The Unholy Legions of Anti-Sanctus Chaotica, a Warhammer Online Destruction Regiment, A Bargain Struck

Note: Read this first

The remains of the small town still smoldered, the shrine to the Asuryan God desecrated. Most of the Honor Guard yet lived. Standing in the midst of the carnage, an odd figure stood. Covered in gore and blood from head to toe, wearing a mismatched set of barbarian armor, a straight bladed long sword, well used and battered dangled from one hand. The other held up a dented chalice, as it ever so slowly filled with the dripping blood of an Asuryan corpse that was dangling from the flaming roof of one of the village’s huts.

“M’lord, the village is secure, what would you have us do now?” came the gruff human voice from behind a rusted and dented helm.

Zemok raised an eyebrow at his honored guard. “Over the hill to the south, there is a small valley. Set camp in the woods there. Send ten men with me, I need to seek something out, but I do not need all of you blundering idiots with me.”

The barbarian nodded once, then hurried off to carry out Zemok’s orders. As the Druchii looked back to his chalice, it was now brimming with the blood of a freshly murdered high elf.

With a weak smile he raised the chalice to his lips with a trembling hand and drank deeply. As the salty fluid poured down his throat, the tiredness left his limbs, and his mind focused more clearly than before. As he lowered the cup, a gruesome smile graced his pallid features, blood dripping from his mouth and onto his gore spattered armor.

His chosen escort arrived less than a minute later. Zemok headed off without a word to them, and they quickly fell into formation about him. He would have preferred to do this on his own, but they would never let him go, and if he didn’t shed himself of them soon, the Asuryan would capture them all. They had been attacking and ransacking small settlements for weeks, as were other disorganized bands of marauders…all that had been left of Magnus’ great horde. It was only a matter of time before the Asur found out which band he was with and descended upon him to wreak their vengeance.

He stalked quickly into the hills, forcing his guard to fast march to keep up. He wanted to give them no time for mounts. At this slow pace they should reach their destination near nightfall. Perfect timing.

It was nearing dusk when they came upon the sea shore. It had been a miracle that Zemok had gotten this close without being spotted. Sooner, rather than later, Zemok heard a familiar sound. thump!thump!thump!thump! and the marauder in the lead fell dead, a multitude of Druchii repeater bolts sprouting from his chest.

As the other guards started to react, Zemok drew his blade and severed the head of the nearest guard to the right in one smooth stroke. Without stopping his momentum, he continued his pivot around and buried his blade with savage glee into the guard on the left, draining the last vestiges of his soul as he watched the light in his eyes dim to nothingness.

The other guards shouted in confusion and alarm as three more went down with Druchii bolts sprouting from various portions of their anatomy. The corsair raiders closed in, wicked blades stabbing and slicing into the remaining guards. Zemok threw down his sword and shouted in the druchii tongue; “Brethren, I’ve found you at last! Take me to your captain, I must have word with him immediately!”

As the last marauder fell gurgling to the ground, bubbles of blood frothing from his pierced lungs, the other Druchii stopped and stared at Zemok in confusion, mixed with quite a bit of hostility.

“What do we have here?” Demanded what must have been the leader of the scouting party.

“I am Zemok, of house Zhahir, Disciple of Khaine, of the Hag Graef chapter. Who is your captain, I must speak with him.”

The party leader scoffed. “I know not what you are, and you may even be who you say. But what are you doing here and why are you wearing that disgusting armor?”

Zemok shrugged, “I am who I say, and one does what he must in trying circumstances. Who do you think instigated this war between the Norse and the Asur? Do you think the humans would have come up with the idea themselves? This has been a mission of many years, though alas it has come to an end and it is time for me to return to the temple.”

Frowning, the leading scout said, “ I am Kulraen, and I am first mate of the Hydra’s Promise. I believe captain Graenal will most likely have you flayed and use your skin for a cloak, but for the amusement of it I will take you to him.”

“Thank you. I will ensure your devotion to the temple is rewarded kindly for the service you have done me.”

Kulraen scoffed, “Do not thank me, bloody one, Graenal is a bastard. I am quite sure you will not breathe by the morning."

“I can see that. Why else would the first mate be on guard duty, instead of enjoying the spoils of his position?” Zemok said sagely.

Kulraen snarled. “It is none of your concern. Another word and you may have no tongue left with which to speak to the captain.”

Zemok nodded. “I can give you power, as long as you do what is right at the proper time.”

“Indeed, this raggedy excuse for a Druchii will give me power! Oh, the mighty come dressed in strange garb this night!” Kulraen mocked.

The others laughed in derision at Zemok.

“Laugh if you wish, but it is true. And a simple task it is. You have nothing to lose, and all to gain.”

“But of course, true power comes from doing nothing, eh?” laughed Kulraen.

“In this case, that is nearly true, but I fear there is one task. Take me to your captain.” Zemok said with a solemn nod.

“And after that?” Kulraen asked as if he was slightly interested.

“Nothing. Do absolutely nothing. Do not intervene.” Zemok said with a shrug. “Simple enough.”

“Yes, simple enough. We shall see, Druchii. I rather expect you will make a fine cloak for someone though.”

Again the others laughed. One of them roughly stripped Zemok of his weapons, even taking his dented chalice. Zemok only stood there quietly, thinking furiously of how he was going to get himself out of this new situation.