The Unholy Legions of Anti-Sanctus Chaotica, a Warhammer Online Destruction Regiment, Vaction in Praag

Praag was beautiful this time of year. The fire, the screaming, the aura of broken spirits in the air... it was magical. Ranovich grinned under his helmet as he marched down the street. His armor spoke endlessly of the day he had been having. Arrows were randomly impaled through his shoulder armor, one also peirced his shin. He walked through the burning streets however as if the sun were shining high in the sky. His armor was burned in places and gauged deeply in others, his sword arm hung useless at his side, still gripping his blade. The sword made a terrible noise as it was dragged down the street. His vision was slowly fading in and out, but still the chosen walked onward.

He trodded along until he heard voices re-verberating though his helmet. He turned around slowly to see a war-priest and an elf clad in white standing in the middle of the street and gesturing at him.

"He's wounded! Let us end this monster before he finds more civilians to put to the sword!" The elf said and raised her axe as she came charging forward. The Warpriest looked as if he wanted to protest for a moment, but lifted his hammer in one hand and his tome in the other. Ranovich began to laugh, and the deep bellowing insanity of it seemed to startle the two rushing at him. He lifted his damaged arm just high enough, and just fast enough to see the elf impaled on his sword. The elf began to swing downward with her axe even as the blade peirced her cleanly, to avoid the blow Ranovich kicked with his good leg to knock her off his sword and onto her rear, keeping her from finishing her attack. He kept chuckling as the elf grabbed her gut and menacingly he walked twoard her. He suddenly felt something smash into his back, and some strange sensation of claws latching into his shoulder armor.

He cursed loudly as he realized the elf was a "White lion" and her furry friend that rivaled his own size was hanging from his back, its hind legs digging into his cloak, and its teeth trying to find purchase between plates of armor. Ranovich's mood suddenly became much darker as he reached up with his good arm and took hold of the beast's mane. The Chosen pulled with all of his might and rolled his hips forward, tossing the lion onto its back. The creature let out a hiss of pain and began to thrash with its claws. Ranovich kicked with all of his might, and let out a howl of victory as he felt a number of the cat's teeth launch free of its gums inside its mouth.

The beast howled and rolled over to its paws trying to shake off the daze that had been knocked into its head. Ranovich looked up to see the Warrior priest's hands moving over the white lion's wounds. The elf stood back up only a tear in the cloth under her chest armor was apparent. Ranovich stared at her in the eyes and it was obvious the pain her pet was in distressed her greatly. He could taste the edges of her fear for her beloved animal compaion. His powers and the lesons he had been taught were growing. The lion was beging to stir back to its feet and would no doubt be at his throat in a moment. Ranovich clenched his fist at the end of his good arm and tugged a small strap of leather attatched to the end of his gauntlet until it snapped. A small shovel shaped hidden blade appeared at the end of the armored wrist and he stabbed downward brutally.

Over and over his fist rose and well as white fur was stained red, as his steel fist and the blade above it crashed into the giant cat. The elf woman screamed and ran at him once more with renewed fury. She had forgotten herself, and fallen for his trick. This time Ranovich lifted his massive blade as best he could with both hands, as if unable to lift it with one any longer with his broken limb. The elf's head went flying through the air as her body landed atop her lion. He spoke through his helmet as he now stared at the shaken War priest.

"Can sigmar heal that?"

The war priest did not answer, but set a firm frown on his clean shaven face. The priest pointed his hammer at Ranovich and then swung it, and without actually touching the chosen sent the massive armored man flying backwards.

Ranovich tumbled and bounced several clattering feet across the pavement. He groaned as he tried to stand, his beaten body, still flesh beneath the armor that surrounded him seemed it did not wish to respond. His opponent came rushing at him and swung his hammer hard, catching Ranovich in the forehead. He felt his helmet ring for a moment, before another blow tore the strabs from the helmet and sent it clattering to the ground. Slowly he looked up at the warrior priest and grinned, with blood spilling between his lips into his beard. The War priest froze solid as if someone had cast a spell on him.

"R...R....Ranovich... is that you?...don't worry friend I shall free you from this torment." The Warpriest stuttered and raised his hammer and brought it back down. Ranovich did not remember the priest from his previous life, but he was glad the priest remembered him. He moved just enough to feel the hammer smash into his shoulder instead of a blow to his head that likely would of crushed his skull. With his helmet off he felt human, and incomplete. He could feel his wounds, and fear of death seemed to crawl into him through his wounds. Still Ranovich smiled and grabbed the priest by his ankle and pulled hard to send him falling to his back on the street. Before he could recover, the massive plated chosen threw himself atop the priest of sigmar.

"Free me war priest? I -am- free. I do not mindlessly worship a god... no.. I deal with them. I do not fear them and grovel in their name. I do not serve them...I am a mercenary to whatever diety pays with the best currency... power." He then spat blood into the priest's eyes, not as an insult, but to literally blind the bald sigmarite long enough for him to raise his bladed fist and bring it down on his head. The priest went still beneath him, and the Chosen stood with much labor. He scooped the tome from the warrior priest's hands and gave a brief flip through its pages. He then reached to his own belt and un-clipped his chaotic, blood written "holy" codex.

He sat the herecy filled book in the war priest's hands and grinned, thinking about who would find this scene and who might read his mad blood etched ramblings within the holy codex that used to be his own. He had new writing material now, and clipped the fresh book to his belt as he turned and began to stumble aimlessly through the streets, hoping in the back of his mind he might find a zealot or a follower of Khaine to mend his body, but he didn't dwell on it.

"There is no time to be worrying about small things like bleeding to death." He said to himself laughing as he staired up into the smoke filled night sky.

Yes Praag was beautiful this time of year..