Feel like burning like a bright wizard? Being as green as a gobbo? Robust like an Ironbreaker? Bloodthirsty like a witch elf? Feel free to speak as them here.
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The message conveyed to the deployed unit at Narthain had been firmly asserted. Hushed whispers broke the silence among the troops, keen not to share their leader’s fate. Caranordor called the Regiment to order as the Beastmaster’s warriors hurried to form some semblance of order, lest his sword find them next. The Witch King’s iron writ must be served, and it was the Commander’s duty to see to the task. Personally.
The invasion could not wait for such incompetence as this. Suspicions were abounding as to why Narthain was seemingly defended by a mere citizen militia. Surely a settlement on the front would have a stronger force at its disposal? It would seem that the High Elf army proper was waiting for them elsewhere. Caranordor called for three willing volunteers to go forth and scout the way ahead. Menial work, more suited to Shades, he knew that the request would be a test of fealty to his command. To refuse would be foolish. Duvaindir and Coruhir were first to step up, and then with a degree of surprise, one of the Coven was asked to go forth with them. It seemed that the Commander was gauging loyalties, to gain a feel for whether or not the arcane Druchii that had affiliated themselves with the Regiment would be willing as any of his warriors to follow orders. Sylleth threw a questioning glance to Ithilsyn, who nodded quietly, encouraging her to assist. It would not do to show any sign of rebellion on the Coven’s part, especially in the recent conglomeration of the military forces of the Nagrar Regiment with Drukae Khalir. These were early days, and to work together would certainly prove to be beneficial to all involved.
The three departed to see what lay to the south. An uncomfortable silence fell about Narthain as the Commander glowered over the Druchii and his troops. Two of the Beastmaster’s men stepped forward and as discretely as possible, removed the body of their leader, dragging him away by his feet leaving a bloodstained trail across the flagstones. The atmosphere was tense, and as the scouts returned to give their reports, there was no delay with moving on. Shadow Warriors were beginning to gather in the hills around Akrana’s Storm. A small unit of High Elves had been sighted at Lake Menarhain, whilst Nimosar was filling with defences. The Regiment had to strike before the enemy had the opportunity to muster their forces to dig in and strike back against them.
With haste, they proceeded their march to the camp at which Drukae Khalir’s Druchii had last called their base of operations at Akrana’s Storm. Still held by a good number of House Uthorin’s troops, there was little that the thalken could do to break their stronghold. Caranordor led his regiment through the foothills, who swiftly dispatched the enemy there before moving in a storm of ruin to Menarhain. The High Elves held their ground, yet their efforts were crushed with cold steel and fell dhar. All that was left as Kar Khadath passed through were broken bodies and the moans of the dying; without delay, the Druchii pushed onwards to Nimosar. The white towers rose from fortified walls, guarded well by their weak kin. Unlike the smouldering ruins behind them, this settlement had yet to fall, and Caranordor would see to it that this was amended.
Breaking through the initial defences, the Regiment fell into formation, with heavily armoured troops at front. They pushed through the asur, shouts mingling with the clash of steel, as blades danced beneath the towers. Sildra noted a strong presence, Sylleth seemingly sickened by the energies nearby, and from this Ithilsyn noted that they were not far from a place of power. Almost distracted by these swirling eddies of magic, it took a great deal of their concentration to focus their dhar effectively into the battle. Just as Nimosar seemed to fall, a unit of horsemen rode in, ithilmar armour gleaming, and lances pointed at the invaders. The Druchii warriors were called to flank these elites whilst a frontal attack was called to confuse their charge. As the horses reared, they were met with glaives plunging into flesh, and the noble beasts fell, throwing their riders to the ground. Some leapt to their feet to fight on foot. Others lay struggling under their dying steeds, to be dispatched with cruel efficiency by the Druchii. It was over in minutes.
Praises were called to Khaine, and as bloody swords were wiped clean, Ithilsyn drifted out of the fortification, flanked by Sylleth and Sildra. Pulled by the call of raw magic, their movements caught the regiment’s attention, and Caranordor raised a hand to give a silent command for attention from the hardened warriors under his command. He called to the Coven, querying their movements, then noted that which had drawn their attention. Not far from Nimosar, a waystone stood in a hollow, a shimmering beam of qhaysh shining brightly to any with witch sight. To those not accustomed to the forces of magic, it would appear in the corner of one’s eye as a ripple, sparkling with blue light, yet to the sorceresses it shone like a beacon. Like the field across the mountains, this stone seemed to be part of a grid, channelling power across Ulthuan. Further investigation was required.
Not fully understanding what lay before him, Caranordor followed with his troops as the seeress and her companions drew close to the stone, oblivious to the thalken guarding it. Lured almost by raw power, it fell to the warriors to cut down the defenders. Clearly excited by the find, Ithilsyn and her sisters stepped forth ever closer, and began to whisper words of power, unweaving wards with graceful motions of their hands.
“It is a waystone, Commander”, explained Ithilsyn, realising that he was curious as to what had pulled the Coven so soon from the city which they had just sacked. Spoils had been ignored for this rather dull looking rock. It must hold some great significance.
As Sildra and Sylleth held the energies at bay, Ithilsyn continued, eyes alight with power, “Come closer. We have woven a spell of undoing.”
Gazing at the seeress questioningly, he stepped forth to learn more of what had drawn them. He reached out, took two steps closer, then as his fingertips touched the waystone, the seasoned veteran, trusted of Malekith, simply disappeared.
Shouts of surprise and gasps murmured among the troops, whilst the sorceresses stood about the stone. It would seem that treachery was underway.
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