustration on the Saurus. They snarled and growled as their eyes moved in the direction of the doorway and back to follow the Elves. It frustrated them to let Anglermaw in alive. Yet they had to put aside their predatory urges and obey those above them. It was fascinating to see such beasts with emotionless eyes experience such rage and contempt. Despite Dragons such cold blooded beasts tended to show nothing more than basic, primordial instinct in their eyes.

These observations and subtleties were not focused on for Falderan. Unlike the scholar Celedron he had a more practical interest here. Such as if they were brought here as friends or prisoners. The situation would suggest friends but the guard did prisoners. Though caution was to be expected. Especially if they were being presented to this Slann they kept speaking of. Fal kept his hand from his blade to risk antagonizing the on edge Temple Guard that stood stoically if not rather annoyed with the presence of Anglermaw and likely the Elves themselves to a lesser extent. Anglermaw's survival was surprising but also not unexpected as Fal came to a similar conclusion to Celedron. As they were directed inside numerous Skinks and Saurus came from several side rooms as they made their way to a meeting chamber. Ready for whatever purpose they were brought here for.

"Whining Skaven dog!" Snarled Mokte, his grimace hidden under the golden glimmer of his helm. "Lord Nahwa must have a plan for him. He obey or the Lord will destroy his soul." His upon Supa-kheti's withering form tightened ever so slightly as the Saurus reared himself to the luminous cavern, laden upon the wind was an accapella of sharp, hateful hisses that coursed from within. Anglermaw was an unwelcome eyesore within the court of the Old Ones, perhaps it was by extraordinary fortune then, that this 'Lord Nahwa' held an iota of use for him. For even the greatest, most terrible warlords and villains of the Ratfolk -- to address the Slann was to court suicide...

...Mokte began his saunter inward, past the expressionless Temple Guard, whose extravagance belied their killer instinct. As his auric trim became bathed in the light of glowing fungi, he was sure the Elf-spawn were following behind.

"XA'KOTA AX!" The shrill wail of a Skink chieftain vibrated through the tunnel, the same phrase followed once again by another member of Nahwa's council. High pitched cackles of agreement dominated the circular court, reverberating screeches across the floating cavern turning this chamber of meditation toward little more than an unruly forum. As Mokte emerged from the shadows, he saw two figures languishing upon the stonework at the mercy of these Skink statesmen; the sight of a Skaven held within the very heart of Tzlipectl was enough to send these usually mellow folk into a state of barbaric outrage. Anglermaw however paid only ignorance to their snide babble; they spoke in a tongue that the Sea-Rat compared to as gibberish. He was more inclined to rub away the ruby spittle that leaked upon the fringes of his whiskers. Anglermaw did not remember much of his encounter with Zeigfied, but he was oddly humble enough to concede that he got a good hiding from the Chosen. A blunt, metal pain smothered across his beak as he rubbed the matted fur; it was as though he'd been hit point blank with an iron cudgel.

"Gah, can't even smell-catch the bloody musk for Rat's sake!" Complained Anglermaw to the catatonic fellow at his side, his words drowned out under a cacophony of alien insults.

"Sssacrifice!"
"Sssotek desires blood. Kill both warmbloods!"
"Old Ones sssave us. Dirty, ugly little Ratman here!"

Hans crumbled upon the tan platform as the Lizardmen unleashed their scorn, gazing toward his judges with an eerie, traumatised stare. The council was shaped in the guise of a horseshoe as fourteen diminutive reptiles raved across the clay slabs above, each one embossed with the character of some forgotten idol and guarded by the stark image of a beastly Saurus guardian (ironically the more reasonable creatures here, their primal hatred hidden by their silence). One slab stood empty, for this position was reserved for Supa-kheti, who slept incapacitated within the trunk-like arms of Mokte. Within the middle of this horseshoe sat the lord of the city himself: A large, lethargic mass of slime and jade scales surveyed his inferiors with two blank eyes of contempt. The Reiklander's vision soon met with that of this unfathomable creature; a sudden need to submit suddenly overthrew the once snuffed mind of the little man as though a hot iron had been pressed upon his spine, praying upon the clay surface in apprehension, which still seemed unshared by the Sea-Rat.

"...Silence!" A shout boomed from the unmoving lips of the Slann. The heated calls for sacrifice became abruptly halted. "...There shall be no blood spilt upon this city, not this day... Warmblood or not... You shall cease this madness, lest I order your bodies offered to Sotek..."

The council sniffled in concession, slinking back into their seats in a show of humility.

"...The Great Plan is rife with urgent contingencies... Dark times have called for... dark measures..."

The clicks and hisses that made up the language of the Lizardmen would sound like a bunch of ravings of feral beasts like those in the jungles outside the city. Though to the politically entangled Celedron he could recognize the squabbling of politicians. Having spent years observing court of both his local nobles and even the court of Phoenix King Finubar as he dealt with the dealings and plights of the ever 'polite' members of his court. Listening to such things for decades Celedron knew the types of arguments even without comprehending the language. Scornful worlds and threats were bitter and as they approached closer the direction of the words could easily be seen. Gazes directed at Anglermaw and likely words of pure hate and viscous venom that if they were spells would kill the rat on the spot. But in the center of the curved seating arrangement was the cities leader. The large, jade Slann Nahwa-mundi they had been informed of. Without even making eye contact Celedron felt an intense magical presence within the creature. Magic that dwarfed his teachers and himself to such a degree he felt a cold sweat run down his neck.

Fal was noticeably less inclined to what the Lizardmen were saying. He was busy looking over the area. Dozens of the armoured Temple Guard sat about the chamber as silent sentinels. Each one could resemble a statue and if it wasn't for the fainted twitching of neck muscles, eyes faintly glistening and slight saliva on their jaws he would think such a thing. The area was well defended and that wasn't even taking into account the likely countless Saurus that sat out of view and in the city. If they wished to kill them here they would have no chance of escaping alive. Taking some down with them, maybe. But certainly not surviving. As they were brought up to stand with Anglermaw and Hans Fal felt a sigh of relief as he saw the man alive. Anglermaw living was good too but his attitude towards the rat and his well being was slipping away with each hour. In front of him was the Slann they were told of. Even without being able to sense magic and control it like Celedron Fal could feel the magical pressure given off by the creature. Similar to Zeigfied it left a sensation on his skin. But this one felt more like a soft mist than the oily mess of dark magic. As the Slann began to spoke the two Elves stood at attention listening to his words that they somehow heard fluently in their minds.

Nahwa's bulging pupils swerved ever so subtly as he surveyed his court with a panoramic gaze. He could feel the presense of each soul, almost lathering across his own, though it was the aura of the Loremaster who held greater resonance among the crowd; their collective conscience seemed to meet for a split second before dispersing back into the winds as they acknowledged eachother's prowess in the hidden lores. To Nahwa's own surprise, the distraught young man who bowed before him held some magical resonance also. He was no magister by any means, for Nahwa stared into the stifled past of Hans Brunswick, who lived his life barred from the dangers of the world. But perhaps within this Reiklander far from home laid the foundations of a wizard? It was a curious thought - but at this desperate hour - a wholly irrelevant one.

The Slann raised his hands above the cerulean pool which stood at the very centre of the court - his squamous arms seemed emaciated when compared to his ballooning form.

"Heed me all. From this point on, we commune in the tongue of Man." Hazed the echoing Slann. "Loremaster, Mokte, and he, the fruit of two races... come forth.

"...Of two races?" Anglermaw and Hans both collectively questioned in their silence. They both held little idea of what the Slann had meant, even while they knew the huge creature had obviously referred to Falderan. The Student never felt the need to question the fellow's heritage; he never even bothered to question why an Elf would carry an Imperial surname. Anglermaw on the other hand simply found the revelation to be a quaint token. Despite his indifference to the visage to this Mage-priest - a living manifestation of raw magical prowess - he did hold a great amount of surprise as to the fact he still drew breath. From his mutiny at the bay of Luccini, to the skirmish with Zeigfied. He, Hans and Falderan had danced with death far too many times this fortnight.

But as Anglermaw brooded, he was filled with sudden astonishment as he recognised a familiar shape that manifested from the waters of Nahwa's scrying pool. An aquatic parody of the Ark itself, bringing the injured Sea-Rat to his feet, the dirty pain along his clotted muzzle seemed to vanish. He hadn't seen the dreadnaught in weeks, but he recognised his prize instantly, crewless and inert.

The surrounding Skinks did not share Anglermaw's rapture, their heads slinking away with a snide hiss toward the monstrous Ark of the Skaven.

"Do you remember this vessel, Sunami Anglermaw, Claw-Admiral of Clan Skurvy?" Asked the croaking Slann, despite already knowing the answer; Anglermaw's matted paws swaying within the watery puppet, burdened by disbelief.

"Ye... Ye know where it-it is-yeah..?" Sputtered the overcome Sea-Rat.

"It is inert, hidden beneath the bowels of the earth... It's ownership is contested between the thralls of Pestilens and Skryre."
"So-then, it's true-right, yeah. Skrolk and Claw be wantin' the Ark for themselves. But what'da Lizard-things like yeself want with Skavenstuff?"
"That question will be answered once you retrieve your birthright. Anglermaw."

The council gasped in utter disbelief at Nahwa's words.

The statement of speaking Riekspiel, even if patchy was a helpful thing to do on their behalf as it was the only language the group shared fluently. Though the reference to his mixed blood drew a scowl from Fal. Celedron had known at least in part of this but anything said now would only confirm it. Anglermaw and Hans would likely be completely unaware. If they knew the full extent of what he was then they may treat him rather differently. In truth Fal himself wasn't completely aware. But he knew of his bastard father and what he did on that night, many decades ago. The reminder built up a fury within him that wanted release. Though such outburst would be deadly to him. Letting a snarl go towards Anglermaw who's ears perked at the news and a smirk on his snout gave the hybrid an added loathing for him. The following discussion on the Ark and those contesting it was something of ill reform to everyone there but Anglermaw. None of them bar the Skaven had seen it in full form so seeing it up close for the first time, even in small size, gave them added scale to the threat.

The words of 'Skryre and Pestilens' was not something that came familiar to any of them. But according to Anglermaw's response they were likely other clans of Skaven they had heard about. The rest seemed to contain little of note until Nahwa announced that Anglermaw needed to reclaim the Ark much to the gasps of disapproval. Both Fal and Celedron were confused by this. They had assumed it would be destroyed not returned to the rodent. Celedron wasn't going to let this go without clarification. Taking the moment of pause in speech he spoke. Giving a bow of respect he raised his voice to be heard.
"Nahwa-mundi your grace." He says with the tact of an official. "It may be a miscommunication but did you say it should go back to Anglermaw?" He asks pointing out the Skaven. He kept his distance and didn't advance to get only the slightest of growls from the Temple Guard who were ever cautious.