The Shadowlands
Kar Khadath Regiment and Tribes of Norsca vs. The Eternal Host
Tuesday 16th October, 2018
This was a fun event between the two rival forces. We split it into 6-v-6 to make it a more enjoyable fight and rotated combatants so everyone got a go. Outranked, outgeared, and lower levelled, Destro took a pummelling, but it was a lot of fun and gave the players some goals for improvement. Everyone gave it their all, and I'm really pleased by how well they fought. Thanks for joining us. We certainly will be running more events like this!
The footfalls of marching troops and nauglir beat a rhythm along the road from the Unicorn Gate, banners tattered, morale low. The returning hosts’ musician raised a horn to his lips, blasting a shrill signal, and the garrison’s warhorn blew in reply. The heavy steel gates swung outwards, groaning on their hinges, as the defeated army returned.
Hissed laughter, and looks of contempt met the returning troops, lighter in number than the force that had been sent out into The Shadowlands to challenge the defenders at the Gate. Those wounded who were likely to recover were sent to the chirugeon’s tent, whilst those too badly injured to be of any use, were rounded up and dragged off to a dark corner to be put out of their misery.
Lord Revendin regarded the Command tent from atop his nauglir, steeling himself as he swung himself down from the saddle, handing the reins of the slow-witted beast to one of his retainers. His hatred gave him courage, but was it not quite enough to dissolve the sense of disgrace that saturated every part of his being. His eagerness to prove himself and ascend to a position of power had now achieved quite the opposite effect. His choices now left him with two options; resign himself to his fate with dignity, or be remembered for cowardice as well as failure.
Guards stepped in to form an avenue as Revendin began the long walk to the garrison’s black heart. Their weapons gleamed in the dull Nagarythi light, their cold eyes watching with malice. He paused, glancing back at the warriors that he had led to ruin, then turned to the Command Tent and stepped inside. Braziers smouldered with heady incense in an attempt to hide the stench of death about the camp, whilst upon the table, a map of positions of conquest, arcane items, and various scrolls lay. Throwing his cloak behind him, he bowed deeply, ‘Hail Malekith!’
The Seeress was waiting; toying with a trail of dhar, seemingly disinterested in the Druchii that fell to his knees before the throne in which she rested. Beside the large desk, a sorcerer with glowing eyes smirked, whilst an unnaturally beautiful human warrior with a golden hand stood nearby, all illuminated by flickering witchlight.
‘You return,’ she purred, glancing down slowly.
‘Yes, Dread Lady. The army fought like harpies unleashed but…’
Ithilsyn raised a hand to interrupt, finishing his sentence for him, ‘…You were defeated.’
Revendin gulped nervously, the silence that followed, falling upon him like lead.
‘You told us that this was a small band of skirmishers. Vermin to be wiped out,’ Amarthandir hissed, displeased by the ill-informed fool.
‘We were deceived,’ Revendin blurted, cursing himself internally for displaying his anxiety so.
Ithilsyn leaned forward, the dhar trail caressing Revendin gently under his chin, before throwing his head upwards so that he was forced to meet her terrible gaze. ‘Tell me what happened.’
The Druchii Lord felt his pulse beat faster, and beads of sweat formed upon his brow. He considered his words carefully before finally, he began his report.
‘We gathered near Spite’s Reach. A small unit including a maibd, two Khainites, a black guard, and two of those allies of yours,’ he frowned, throwing a quick look to Erling, adding, ‘one of their Chosen and a witch.’
‘My scouts reported only a handful of their “shadow warriors”, and at best one mage. We were met at the gates by a force far larger than ours… better equipped… more experienced… more…’
The dhar flew into him with a crash, and Revendin gasped in agony as the Sorceress expressed her displeasure. Erling smiled to himself at such suffering. Things were at last getting “interesting”.
‘No excuses. Facts. I want names.’
Revendin trembled and caught his breath, as he balanced the chance of redemption by sharing the blame, against the possibility that he was damning them all.
‘We had a small army, urithan, reavers… there are a few though who’s names I know,’ he licked his lips nervously and continued, ‘Lutzgaroth… Veszal… Solutar… Voiderino… Rorn… and Anethra.’
Ithilsyn stood up and walked calmly towards the table, inspecting the map, her gaze upon the Great Gates between Nagarythe and Ellyrion.
‘How great was the enemy force?’
‘They were double our size. They had many mages. Archers of course, swordsmen… and Chracians,' he snarled, his hate flaring up as he recalled the jaws of their leonine companions. ‘That archmage from Narthain was there.’
Ithilsyn inhaled slowly, then turned, lifting the Lord off his feet with fell sorcery, ‘and you let him escape?!’ she replied, her voice thick with fury.
Revendin cried out in terror, as she threw him out of the tent, his armoured form sliding roughly across the ground. He moaned to himself as he started to push himself up, Druchii and the Tribes all witnessing his ejection. Before he could rise, he felt a draich to the side of his throat, and was pulled roughly up by his hair.
‘You know the price of failure.’ Ithilsyn uttered quietly.
Revendin had time to take one last look at the warriors gathered, before the blade swung down and cut his head cleanly from his shoulders. It rolled across the ground, coming to a stop before Veszal’s feet.
The seeress regarded the champions mentioned, her form serene and terrible. For a moment they wondered the extent of her fury. It seemed that she had made her point.
‘You must do better,’ she stated, knowing that their hatred would be fuelled now to greater levels. ‘I expect a fighting force worthy of marching under our banner. You are a disgrace.’
She turned on her heel, stepping over the headless corpse bleeding out into the dusty yard, and returning to the Command Tent. There would be no victory feast today.