Carnage by the Woodland - by Maxime Farley

Carnage by the Woodland

Today shall be a fine day to offer sacrifices to the Gods, thought Arch-Magus Rajaxx, as he looked about the field before him.

Behind him stood the finest Tzeentchian warriors he could manage to find in such short notice. It was imperative those heathens never discovered of what was going on in the groove nearby.

Next to him lay the Branchwraith, lured to work for him, to his death, if necessary, by the Dark Arts his patron gifted him. His Elf friends weren’t so easily convinced to fight their own kind, be they of noble origins or not, but his magic had yet to fail him.

Scrying the advance of the enemy, Rajaxx realized they had recruited aid in their way here. Peasants, all of them. They might still posed a threat. He should especially consider the Pegasus’s and the knights mounting them.

If I had enough time, I’d summon a Dragon of Chaos and see them flee like the pest they represent.

He, however, was here to buy time for his fellow Magi, and would succeed or die trying.

He started ordering people around, sending him warriors here and there, with support from the Branchwraith and his fellow nymphs, and the Elf archery to aid the mounted Knights of Pestilence. A ‘kind’ gift of Zalgo, the regional Lord of Pestilence. Nuisances, especially to the nose, but they had their use.

Sighting a Noble with his detachment of Dragon Knights, Rajaxx decided he would involve himself more personally into the matter, and bid a guard of 12 Warriors to his side. They would make short work of most physical threats, the Magi overcoming any and all magic flung at them.

Elves had an unnerving tendency towards sending Archmages whenever they found the occasion to do so.

…

The sounds of war raged around him, blood swirling in a tempest of blades and lances. The knights proved more than resilient, and Rajaxx decided to interfere. Uttering long-forgotten curses and prayers to the darkest of gods, he bestowed the great Gifts of the Gods upon a Warrior lying next to him. The Exalted Champion of Chaos distracted the Noble long enough for his entourage to be slain, and in a vain attempt to save his life, the remaining Elf turned his mount and ran. Until, that is, the ground fell before him, twisting, maddening flames overcoming him and his ride. He was a mere puddle of messy gore when Rajaxx walked past him with what was left of his guard.

To his left, he faintly realized the Nymphs had all but been butchered, dying to the last in a futile attempt to please their new lord. Concerned about the White Lions chariot running towards them, Rajaxx saw the rain of death at about the same time the elves did. The chariot was swarm with a multitude of magical Elfic arrows, and as they ripped through wood and flesh alike, Rajaxx knew no worry would come from them.

On the far side of the battlefield, the Pestilent Knights met the Knights of the Realm into combat. All the flashy clothes they wore could not be compared to the age old armors of Chaos the undying fiends wore. The sparkling new lances they brought crashing into the deathless warriors were comparable to wooden training swords next to the ensorcelled weapons their opponents flung at them.

Once side had finesse, training and expertly laid tactics, the Bretonnian ‘Lance’.

The other had strength, experience and sheer brutality on their side.

As the bringers of death met the Lance in charge, a litteral barrage of blistering gore followed them. As they lost one man, they butchered the entire knight regiment, and properly followed their trail to meet a group of bowmen into battle. Battle? Carnage. If knights could barely hold them, what hope might a group of barely armed peasants have? They must have realized so, as they fled before the mowing death of Grand-Father Nurgle.

…

Bringing himself out of his visions of the battlefield, Rajaxx barely realized his guards had trampled the enemy Archmage and his own guards. No survivors, no quarters, no pity.

Unopposed, Rajaxx started to summon the Winds of Magic like never before, blasting apart Rifts of pure Chaos under the foots of the remaining enemies, sending waves after waves of fiery death upon unsuspecting victims.

Using both treachery and raw Chaotic firepower, he brought his whole power to bear against the mounted Pegasus’s knights. His masters had been clear: no witnesses. Their plan would suffer no interruptions.

As the last feather consumed itself in the flickering fires of Tzeentch, Rajaxx overviewed the battlefield. He had lost a little over half of the Tzeentchian warriors, a terrible loss but nevertheless replaceable. He barely registered the fact the Wood Elves fled back into their woods. A search party would be sent after them. And not to rescue them.¸

Of the Bretonians, naught remained. A few peasants here and there, fleeing for their lives. A group of elves dared dwell further into the woods, confident backup would be on the way. They probably fell upon one of the numerous magical traps surrounding the groove where the Conclave focused their powers.

The Lord Daemon Prince would come back into this world. Kholek the Suneater, the Bringer of Darkness, Tempest Incarnate, would be heard of once more.

And once into this world, there would be no stopping him…

As recorded by Archmagus Rajaxx, a short time before the second coming of the Daemon Kholek.

Approved and verified by my hand

Maxime Farley, Everchosen of Chaos, Lord of Terror