The Unholy Legions of Anti-Sanctus Chaotica, a Warhammer Online Destruction Regiment, A Night of Blood

**NOTE** This was written long before Dark Elf classes were announced thus Raulen is an Executioner.

[align=center]A Night of Blood[/align]
I stood patiently behind a tree awaiting further orders from Lord Sordin. All of us had gathered in the exact location he instructed, and waited until the exact time he ordered. The Soul Eater was late.

As I glanced around at my so called comrades I noticed the lone Orc mulling around and grunting impatiently. I stared at him for several moments, studying the simple beast, watching his every movement, the clumsy way he shuffled his feet, the oafish way his head hung from his shoulders, the brutish way he slumped his shoulders in his agonizing boredom.

“Disgusting creatures, aren’t they?” A voice whispered to me in the tongue native to the Druchii. I casually turned to the speaker, knowing who it was already for there was only one other Dark Elf present at this dark gathering “Only good for cannon fodder.” Zenshen hissed in the Sharp tones of the Druchii language.

“They serve their purpose” I replied in the common tongue. I had no intention of mingling with those peasants. I walked over to a nearby tree and leaned against it. Where is the Soul Eater, he is very late.

It seemed the night was growing darker by the minute. It became difficult to see even a few feet past one’s own eyes. Even for a Druchii it became difficult to examine the ragged bunch of soldiers that had congregated here. The thought of undertaking such a covert mission with only one other Dark Elf made my stomach turn. If the Soul Eater would have sent only Dark Elves here the mission would be accomplished without any complications but none the less, there were Orcs and, above all, Chosen to deal with. Clumsy oversized creatures; never meant to be included in anything that required any level of stealth or deception. They are impatient, battle hungry and far too quick to attack. Even now I can see blood lust in the Chosen’s eyes. But because of the nature of the mission they will serve their purpose when we breach the walls of the keep. That is if the Orc can keep his mouth shut until then.

“Where iz da Magus?!” The Orc, Spikey, spat out. “’E sed be ‘ere at ‘dis time an’ ‘e ain’t ‘ere!”

I frowned beneath my helmet. The Orc is actually right. It is odd that someone like Sordin would be this late to his own congregation. Was he that arrogant?

“Surely you can wait a few minutes more than asked. Patience can be a powerful weapon.” A voice called from the dark. It was a cold voice, which could freeze the heart of a bright wizard with a single word, one which gave no sign of emotion, one that could only belong to one man.

“You’re late” hissed the Magus that was already waiting in the group.

“So I am, so I am” replied Sordin. He appeared out of the darkness like an apparition; floating towards the group on his blasphemous disk which was adorned with jutting spear like extremities and excreting horrendous cries. He himself was adorned with ornate armor and an enchanted Magus mask. Atop his head he wore a ridiculous hat, one which looked as if it should be atop the head of a Witch Hunter “I had business with the Dark Lords. I trust you all have been studying your missions carefully.”

“We had plenty of time” the angry magus spat defiantly. Sordin paid no mind to the lesser Magus.

“I will not repeat what I have already taken the time to write for you” continued the Soul Eater “Fail and you shall die. Succeed and we will be one step closer to having power greater than any of you could imagine!” Sordin grinned behind his mask, he knew something he wasn’t telling his pawns. “I will leave it to you to decide amongst yourselves the best way to accomplish your mission.” And with that Sordin faded back into the darkness, not a sound followed him, only the feeling that he was in fact gone.

“I say wez goes and charge ‘dem stuntiez an’ kill ‘em all!” the Orc suggested, looking proud like he had just come up with the most brilliant battle plan ever devised. What is worse the Chosen were nodding in agreement.

“Yes and be felled by the arrows that will be loosed as they scream for help.” Retorted the Magus; still grumpy about his encounter with Sordin.

“Well wut ya’ got on yer mind?” growled the Orc, not pleased that his brilliant strategy was torn to shreds so easily.

“If we shoot them with arrows and magic they will call for help, if we charge them, they call for help. It seems as if we have no other choice than to let the keep know we are here…” commented a Marauder.

“Why do we even have to kill those damn Dwarfs? Can we not just avoid them and go straight for keep?” chimed in a Chosen.

“No, did you even bother reading the missive you got from Sordin? The only way into that keep is over that bridge, which is being repaired by Dwarfs! And unless you think we can just walk by unnoticed, we have to kill them.” Zenshen spat at nobody in particular. “Me and Raulen will sneak up behind the Dwarfs and take them out quietly, seeing as were the only ones capable of being silent.”

“Dat no fair!” the Orc growled “I kin be quiet too”

Zenshen ignored the Orcs remarks and continued on. “When we have taken care of the Engineers we will return and start planning our assault on the keep.”
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Me and my brother Druchii departed from the group and made our way silently towards the unsuspecting Dwarfs. I anticipated with a malicious glee the bloodshed that was to be spilled; of the Dwarfs crying out in vein as I slice their throats. I began planning it out in my head as I effortlessly weaved through the bushes and around the trees, oh yes, there would be pain.

As we came up on a clearing we could see the camp that the Dwarfs had set up to live in until the repairs were complete. As we moved closer I noticed something was amiss. The usual scruffy, conservative tents of a Dwarf were nowhere to be found. The tents that lay there were elegant and white. Their folds fluttered around with a grace only and Elf craftsman could engineer. The excitement which was already coursing through my veins increased ten-fold. These were not Dwarf engineers… They were High Elf craftsmen! I shot a glance over at my brother Druchii. I could see the excitement, and the hate built up in his eyes. Asur blood would be spilled tonight.

We stalked up to the camp ever so cautiously. The Asur are the cousins of the Druchii, and therefore are much more skilled combatants than the clumsy and oafish Dwarf Engineers. This complicated things. We would have to be far more careful as to how we go about silencing the Asur Craftsmen, permanently.

They had only one scout posted. His eyes peered out into the night, watching for any sign of enemies. We moved around to the east side of the small camp to get a clear shot of the lone guard. We had to take him out with only one shot, if we missed he would rouse the other Elves and this mission would be compromised. The scout was in the middle of the camp, so it would not be an easy task. Zenshen, drew his repeater crossbow, it was a wicked looking weapon, slightly longer than a standard Repeater Crossbow, the main stock was exquisitely carved with dark runes, the bow itself arched back to a wickedly sharp point. The seemingly fragile bow was made of a rare wood which grew in Naggaroth, found only in the forests which border the Chaos wastes. This wood was much more durable than that of the empire and was far lighter. The sight on the bow was an elaborate arch and the brow of the weapon. In the hand of a skilled archer, this weapon could easily strike its mark from great distances. Zenshen took careful aim, holding his chin to the butt of the deadly weapon, his finger floating over the trigger for a full minute. Zenshen breathed slowly in holding it for a moment. He squeezed the trigger letting loose a salvo of deadly bolts. One bolt went through the scout’s chest and another through the throat. He fell to the ground gurgling as the blood poured out of his artery in his neck. The bolt must have just missed his heart for he did not die instantly.

I had a rather difficult choice to make. Should I let the scum bleed to death and risk him waking one of his comrades? Or should I just finish him now and spare him the suffering. I decided the latter would be the better choice in such a situation. I walked silently up to the High Elf and drove Blightfang into his heart. Zenshen was already busying himself with the execution of the sleeping Elves. One by one we slaughtered our so called brethren. I took great pleasure in every second. Slaughtering the helpless, destroying those that betrayed us, these scum deserved no more.

“That is the last of them” Zenshen said as he drove a dagger into the heart of a sleeping High Elf. “We should probabl-“

“WAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!”

Zenshen and I spun around in unison. That cry came from our camp.

“God damn Orc!” Zenshen cried out.

“We need to get out of here. Now” I hissed. “It won’t be long until the archers on the walls spot us.”

“Right.” He readily agreed. We darted back towards our small camp. Why did that damn Orc yell like that? What was he thinking if anything? He just made this mission that much more complicated.

We approached the camp and could see a fire in the middle of it. The stench of blood and burning flesh stained the air. Half a dozen human corpses laid in the fire. A scouting party! Sordin said nothing of scouting parties!

Zenshen walked straight up to the Orc “What the hell do you think you’re doing yelling like that! You just told the entire empire we’re here!”

“Dey snucked up on us. Ya’ dun have ta yell at me, wuz only fightin’ dem off!” The thought never occurred to the Orc that he doesn’t have to yell whenever a fight starts.

Zenshen stepped back away from the Orc and sighed. He walked away and sat next to a tree. “What now?”

“We go to plan B. We have to take the ‘secret’ passage way into the dungeon.”

“We can’t take da’ gate like da Soul Eata’ sed?” Spikey asked with ignorance that only an Orc could muster.

“No. The portcullis is closed thanks to your yelling you damn Orc.” Zenshen hissed at Spikey. “We should get going. We only have until dawn to complete the mission.”
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We all moved towards the keep. It was a cold night, so it was difficult to keep a good pace. Well that is it would be if I didn’t have to stay back with the sluggish and overly armored Chosen. We made our way around the north face of the keep, being careful not to be spotted. We had to wade in the river to ensure our position remained as much of a secret as possible. The water was nearly frozen, again it is nothing that a Dark Elf isn’t used to, but the Chosen’s armor seemed to be freezing. “We should probably get out of this water as soon as possible; it seems unnatural and could have a curse placed on it.” We made our way to the flooded passage. About 15 meters in most of the light had vanished, only an eerie silence could be heard above our trodding through the freezing water. Another 10 meters we came across a dead end. A single glowing rune adorned the wall.

“This is the cursed rune that Sordin mentioned in his letter” I whispered “It will ask whoever approaches it a riddle. If you answer correctly then you may pass. If you answer incorrectly then you will die.” I moved toward the rune first.

As I waded up to the seemingly ancient rune a white fog broke the darkness. Thick tendrils of this eerie fog reached towards me, like writhing tentacles they engulfed me. I was unable to move, unable to breathe. All I could see was this thick white mist. The tentacles grew ever tighter. Every ounce of breath left my body. I felt myself slipping from consciousness.

I awoke in a word entirely white. It was completely serene. The silence that engulfed this world was mind numbing. All that could be seen as far as they eye could reach was complete nothingness. Suddenly a ghostly voice broke the silence like a rock shattering a window.

“Give me food, and I will live; give me water, and I will die. What am I?”

I pondered the question for a moment, standing in a world of complete nothingness, nothing to distract me “You are fire” I stated coldly.

“You may pass…” It responded.

With that the white world which engulfed me shattered into millions of pieces, refracting what little light the cave had to offer to give the illusion of countless flower peddles falling to the ground. I noticed I stood on the other side of the wall.

As I waited for the others I wondered who would make it and who would die. Surely Zenshen would pass it with ease. The Chosen and the Orc on the other hand, I would be surprised if the Orc had the wit to pass the test.

As that thought passed my brain a flash of white light broke the eerie darkness of the corridor. To my shock there stood Spikey! His giant, lumbering form silhouetted in the blinding light.

“Hahaha!” Spikey laughed “Dat voice no outsmarts me!”

One by one each and every member of the group appeared in a blinding flash of light. Amazing. All of them had managed to answer the riddle correctly. I wondered to myself, had the riddles been asked according to the intelligence of the questioned? That seemed the only possible explanation for such a miraculous happening.

We moved through the slowly widening corridor, careful with our steps not knowing where the Bright Wizard quarters below us started. We steadily made our way to a dungeon. The captives here were far too miserable to pay any mind to us. They were broken, much like the slaves of Naggaroth. Their ragged bodies slumped over their knees; heads hung low with their long wiry hair covered their faces. Their breathing was heavy and labored. These peasants would not cause any trouble for us. We could hear yelling from the surface. They were in a panic; they didn’t know that the threat was already inside. The fools would not live to see daylight. Every last one of them would die tonight.

The Chosen and Orc knew that battle was drawing close. They thirsted for blood and open battle. They grew tired of this sneaking around; I could see it in the way they moved, they just weren’t made for it.

“There are 40 of them and only 9 of us.” I stated almost sarcastically. “That means we are outnumbered over four to one.”

The Chosen’s eyes lit up. The Orc stood up suddenly, a grin spread across his face. The Marauder drew his weapon and began his grotesque mutations of his arm. “Time fer fightin’??” The Orc asked.

“Indeed it is, Spikey. Show them no mercy. Let none survive. Crush their righteousness into ash! Twist their hope into despair!” I drew Blightfang. It was time for glorious battle.

Spikey crushed down the reinforced door like it was made of straw and let loose a blood curdling battle cry that would freeze even the most stalwart of Dwarfs in his footsteps.

“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH”

Spikey and the Chosen were first to charge out of the door, followed by the marauder. By the time I got out of the door Spikey had already killed two of the guards. Because we were inside the walls, engaged with their fellow soldiers the Archers were forced to hold fire. I made my way to join the blood-thirsty berserkers in battle. Zenshen was busy unloading clip after clip of bolts into the Archers atop the wall.

The armor of the pathetic Empire soldiers mind as well have been paper to the mighty weapons of the Chosen; cackling like the dogs of hell as their blades dug deep into their victims torsos, draining the very essence of life from their souls.

Spikey broke the group and charged towards fortified walls. At this the archers seized the chance to let loose a volley of arrows. Three of them struck their mark, two hit the Orcs shoulders and another hit his gut, despite that he didn’t as much as flinch. He bounded up the stairs two or three at a time. When he reached the top of the stairs he let loose another battle cry and charged the frivolous bowmen, throwing them from the high walls and crushing their skulls with a massive mace. The god-forsaken crunch that the unholy weapon made upon contact with their skulls sent a chill up my spine. It was glorious.

After several minutes of fighting the remaining soldiers broke and fled to the barracks. Lord Nolan, our primary objective, was holed up inside. He was a coward; letting his men die frivolously as he sat in his fortified office and cowered in the corner. Humans are truly pathetic.

“We will need to find a way in,” I stated coldly “the coward of a Lord hides within those stone walls.”

“I’ll check the east tower” stated one of the chosen.

“Fine” I responded without so much as glancing at him. “Would you like me to accompany you?” I grinned under my helmet.

“No,” he responded bitterly as he started walking towards the tower. “I can handle it” he called back over his shoulder. I must have struck a nerve.

“Okay we will all need to split up,” I ordered “Spikey you stay here and make sure nobody leaves the barracks.”

I ordered the other chosen to inspect the west tower and Zenshen to look for any signs of an alternate exit outside and around the barracks. The gate of the massive solid stone building was solid wood, reinforced with iron bindings making it nearly impossible to break down, and we only brought one small explosives to signal Sordin.

I headed to the third tower to the southeast. It was only a few dozen yards away from the east tower, which was much more ornate and armored than the other towers. It likely had some religious significance to it. Maybe Sigmar went through there, or maybe there was an item of extreme value being kept in safe within its fortified walls. Either way the chosen that volunteered to inspect it had no trouble getting through the solid oak door kept closed with iron crossbars; that door wasn’t supposed to ever be opened.

I half heartedly made my way through the food store in the south-east tower, knowing there wasn’t going to be anything of value hidden in such a place. “How are we going to open that door?” I pondered out loud.

I wandered around here for a few minutes pondering the significance of the east tower. What was the point of such a decorated building? And why was it so fortified? As thoughts raced through my mind I tripped over a small barrel of oil, which is used for cooking by lighting a fire. “Well, what do we have here” I grinned and picked up several kegs of the cooking oil and brought it to the barracks gate. “I found the key.” I stated to the ones that already gave up their searches. The only one still missing was the Chosen I sent to the east tower.

“Oh?” questioned the Magus “And what might that be?”

I sloshed several kegs of oil onto the wooden door. “Fire” I answered “We burn their pathetic little door to the ground.

“And how do you suggest we light said fire?” he said arrogantly. “My chaos flames won’t ignite that substance.”

“Ah, my friend you think too closed mindedly” I grinned “I have that all figured out. We use the Bright Wizards.”

“They aren’t going to just light their own door on fire!” a Chosen bellowed.

“They don’t know that it’s covered in oil” I corrected “So they will try to blast anyone standing near the damn thing.”

“We trick them” Stated Zenshen. “I like it. But how are we going to get them up here? I’m amazed they didn’t hear Spikeys battle cries. I thought for sure they would be up here for the battle.”

“You can leave that to me” Grinned one of the Chosen as he trotted back towards the prison. The behemoth strode right back into the stockade from which we initiated our little assault. Moments after he disappeared into the prison a dark cloud began forming inside, seeping out through the cracks in the stone. Its creeping tendrils skulking on the ground like slithering snakes; engulfing anything that came near it. It wreaked blight upon the grass around it; the once lush green bushes in the courtyard near the prison withered, crumbled and turned to ash in its presence. Then a monstrous crash emanated from within the prison. This crash would mute the sound of a dozen thundering Dwarf cannons. It was like hell itself was razing the prison to the ground. “The chosen emerged out of a cloud of dust, grinning a wicked grin. “They should be here shortly.”

And sure enough they were. A mere two Bright Wizards rose from the rubble to face our might. A paltry pair of incompetent wizards of the Empire stood against nine unholy conquerors of ruin. It was more insulting than entertaining.

“You do not belong here, spawns of Chaos” uttered the elder of the two Bright Wizards and cast a sharp look at me. “Be gone lest we turn you to ash.”

“I am afraid that is a bit of a problem” I returned the glare “for you see, we were sent here to kill Lord Nolan, and he seems to be holed up inside of this here barracks.”

“I will not permit the likes of you to enter. We shall annihilate you where you stand, Dark Elf scum!”

“Oh please” I stepped in front of the gate and drew my sword “a few feet back would be far more convenient.” I took a battle stance; my eyes set directly on the elder Bright Wizard. He began mumbling, something about pure fire. His eyes began to glow a deep, rich red. He kept uttering barely audible words. On and on for what seemed like minutes. He then bolted his staff straight into the air, cackling wildly, like an insane man. The air around the staff ignited in an instant and expanded outwards in a ring, making an impenetrable arena of fire around me and my two adversaries. There was nothing to be seen outside of the arena. All there that existed was an immense burning shell that surrounded me. It became clear. I had to destroy the elder wizard and use the whelp as my pawn.

“You are doomed, vile Elf. You cannot hope to defeat me here” the wizard cackled “Fire is my puppet and the world in which we reside in now is pure elemental flame. I control everything here; including your fate.”

With that he raised his hand lazily over his head and dropped it down. At that moment, as if in unison with the wizard’s movement, the flames struck out from above me. A pillar of fiery ruin struck down in my former location; predictable. I easily evaded attack after futile attack the decrepit old wizard could throw at me. Flames struck at me in vain from above and below, from the left and from the right, sometimes both at the same time. But the flames were slow and stupid, like the man who controlled them. I glided around the arena of fire as easily as I could a forest clearing.

“Enough!” The wizard cried. “I will reduce you to ASH!”

The old man raised his hand strenuously, obviously taxing his body far more than it could handle. The flames began to dissipate; slowly at first but gradually growing in rapidity until eventually not a spark remained. But the old man was still cackling.

“Die, wretch!” He screamed maniacally.

With that his hand erupted in fire. Still cackling he punched the earth forcing a fissure and eruptions. Lave spewed out of the cracks in the ground, geysers of molten earth spewed from the ground as if the hell itself was the reservoir. The fissure snaked outwards in all directions, splitting the land around him in the large courtyard. Violent convulsions shook the very foundations of the ground, nearly causing me to lose my balance. This angered me, a mere human made me lose my balance.

“Enough of your fireworks display, Human!” I spat out in pure hatred “Your so called power is no more than a magic trick!”

“You will see my TRUE power soon, Elf! I will destroy you with it!”

I didn’t plan on giving him any time. I darted forwards, moving faster than any mortal could ever hope to achieve; I gripped Blightfang in my right hand and raised it to strike the Wizard. I leaped high into the air; the wizard held his staff up to parry my attack. I brought Blightfang down hard with my right hand and with my left swiftly drew the ghlaith at my hip and drove it into his back, instantly paralyzing him.
Simultaneously the fissures closed and the convulsions ceased.

“M-m-m-master!” cried the younger Bright Wizard.

“Raulen now is hardly the time for formalities” protested Zenshen “there is no audience here to please!”

“Now, now Zenshen, there is always an audience to please” I replied over my shoulder as I sheathed my ghlaith and kneeled next to the paralyzed wizard. He was marvelously terrified. His eyes shook in pure horror as I moved closer and closer to his face. He was more helpless than a small child now.
“P-p-please spare me…” he groaned weakly.

“Should I spare you? After all you are pathetically weak.” I mocked. A glimmer of hope crossed his eyes. “I see it in your eyes; even they are begging me to spare you. A glimmer of hope one might say.” I removed my helmet so he could see my face. “Please, hope I will spare you. There is no greater pleasure for me than twisting it into despair.” I grinned wildly as I watched the glimmer of hope in his eyes turn back into pure terror. “I think I will have your head.”

“Don’t you dare!” screamed the other Bright Wizard. “Don’t you dare lay another finger on him!” His hand already held a fireball in it.

“Ah yes, young apprentice I almost forgot you were here” I taunted “have you been cowering in fear or did you fall asleep watching your masters pathetic display?” I laughed as I brought my sword to my shoulder.

“I will…” he uttered quietly. “I will… KILL YOU!”

He hurled the ball of fire sloppily at me, I easily side stepped and brought my sword down on the defenseless master, removing his head easily in one fluid motion.

The apprentice froze in his steps. He looked as if he was choking on his own tongue. I glanced over at the magus to see if he was interrupting my battle. He merely stood on his disk showing no sign of delight or boredom. Spikey, on the other hand, looked dreadfully bored. I decided to end this quickly. I walked over to the oil covered gate. “One free shot, boy” I taunted “go ahead, avenge your masters death. Kill me; incinerate me; turn me to ash.” I spread my arms wide as if giving him a free target.

He still stood there staring at the body of his master. His fist was clenched so tight that his knuckles were ghost white. He clenched his staff so firmly that he caused blood to ooze out of his hands. A look of rage and horror was painted marvelously upon his face.

“Is that rage you are trembling with” I continued to taunt, “or is it fright?”

The young wizard turned to face me, a look of pure hate in his eyes. He was desperate to kill me; he would become carless, no better than a wild beast. It was perfect. I stood there with my arms still held wide. “Are you going to attack” I questioned “or should I just take your masters head and leave?”

His eyes began to glow with a feint light. He slowly started to walk closer. Each step was slow and painful. He was terrified, that much was obvious. He launched a small fireball at me which missed wide right. The wizard was a loose cannon and should be dealt with quickly. “Quickly now, I don’t have all day” I taunted.

The boy took in a deep breath. Fire erupted in his eyes, burning brighter than any star could hope to. He held the breath in his breast, after a moment he spewed fire out of his mouth, weaving it back and forth, making it very difficult to dodge. The fire passed me as I leapt over it weaving with the flames avoiding their singing touch. As soon as the mystical fires touched the gate a loud roar erupted and they burst into flame. With that the wizard stopped spewing flames and let out a gasp of pure horror.

“Thank you, boy” I grinned “that will be all.” I sheathed my sword and started to walk back towards my comrades. “Spikey!”

“Ya?” The Orc grunted.

“You take care of the whelp; I am tired of this nonsense.”

“Wif pleasure” the Orc grinned and started walking towards the Bright Wizard. “It be yer lucky day, I’z gon’ beat ya to a pulp.”

“Do not take a single step closer, heathen” the wizard demanded. The Orc paid no mind to the words of his adversary, he had only one thing on his mind; fighting.

“WAAAAAAAAGH!”

As he let loose his tremendous battle cry the bright wizard launched a massive fireball at Spikey, who easily drove it into the ground with his massive shield. He charged at the wizard, barreling at full speed with his massive Choppa held high in the air. The apprentice wizard held his staff in preparation to deflect the Orcs attack. Spikey charged in ever closer, his eyes alight with the fury of battle, screaming his battle cry. With one fell arc he brought the Choppa down upon his foe, smashing the staff to splinters. A look of shock crossed the wizards face right before he too was cleaved by the primitive, yet effective, weapon of the Orc.
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The time had come to breach the barracks. The gate stood there burning; the terrified screams of the soldiers could be heard from inside the walls. Cowards that hide from fate do not deserve mercy. They deserve a fate far worse than death; they deserve to have their bodies mercilessly shred to confetti and their souls tortured in the pits of hell for an eternity. I planned to ensure the former personally. Every man, woman and child in the barracks, every soldier, civilian, elder, commander and peasant that hid from my wrath would die a horrible death. I would make sure of that.

After about an hour of burning the gate finally collapsed. The guards stood ready with their handguns, hoping to kill us before we could even enter; predictable scum. Al’Hazim, the magus, hurled two bolts of unholy fire into the barracks and moved out of the way before the firing squad could fire. Screams could be heard as the two unfortunate victims were morphed and mutated into horrors of Tzeentch and began tearing into the terrified hand gunners. That was our cue. We charged into the line of hand gunners, already fleeing in fear of the two weak demons.

The main hall of the barracks was clad with crests and insignias of the Empire, cross swords, axes and mace were above each crest, at the end of the hall was a giant insignia; it was in the shape of a twin tailed comet, the mark of the Empire. At the end of the hallway, just under the mark of the Empire stood a knight; fully clad in armor. He held a large kite shield that easily covered half his body in his left hand and in his right he gripped a warhammer. It was a fine weapon, crafted to resemble the Gal’Mharez, the legendary weapon that Sigmar wielded to halt the first Chaos invasion of what would eventually become the Empire.

“I cannot allow you Chaos dogs to pass any further,” the knight called out “you shall die by my hand.” He slowly started moving forward. His pace was slow and his stride was clean. He radiated with confidence and an aura of righteous power emanated from his being. The light itself seemed to refract around him, giving him a supernatural appearance. We were faced now with Lord Nolan. “You shall kill no more innocents. Your vile presence must be extinguished. The wicked are condemned to an eternity of damnation. The righteous are rewarded for their actions. This is why spawns of Chaos like you fear death.”

“Fear death?” snarled a Chosen “Death fears me. Death hides in fear of my vengeful wrath. It is you who should fear death for all that awaits you are never ending anguish and pain. I will ensure that your soul never rests.” He dropped the small bag he was carrying with him and moved forward, he had just challenged Nolan to combat.

The Chosen radiated an aura of evil and death. A dark void seemed to fill in the empty space around him; the almost tangible nether that swirled around him grew stronger with every passing moment leading up to the battle.

The two moved closer and closer to each other, their two auras swirling in anticipation for battle. When eventually the two emanations made contact the seemed to ignite, leaving only the two supernatural beings. The air in the room coursed fiercely as blood would run through a vein. The Chosen clad in blackened chaos armor, smeared in blood and adorned with scars from battles with frivolous foes stood tall. He wielded a vicious sword that arced with unholy energies. It sang for blood. It craved for battle like a living thing. It hungered for battle; it was like the sword was a manifestation of its master.

The two entities stood there, squared off, sizing up their respective foe. The eyes of the knight glistened with a starry blue, while the eyes of the chosen were bloodshot; drunk with rage and bloodlust. As if they were guided by a single mind they charged each other, their weapons raised high, ready to strike down their opponent. Nolan brought his hammer down on the Chosen who parried deftly with his massive sword. He swiftly countered with an upward slash. The mighty blow was parried by Nolan who attempted to counter with a kick but the Chosen’s massive body was upon him far too quickly. His sword arced downwards, creating a sinister black trail in its path.

Nolan was able to doge this by rolling to his right, and blocking the quick slash that followed. The chosen had Nolan on the defensive. I glanced down at the bag he left just before the fight. There was an unusual staff-like object inside. Not a common weapon for a Chosen to carry to battle. I picked it up out of the bad and inspected it. It had a black shaft, encrusted with blood red gems. The head gave off an eerie illumination. This object was not natural. I placed it back into his bag and continued observing the fight.

The Chosen had Nolan backed into the corner. It was obvious that the knight was desperate. The unholy warrior brought his massive sword down upon Nolan’s head. To his great surprise Nolan blocked the attack, and not only that, he was pushing him back. The knight’s eyes illuminated with righteous fury. In the blink of an eye Nolan let up and reversed their positions, then quickly pinned the chosen against the stone wall.

“Your kind has no place here, vermin.” He snarled.

The unholy knight simply laughed. His voice boomed across the great hallways. It was a cackle that would drop the hearts of the heartiest of Dwarf Longbeards. I laugh that would stop the charge of any Bretonnian knights. Suddenly he stopped laughing. A silence fell on the room as the echoes faded. In a cold whisper the Chosen spoke to the knight “You have not won, Knight.” At that Lord Nolan let loose his pin on him and fell to his knees. “You are a fool and a weakling. You are not worthy of to be in my sights. Be gone!” The Chosen brought his unholy sword down upon the unprotected back on Nolan. His body instantly turned to ash. The breeze coming through the open gate swept the ash into the air and left no trace of the late Lord Nolan.
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We set a bomb at one of the towers, our signal to Sordin to open the portcullis. Sure enough the Soul Eater rode upon his disk, still wearing his ridiculous Witch Hunter hat. “You have all done well.” He stated blandly. He shot a glance over to the Chosen that fought Lord Nolan and addressed the group again “Lord Kutulu will be very pleased with your success today.” Now let us return to the Sanctum and plot our next attack, shall we? The soul Eater broke an enormous grin beneath the shrouding of his mask.